3it  il^nttory  (0f 
Mantes  X AuKuarit 


THE 


PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK 

OF 

MR.  M.  A.  TITMARSH 

AND 

EASTERN  SKETCHES 

31  Journeg  from  Cornell  to  Cairo 

THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK 


CHARACTER  SKETCHES 

BY 

WILLIAM  MAKEPEACE  THACKERAY 


WITH  170  ILLUSTRATIONS  BY  THE  AUTHOR,  THOMAS  R. 
MACQUOID,  J.  P.  ATKINSON,  GEORGE  CRUIKSHANK, 
JOHN  LEACH,  AND  M.  FITZGERALD 

boston  college  library 

CHESTNUT  HILL,  MASS. 
BOSTON 

SAMUEL  E.  CASSINO 


\ 

' 

. 


ADVERTISEMENT  TO  THE  FIRST  EDITION. 


About  half  of  the  sketches  in  these  volumes  have  already 
appeared  in  print,  in  various  periodical  works.  A part  of 
the  text  of  one  tale,  and  the  plots  of  two  others,  have  been 
borrowed  from  French  originals  ; the  other  stories,  which 
are,  in  the  main,  true,  and  have  been  written  upon  facts  and 
characters  that  came  within  the  Author’s  observation  during 
a residence  in  Paris. 

As  the  remaining  papers  relate  to  public  events  which 
occurred  during  the  same  period,  or  to  Parisian  Art  and 
Literature,  he  has  ventured  to  give  his  publication  the  title 
which  it  bears. 


London,  July  1,  1840. 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2016 


https://archive.org/details/parissketchbooko00thac_0 


CONTENTS. 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK. 

PAGE 

An  Invasion  of  France  1 

A Caution  to  Travellers 14 

The  Fetes  of  July 82 

On  the  French  School  of  Painting 41 

The  Painter’s  Bargain 61 

Cartouche 76 

On  some  French  Fashionable  Novels 89 

A Gambler’s  Death Ill 

Napoleon  and  IIis  System 122 

The  Story  of  Mary  Ancel 137 

Beatrice  Merger 157 

Caricatures  and  Lithography  in  Paris 165 

Little  Poinsinet 193 

The  Devil’s  Wager 208 

Madame  Sand  and  the  new  Apocalypse 219 

The  Case  of  Peytel 245 

Four  Imitations  of  Beranger  273 

French  Dramas  and  Melodramas 283 

Meditations  at  Versailles 305 

vii 


CONTENTS . 


viii 


EASTERN  SKETCHES. 

A JOURNEY  FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO. 

CHAPTER  ’ PAGE 

Dedication 325 

Preface 327 

I.  Vigo.  — Thoughts  at  Sea  — Sight  of  Land  — Vigo  — 

Spanish  Ground  — Spanish  Troops  — Pasagero  . . 329 

II.  Lisbon  — Cadiz.  — Lisbon  — The  Belem  Road  — A 
School  — Landscape  — Palace  of  Necessidades  — Cadiz 
— The  Rock 336 

III.  The  “Lady  Mary  Wood.” — British  Lions  — Travel- 

ling Friends — Bishop  No.  2— “Good-by,  Bishop” — 

The  Meek  Lieutenant  — “ Lady  Mary  Wood  ” . . . 346 

IV.  Gibraltar.  — Mess-Room  Gossip — Military  Horticul- 


ture— “All's  Well  ” — A Release — Gibraltar  — Malta 
— Religion  and  Nobility  — Malta  Relics  — The  Lazar- 
etto — Death  in  the  Lazaretto 353 

V.  Athens. — Reminiscences  of  jvttim  — The  Peineus — 

Landscape  — Basileus  — England  for  Ever ! — Classic 
Remains  — tvtttm  again 366 

VI.  Smyrna.  — First  Glimpses  of  the  East  — First  Emotions 

— The  Bazaar  — A Bastinado  — Women  — The  Cara- 
van Bridge — Smyrna  — The  Whistler 375 


VII.  Constantinople.  — Caiques  — Eothen’s  “ Misseri  ” — 
A Turkish  Bath  — Constantinople  — His  Highness  the 
Sultan  — Ich  mochte  nicht  der  Sultan  seyn — A Sub- 
ject fora  Ghazul  — The  Child  Murderer  — Turkish 
Children  — Modesty  — The  Seraglio  — The  Sultanas’ 
Puffs  — The  Sublime  Porte  — The  Schoolmaster  in 


Constantinople 384 

VIII.  Rhodes.  — Jew  Pilgrims  — Jew  Bargaining— Relics  of 
Chivalry  — Mahometanism  Bankrupt  — A Dragoman 
— A Fine  Day  — Rhodes 407 

IX.  The  White  Squall 415 


CONTENTS . 


IX 


X.  Telmessus  — Beykout.  — Telmessus  — Halil  Paslia  — 
Beyrout  — A Portrait  — A Ball  on  Board  — A Syrian 
Prince 419 

XL  A Day  and  Night  in  Syria. — Landing  at  Jaffa  — 

Jaffa  — The  Cadi  of  Jaffa  — The  Cadi’s  Divan  — A 
Night-Scene  at  Jaffa — Syrian  Night’s  Entertainments,  42n 

XII.  From  Jaffa  to  Jerusalem.  — A Cavalcade  — March- 
ing Order  — A Tournament  — Ramleh  — Roadside 
Sketches  — Rencontres  — Abou  Gosh  — Night  before 
Jerusalem 435 

XIII.  Jerusalem.  — A Pillar  of  the  Church  — Quarters  — 
Jewish  Pilgrims  — Jerusalem  Jews  — English  Service 
— Jewish  History — The  Church  of  the  Sepulchre  — 

The  Porch  of  the  Sepulchre  — Greek  and  Latin 
Legends  — The  Church  of  the  Sepulchre  — Bethlehem 
— The  Latin  Convent  — The  American  Consul  — Sub- 


jects for  Sketching  — Departnre  — A Day’s  March  — 
Ramleh 445 

XIV.  From  Jaffa  to  Alexandria. — Bill  of  Fare  — From 

Jaffa  to  Alexandria 465 


XV.  To  Cairo. — The  Nile  — First  Sight  of  Cheops  — The 
Ezbekiah  — The  Hotel  d’ Orient  — The  Conqueror 
Waghorn  — Architecture  — The  Chief  of  the  Hag  — 

A Street  Scene  — Arnaoots  — A Gracious  Prince  — 

The  Screw-Propeller  in  Egypt  — The  “ Rint  ” in 
Egypt  — The  Maligned  Orient — “The  Sex”— Sub- 
jects for  Painters  — Slaves  — A Hyde  Park  Moslem  — 
Glimpses  of  the  Harem  — An  Eastern  Acquaintance  — 

An  Egyptian  Dinner  — Life  in  the  Desert  — From  the 
Top  of  the  Pyramid  — Groups  for  Landscape  — Pig- 
mies and  Pyramids  — Things  to  think  of  — Finis  . . 472 


' 


■ ■ 


' ■ ' 


CONTENTS. 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK 
of  1842. 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

Dedication iii 

I.  A Summer  Day  in  Dublin,  or  There  and  There- 
abouts   1 

II.  A Country-house  in  Kildare  — Sketches  of  an 

Irish  Family  and  Farm 24 

III.  From  Carlow  to  Waterford 35 

IV.  From  Waterford  to  Cork  . 46 

V.  Cork— The  Agricultural  Show — Father  Mathew,  57 

VI.  Cork— The  Ursuline  Convent  67 

VII.  Cork 76 

VIII.  From  Cork  to  Bantry  ; with  an  Account  of  the 

City  of  Skibbereen 89 

IX.  Rainy  Days  at  Glengariff 101 

X.  From  Glengariff  to  Killarney 109 

XI.  Killarney  — Stag-hunting  on  the  Lake  . . . 119 

XII.  Killarney  — The  Races  — Muckross 127 

XIII.  Tralee  — Listowel  — Tarbert 138 

XIV.  Limerick 145 

XV.  Galway — “ Kilroy’s  Hotel” — Galway  Nights’ 
Entertainments  — First  Night  : An  Evening 
with  Captain  Freeny 159 

XVI.  More  Rain  in  Galway  — A Walk  There  — And 

the  Second  Galway  Night’s  Entertainment,  178 


v 


AN  INVASION  OF  FRANCE. 


“ Caesar  venit  in  Galliam  summa  diligentia  ” 

BOUT  twelve  o’clock,  just  as 
the  bell  of  the  packet  is  tolling' 
a farewell  to  London  Bridge, 
and  warning  off  the  black- 
guard-boys with  the  newspa- 
pers, who  have  been  shoving 
Times , Herald , Penny  Paul - 
Pry , Penny  Satirist , Flare-up , 
and  other  abominations,  into 
your  face  — just  as  the  bell 
has  tolled,  and  the  Jews, 
strangers,  people-taking-leave- 
of-their-families,  and  black- 
guard-boys aforesaid,  are  mak- 
ing a rush  for  the  narrow 
plank  which  conducts  from 
the  paddle-box  of  the  “ Emer- 
ald ” steamboat  unto  the  quay 
— you  perceive,  staggering  down  Thames  Street,  those  two 
hackney-coaches,  for  the  arrival  of  which  you  have  been 
praying,  trembling,  hoping,  despairing,  swearing  — sw — , I 
beg  your  pardon,  I believe  the  word  is  not  used  in  polite 
company  — and  transpiring,  for  the  last  half-hour.  Yes, 
at  last,  the  two  coaches  draw  near,  and  from  thence  an 
awful  number  of  trunks,  children,  carpet-bags,  nursery- 
maids, hat-boxes,  band-boxes,  bonnet-boxes,  desks,  cloaks, 
and  an  affectionate  wife,  are  discharged  on  the  quay. 

“ Elizabeth,  take  care  of  Miss  Jane,”  screams  that  worthy 
woman,  who  has  been  for  a fortnight  employed  in  getting 
this  tremendous  body  of  troops  and  baggage  into  marching 
order.  “ Hicks  ! Hicks ! for  heaven’s  sake  mind  the 
1 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK. 


babies  ! ” — “ George — Edward,  sir,  if  you  go  near  that  porter 
with  the  trunk,  he  will  tumble  down  and  kill  you,  you 
naughty  boy  ! — My  love,  do  take  the  cloaks  and  umbrellas, 
and  give  a hand  to  Fanny  and  Lucy ; and  I wish  you  would 
speak  to  the  hackney-coachmen,  dear,  they  want  fifteen 
shillings,  and  count  the  packages,  love,  — twenty-seven 
packages, — and  bring  little  Flo;  where’s  little  Flo? — 
Flo  ! Flo  ! ” — ( Flo  comes  sneaking  in ; she  has  been  speak- 
ing a few  parting  words  to  a one-eyed  terrier,  that  sneaks 
off  similarly,  landward.) 

As  when  the  hawk  menaces  the  hen-roost,  in  like  man- 
ner, when  such  a danger  as  a voyage  menaces  a mother,  she 
becomes  suddenly  endowed  with  a ferocious  presence  of  mind, 
and  bristling  up  and  screaming  in  the  front  of  her  brood, 
and  in  the  face  of  circumstances,  succeeds,  by  her  courage, 
in  putting  her  enemy  to  flight ; in  like  manner  you  will 
always,  I think,  And  your  wife  ( if  that  lady  be  good  fox- 
twopence  ) shrill,  eager,  and  ill-humored,  before,  and  during 
a great  family  move  of  this  nature.  Well,  the  swindling 
hackney-coachmen  are  paid,  the  mother  leading  on  her 
regiment  of  little  ones,  and  supported  by  her  auxiliary 
nurse-maids,  are  safe  in  the  cabin ; — you  have  counted 
twenty-six  of  the  twenty-seven  parcels,  and  have  them  on 
board,  and  that  horrid  man  on  the  paddle-box,  who,  for 
twenty  minutes  past,  has  been  roaring  out,  NOW,  Sift ! — 
says,  now,  sir , no  more. 

I never  yet  knew  how  a steamer  began  to  move,  being 
always  too  busy  among  the  trunks  and  children,  for  the 
first  half-hour,  to  mark  any  of  the  movements  of  the  vessel. 
When  these  private  arrangements  are  made,  you  And  your- 
self opposite  Greenwich  ( farewell,  sweet,  sweet  whitebait ! ), 
and  quiet  begins  to  enter  your  soul.  Your  wife  smiles  for 
the  first  time  these  ten  days  ; you  pass  by  plantations  of 
ship-masts,  and  forests  of  steam-chimneys ; the  sailors  are 
singing  on  board  the  ships,  the  bargees  salute  you  with 
oaths,  grins,  and  phrases  facetious  and  familiar ; the  man  on 
the  paddle-box  roars,  “ Ease  her,  stop  her  ! ” which  myste- 
rious words  a shrill  voice  from  below  repeats,  and  pipes  out, 
“ Ease  her,  stop  her  ! ” in  echo  ; the  deck  is  crowded  with 
groups  of  figures,  and  the  sun  shines  over  all. 

The  sun  shines  over  all,  and  the  steward  comes  up  to  say, 
“ Lunch,  ladies  and  gentlemen  ! Will  any  lady  or  gentle- 
man please  to  take  anythink  ? ” About  a dozen  do  : boiled 
beef  and  pickles,  and  great  red  raw  Cheshire  cheese,  tempt 


AN  INVASION  OF  FRANCK 


3 


the  epicure : little  dumpy  bottles  of  stout  are  produced,  and 
fiz  and  bang  about  with  a spirit  one  would  never  have 
looked  for  in  individuals  of  their  size  and  stature. 

The  decks  have  a strange  look ; the  people  on  them,  that 
is.  Wives,  elderly  stout  husbands,  nurse-maids,  and  chil- 
dren predominate,  of  course,  in  English  steamboats.  Such 
may  be  considered  as  the  distinctive  marks  of  the  English 
gentleman  at  three  or  four  and  forty  : two  or  three  of 
such  groups  have  pitched  their  camps  on  the  deck.  Then 
there  are  a number  of  young  men,  of  whom  three  or  four 


have  allowed  their  moustaches  to  begin  to  grow  since  last 
Friday ; for  they  are  going  “ on  the  Continent/’  and  they 
look,  therefore,  as  if  their  upper  lips  were  smeared  witli 
snuff. 

A danseuse  from  the  opera  is  on  her  way  to  Paris.  Fob 
lowed  by  her  bonne  and  her  little  dog,  she  paces  the  deck, 
stepping  out,  in  the  real  dancer  fashion,  and  ogling  all 
around.  How  happy  the  two  young  Englishmen  are,  who  can 
speak  French,  and  make  up  to  her  : and  how  all  criticise  her 
points  and  paces ! Yonder  is  a group  of  young  ladies, 


4 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK 


who  are  going  to  Paris  to  learn  how  to  be  governesses : 
those  two  splendidly  dressed  ladies  are  milliners  from  the 
Rue  Richelieu,  who  have  just  brought  over,  and  disposed  of, 
their  cargo  of  Summer  fashions.  Here  sits  the  Rev.  Mr. 
Snodgrass  with  his  pupils,  whom  he  is  conducting  to  his 
establishment,  near  Boulogne,  where,  in  addition  to  a clas- 
sical and  mathematical  education  (washing  included),  the 
young  gentlemen  have  the  benefit  of  learning  French  among 
the  French  themselves.  Accordingly,  the  young  gentlemen 
are  locked  up  in  a great  rickety  house,  two  miles  from 
Boulogne,  and  never  see  a soul,  except  the  French  usher 
and  the  cook. 

Some  few  French  people  are  there  already,  preparing  to 
be  ill — ( I shall  never  forget  a dreadful  sight  I once  had  in 
the  little  dark,  dirty,  six-foot  cabin  of  a Dover  steamer. 
Four  gaunt  Frenchmen,  but  for  their  pantaloons,  in  the  cos- 
tume of  Adam  in  Paradise,  solemnly  annomting  themselves 
with  some  charm  against  sea-sickness)!  — a few  French 
men  are  there,  but  these,  for  the  most  part,  and  with  a 
proper  philosophy,  go  to  the  fore-cabin  of  the  ship,  and 
you  see  them  on  the  fore-deck  ( is  that  the  name  for  that 
part  of  the  vessel  which  is  in  the  region  of  the  bowsprit ) ? 
lowering  in  huge  cloaks  and  caps ; snuffy,  wretched,  pale 
and  wet ; and  not  jabbering  now,  as  their  wont  is  on  shore. 
I never  could  fancy  the  Mounseers  formidable  at  sea. 

There  are,  of  course,  many  Jews  on  board.  Who  ever 
travelled  by  steamboat,  coach,  diligence,  eilwagen,  vetturino, 
mule-back,  or  sledge,  without  meeting  some  of  the  wander- 
ing race  ? 

By  the  time  these  remarks  have  been  made  the  steward  is 
on  the  deck  again,  and  dinner  is  ready  ; and  about  two  hours 
after  dinner  comes  tea ; and  then  there  is  brandy-and-water, 
which  he  eagerly  presses  as  a preventive  against  what  may 
happen ; and  about  this  time  you  pass  the  Foreland,  the 
wind  blowing  pretty  fresh ; and  the  groups  on  deck  disap- 
pear, and  your  wife,  giving  you  an  alarmed  look,  descends, 
with  her  little  ones,  to  the  ladies’  cabin,  and  you  see  the 
steward  and  his  boys  issuing  from  their  den  under  the 
paddle-box,  with  each  a heap  of  round  tin  vases,  like  those 
which  are  called,  I believe,  in  America,  expectoratoons , only 
these  are  larger. 

The  wind  blows,  the  water  looks  greener  and  more  beau- 
tiful than  ever  — ridge  by  ridge  of  long  white  rock  passes 


AN  INVASION  OF  FRANCE. 


5 


away.  “ That’s  Ramsgit,”  says  a man  at  the  helm ; and, 
presently,  “ That  there’s  Deal  — it’s  dreadful  fallen  off 
since  the  war  ; ” and  “ That’s  Dover,  round  that  there  pint, 
only  you  can’t  see  it.”  And,  in  the  meantime,  the  sun  has 
plumped  his  hot  face  into  the  water,  and  the  moon  has 
shown  hers  as  soon  as  ever  his  back  is  turned,  and  Mrs.  — 
(the  wife  in  general),  has  brought  up  her  children  and  self 
from  the  horrid  cabin,  in  which  she  says  it  is  impossible  to 
breathe ; and  the  poor  little  wretches  are,  by  the  officious 
stewardess  and  smart  steward  (expectoratoonifer),  accom- 
modated with  a heap  of  blankets,  pillows  and  mattresses, 
in  the  midst  of  which  they  crawl,  as  best  they  may,  and 
from  the  heaving  heap  of  which  are,  during  the  rest  of  the 
voyage,  heard  occasional  faint  cries,  and  sounds  of  puking 
woe ! 

Dear,  dear  Maria ! Is  this  the  woman  who,  anon,  braved 
the  jeers  and  brutal  wrath  of  swindling  hackney-coachmen  ; 
who  repelled  the  insolence  of  haggling  porters,  with  a scorn 
that  brought  down  their  demands  at  least  eighteenpence  ? 
Is  this  the  woman  at  whose  voice  servants  tremble ; at  the 
sound  of  whose  steps  the  nursery,  ay,  and  mayhap  the 
parlor,  is  in  order  ? Look  at  her  now,  prostrate,  prostrate 
— no  strength  has  she  to  speak,  scarce  power  to  push  to 
her  youngest  one  — her  suffering,  struggling  Rosa,  — to 
push  to  her  the  — the  instrumentoon  ! 

In  the  midst  of  all  these  throes  and  agonies,  at  which  all 
the  passengers,  who  have  their  own  woes  (you  yourself  — 
for  how  can  you  help  them  ? — you  are  on  your  back  on  a 
bench,  and  if  you  move  all  is  up  with  you),  are  looking  on 
indifferent  — one  man  there  is  who  has  been  watching  you 
with  the  utmost  care,  and  bestowing  on  your  helpless 
family  the  tenderness  that  a father  denies  them.  He  is  a 
foreigner,  and  you  have  been  conversing  with  him,  in  the 
course  of  the  morning,  in  French  — which,  he  says,  you 
speak  remarkably  well,  like  a native  in  fact,  and  then  in 
English  (which,  after  all,  you  find  is  more  convenient). 
What  can  express  your  gratitude  to  this  gentleman  for  all 
his  goodness  towards  your  family  and  yourself — you  talk 
to  him,  he  has  served  under  the  Emperor,  and  is,  for  all 
that,  sensible,  modest,  and  well-informed.  He  speaks,  in- 
deed, of  his  countrymen  almost  with  contempt,  and  readily 
admits  the  superiority  of  a Briton,  on  the  seas  and  else- 
where. One  loves  to  meet  with  such  genuine  liberality  in 
a foreigner,  and  respects  the  man  who  can  sacrifice  vanity 


6 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK. 


to  truth.  This  distinguished  foreigner  has  travelled  much; 
he  asks  whither  you  are  going  ? — where  you  stop  ? if  you 
have  a great  quantity  of  luggage  on  board  ? — and  laughs 
when  he  hears  of  the  twenty-seven  packages,  and  hopes 
you  have  some  friend  at  the  custom-house,  who  can  spare 
you  the  monstrous  trouble  of  unpacking  that  which  has 
taken  you  weeks  to  put  up.  Nine,  ten,  eleven,  the  dis- 
tinguished foreigner  is  ever  at  your  side  ; you  find  him  now, 
perhaps,  (with  characteristic  ingratitude),  something  of  a 
bore,  but,  at  least,  he  has  been  most  tender  to  the  children 
and  their  mamma.  At  last  a Boulogne  light  comes  in  sight, 
(you  see  it  over  the  bows  of  the  vessel,  when,  having 
bobbed  violently  upwards,  it  sinks  swiftly  down),  Boulogne 
harbor  is  in  sight,  and  the  foreigner  says, — 

The  distinguished  foreigner  says,  says  he  — “ Sare,  eef 
you  af  no  ’otel,  I sail  recommend  you,  milor,  to  ze  ’Otel 
Betfort,  in  ze  Quay,  sare,  close  to  the  bathing-machines  and 
custom-haoose.  Good  bets  and  fine  garten,  sare;  table- 
d’hote,  sare,  a cinq  heures ; breakfast,  sare,  in  French  or 
English  style ; — I am  the  commissionaire,  sare,  and  vill 
see  to  your  loggish.” 

. . . Curse  the  fellow,  for  an  impudent,  swindling,  sneak- 
ing French  humbug!  — Your  tone  instantly  changes,  and 
you  tell  him  to  go  about  his  business : but  at  twelve  o’clock 
at  night,  when  the  voyage  is  over,  and  the  custom-house 
business  done,  knowing  not  whither  to  go,  with  a wife  and 
fourteen  exhausted  children,  scarce  able  to  stand,  and  long- 
ing for  bed,  you  find  yourself,  somehow,  in  the  Hotel  Bed- 
ford (and  you  can’t  be  better),  and  smiling  chambermaids 
carry  off  your  children  to  snug  beds  ; while  smart  waiters 
produce  for  your  honor  — a cold  fowl,  say,  and  a salad, 
and  a bottle  of  Bordeaux  and  Seltzer-water. 

The  morning  conies  — I don’t  know  a pleasanter  feeling 
than  that  of  waking  with  the  sun  shining  on  objects  quite 
new,  and  (although  you  have  made  the  voyage  a dozen 
times),  quite  strange.  Mrs.  X.  and  you  occupy  a very  light 
bed,  which  has  a tall  canopy  of  red  “percale  ; ” the  windows 
are  smartly  draped  with  cheap  gaudy  calicoes  and  muslins ; 
there  are  little  mean  strips  of  carpet  about  the  tiled  floor 
of  the  room,  and  yet  all  seems  as  gay  and  as  comfortable  as 
may  be  — the  sun  shines  brighter  than  you  have  seen  it  for 
a year,  the  sky  is  a thousand  times  bluer,  and  what  a cheery 
clatter  of  shrill  quick  French  voices  comes  up  from  the 


AN  INVASION  OF  FRANCK . 


court-yard  under  the  windows ! Bells  are  jangling ; a 
family,  mayhap,  is  going  to  Paris,  en  poste , and  wondrous 
is  the  jabber  of  the  courier,  the  postilion,  the  inn  waiters, 
and  the  lookers-on.  The  landlord  calls  out  for  “Quatre 
biftecks  aux  pommes  pour  le  trente-trois,” — (0  my  country- 
men, I love  your  tastes  and  your  ways)  ! — the  chamber- 
maid is  laughing  and  says,  “Finissez  done,  Monsieur 
Pierre  ! ” (what  can  they  be  about )?  • — a fat  Englishman  has 
opened  his  window  violently,  and  says,  “ Dee  dong,  garsong, 
vooly  voo  me  donny  lo  sho,  on  vooly  voo  pah  ? ” He  has 
been  ringing  for  half  an  hour  — the  last  energetic  appeal 
succeeds,  and  shortly  he  is  enabled  to  descend  to  the  coffee- 
room,  where,  with  three  hot  rolls,  grilled  ham,  cold  fowl, 
and  four  boiled  eggs,  he  makes  what  he  calls  his  first  French 
breakfast. 

It  is  a strange,  mongrel,  merry  place,  this  town  of  Bou- 
logne ; the  little  French  fishermen’s  children  are  beautiful, 
and  the  little  French  soldiers,  four  feet  high,  red-breeched, 
with  huge  pompons  on  their  caps,  and  brown  faces,  and 
clear  sharp  eyes,  look,  for  all  their  littleness,  far  more  mili- 
tary and  more  intelligent  than  the  heavy  louts  one  has  seen 
swaggering  about  the  garrison  towns  in  England.  Yonder 
go  a crowd  of  bare-legged  fishermen ; there  is  the  town  idiot, 
mocking  a woman  who  is  screaming  “ Fleuve  du  Tage,”  at 
an  inn-window,  to  a harp,  and  there  are  the  little  gamins 
mocking  him.  Lo  ! these  seven  young  ladies,  with  red  hair 
and  green  veils,  they  are  from  neighboring  Albion,  and 
going  to  bathe.  Here  come  three  Englishmen,  habitues 
evidently  of  the  place, — dandy  specimens  of  our  country- 
men : one  wears  a marine  dress,  another  has  a shooting  dress, 
a third  has  a blouse  and  a pair  of  guiltless  spurs  — all  have 
as  much  hair  on  the  face  as  nature  or  art  can  supply,  and 
all  wear  their  hats  very  much  on  one  side.  Believe  me, 
there  is  on  the  face  of  this  world  no  scamp  like  an  English 
one,  no  blackguard  like  one  of  these  half-gentlemen,  so  mean, 
so  low,  so  vulgar, — so  ludicrously  ignorant  and  conceited, 
so  desperately  heartless  and  depraved. 

But  why,  my  dear  sir,  get  into  a passion  ? — Take  things 
coolly.  As  the  poet  has  observed,  “ Those  only  is  gentle- 
men who  behave  as  sich ; ” with  such,  then,  consort,  be 
they  cobblers  or  dukes.  Don’t  give  us,  cries  the  patriotic 
reader,  any  abuse  of  our  fellow-countrymen  (anybody  else 
can  do  that),  but  rather  continue  in  that  good-humored, 
facetious,  descriptive  style  with  which  your  letter  has  com- 


8 


THE  PARTS  SKETCH  BOOK . 


menced.  — Your  remark,  sir,  is  perfectly  just,  and  does 
honor  to  your  head  and  excellent  heart. 

There  is  little  need  to  give  a description  of  the  good 
town  of  Boulogne,  which,  haute  and  basse,  with  the  new 
light-house  and  the  new  harbor,  and  the  gas-lamps,  and 
the  manufactures,  and  the  convents,  and  the  number  of 
English  and  French  residents,  and  the  pillar  erected  in 
honor  of  the  grand  Armee  d'  Angleterre,  so  called  because 
it  didn't  go  to  England,  have  all  been  excellently  described 
by  the  facetious  Coglan,  the  learned  Dr.  Millingen,  and  by 
innumerable  guide-books  besides.  A fine  thing  it  is  to  hear 
the  stout  old  Frenchmen  of  Napoleon's  time  argue  how 
that  audacious  Corsican  would  have  marched  to  London, 
after  swallowing  Nelson  and  all  his  gun-boats,  but  for  cette 
malheureuse  guerre  d'Espagne  and  cette  glorieuse  campagne 
d'Autriche , which  the  gold  of  Pitt  caused  to  be  raised  at 
the  Emperor's  tail,  in  order  to  call  him  off  from  the  helpless 
country  in  his  front.  Some  Frenchmen  go  farther  still,  and 
vow  that  in  Spain  they  were  never  beaten  at  all ; indeed,  if 
you  read  in  the  Biographie  des  Hommes  du  Jour , article 
“Soult,"  you  will  fancy  that,  with  the  exception  of  the 
disaster  at  Yittoria,  the  campaigns  in  Spain  and  Portugal 
were  a series  of  triumphs.  Only,  by  looking  at  a map,  it  is 
observable  that  Vimeiro  is  a mortal  long  way  from  Toulouse, 
where,  at  the  end  of  certain  years  of  victories,  we  somehow 
find  the  honest  Marshal.  And  what  then  ? — he  went  to 
Toulouse  for  the  purpose  of  beating  the  English  there,  to 
be  sure ; — a known  fact,  on  which  comment  would  be 
superfluous.  However,  we  shall  never  get  to  Paris  at  this 
rate ; let  us  break  off  further  palaver,  and  away  at  once.  . . 

(During  this  pause,  the  ingenious  reader  is  kindly 
requested  to  pay  his  bill  at  the  Hotel  at  Boulogne,  to  mount 
the  Diligence  of  Laffitte,  Caillard  and  Company,  and  to 
travel  for  twenty-five  hours,  amidst  much  jingling  of 
harness-bells  and  screaming  of  postilions). 

The  French  milliner,  who  occupies  one  of  the  corners, 
begins  to  remove  the  greasy  pieces  of  paper  which  have 
enveloped  her  locks  during  the  journey.  She  withdraws 
the  “Madras"  of  dubious  hue  which  has  bound  her  head 
for  the  last  five-and-twenty  hours,  and  replaces  it  by  the 
black  velvet  bonnet,  which,  bobbing  against  your  nose,  has 
hung  from  the  Diligence  roof  since  your  departure  from 
Boulogne.  The  old  lady  in  the  opposite  corner,  who  has 


AN  INVASION  OF  FRANCE . 


9 


been  sucking  bonbons,  and  smells  dreadfully  of  anisette, 
arranges  her  little  parcels  in  that  immense  basket  of 
abominations  which  all  old  women  carry  in  their  laps.  She 
rubs  her  mouth  and  eyes  with  her  dusty  cambric  hand- 
kerchief, she  ties  up  her  nightcap  into  a little  bundle,  and 
replaces  it  by  a more  becoming  head-piece,  covered  with 
withered  artificial  flowers,  and  crumpled  tags  of  ribbon  ; she 
looks  wistfully  at  the  company  for  an  instant,  and  then 
places  her  handkerchief  before  her  mouth : — her  eyes  roll 
strangely  about  for  an  instant,  and  you  hear  a faint  clatter 
ing  noise : the  old  lady  has  been  getting  ready  her  teeth, 
which  had  lain  in  her  basket  among  the  bonbons,  pins, 
oranges,  pomatum,  bits  of  cake,  lozenges,  prayer-books, 
peppermint- water,  copper  money,  and  false  hair  — stowed 
away  there  during  the  voyage.  The  Jewish  gentleman, 
who  has  been  so  attentive  to  the  milliner  during  the  journey, 
and  is  a traveller  and  bagman  by  profession,  gathers  to- 
gether his  various  goods.  The  sallow-faced  English  lad, 
who  has  been  drunk  ever  since  we  left  Boulogne  yesterday, 
and  is  coming  to  Paris  to  pursue  the  study  of  medicine, 
swears  that  he  rejoices  to  leave  the  cursed  Diligence,  is 
sick  of  the  infernal  journey,  and  d — d glad  that  the  d — d 
voyage  is  so  nearly  over.  “ Enjin /”  says  your  neighbor, 
yawning,  and  inserting  an  elbow  into  the  mouth  of  his 
right  and  left  hand  companion,  “ nous  voilcl.  ” 

Nous  Voila  ! — We  are  at  Paris  ! This  must  account  for 
the  removal  of  the  milliner’s  curl-papers,  and  the  fixing  of 
the  old  lady’s  teeth!  — Since  the  last  relais , the  Diligence 
has  been  travelling  with  extraordinary  speed.  The  pos- 
tilion cracks  his  terrible  whip,  and  screams  shrilly.  The 
conductor  blows  incessantly  on  his  horn,  the  bells  of  the 
harness,  the  bumping  and  ringing  of  the  wheels  and  chains, 
and  the  clatter  of  the  great  hoofs  of  the  heavy  snorting 
Norman  stallions,  have  wondrously  increased  within  this, 
the  last  ten  minutes ; and  the  Diligence,  which  has  been 
proceeding  hitherto  at  the  rate  of  a league  in  an  hour,  now 
dashes  gallantly  forward,  as  if  it  would  traverse  at  least 
six  miles  in  the  same  space  of  time.  Thus  it  is,  when  Sir 
Kobert  maketh  a speech  at  Saint  Stephen’s  — he  useth  his 
strength  at  the  beginning,  only,  and  the  end.  He  gallopetli 
at  the  commencement ; in  the  middle  he  lingers ; at  the 
close,  again,  he  rouses  the  House,  which  has  fallen  asleep ; 
he  cracketli  the  whip  of  his  satire ; he  shouts  the  shout  of 
his  patriotism ; and,  urging  his  eloquence  to  its  roughest 


10 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK 


canter,  awakens  the  sleepers,  and  inspires  the  weary,  until 
men  say,  What  a wondrous  orator  ! What  a capital  coach  ! 
We  will  ride  henceforth  in  it,  and  in  no  other  ! 

But,  behold  us  at  Paris ! The  Diligence  has  reached  a 
rude-looking  gate,  or  grille , flanked  by  two  lodges;  the 
French  Kings  of  old  made  their  entry  by  this  gate ; some 
of  the  hottest  battles  of  the  late  revolution  were  fought 
before  it.  At  present,  it  is  blocked  by  carts  and  peasants, 
and  a busy  crowd  of  men,  in  green,  examining  the  packages 
before  they  enter,  probing  the  straw  with  long  needles.  It 
is  the  Barrier  of  St.  Denis,  and  the  green  men  are  the 
customs’-men  of  the  city  of  Paris.  If  you  are  a country- 
man, who  would  introduce  a cow  into  the  metropolis,  the 
city  demands  twenty-four  francs  for  such  a privilege : if 
you  have  a hundred-weight  of  tallow-candles,  you  must, 
previously,  disburse  three  francs : if  a drove  of  hogs,  nine 
francs  per  whole  hog : but  upon  these  subjects  Mr.  Bulwer, 
Mrs.  Trollope,  and  other  writers,  have  already  enlightened 
the  public.  In  the  present  instance,  after  a momentary 
pause,  one  of  the  men  in  green  mounts  by  the  side  of  the 
conductor,  and  the  ponderous  vehicle  pursues  its  journey. 

The  street  which  we  enter,  that  of  the  Faubourg  St. 
Denis,  presents  a strange  contrast  to  the  dark  uniformity 
of  a London  street,  where  everything,  in  the  dingy  and 
smoky  atmosphere,  looks  as  though  it  were  painted  in 
India-ink  — black  houses,  black  passengers,  and  black  sky. 
Here,  on  the  contrary,  is  a thousand  times  more  life  and 
color.  Before  you,  shining  in  the  sun,  is  a long  glistening 
line  of  gutter , — not  a very  pleasing  object  in  a city,  but  in 
a picture  invaluable.  On  each  side  are  houses  of  all  dimen- 
sions and  hues ; some  of  but  one  story ; some  as  high  as 
the  tower  of  Babel.  From  these  the  haberdashers  ( and 
this  is  their  favorite  street)  flaunt  long  strips  of  gaudy 
calicoes,  which  give  a strange  air  of  rude  gayety  to  the 
street.  Milk-women,  with  a little  crowd  of  gossips  round 
each,  are,  at  this  early  hour  of  morning,  selling  the  chief 
material  of  the  Parisian  cafe-au-lait.  Gay  wine-shops, 
painted  red,  and  smartly  decorated  with  vines  and  gilded 
railings,  are  filled  with  workmen  taking  their  morning’s 
draught.  That  gloomy-looking  prison  on  your  right  is  a 
prison  for  women  ; once  it  was  a convent  for  Lazarists  : a 
thousand  unfortunate  individuals  of  the  softer  sex  now 
occupy  that  mansion : they  bake,  as  we  find  in  the  guide- 
books, the  bread  of  all  the  other  prisons ; they  mend  and 


AN  INVASION  OF  FRANCE . 


11 


wash  the  shirts  and  stockings  of  all  the  other  prisoners ; 
they  make  hooks-and-eyes  and  pliosphorus-boxes,  and  they 
attend  chapel  every  Sunday : — if  occupation  can  help 
them,  sure  they  have  enough  of  it.  Was  it  not  a great 
stroke  of  the  legislature  to  superintend  the  morals  and 
linen  at  once,  and  thus  keep  these  poor  creatures  con- 
tinually mending  ? — But  we  have  passed  the  prison  long 
ago,  and  are  at  the  Port  St.  Denis  itself. 

There  is  only  time  to  take  a hasty  glance  as  we  pass : it 
commemorates  some  of  the  wonderful  feats  of  arms  of  Lu- 
dovicus  Magnus,  and  abounds  in  ponderous  allegories  — 
nymphs,  and  river-gods,  and  pyramids  crowned  with  fleurs- 
de-lis  ; Louis  passing  over  the  Rhine  in  triumph,  and  the 
Dutch  Lion  giving  up  the  ghost  in  the  year  of  our  Lord 
1672.  The  Dutch  Lion  revived,  and  overcame  the  man 
some  years  afterwards ; but  of  this  fact,  singularly  enough, 
the  inscriptions  make  no  mention.  Passing,  then,  round 
the  gate,  and  not  under  it  (after  the  general  custom,  in 
respect  of  triumphal  arches),  you  cross  the  boulevard,  which 
gives  a glimpse  of  trees  and  sunshine,  and  gleaming  white 
buildings ; then,  dashing  down  the  Rue  de  Bourbon  Ville- 
neuve,  a dirty  street,  which  seems  interminable,  and  the 
Rue  St.  Eustache,  the  conductor  gives  a last  blast  on  his 
horn,  and  the  great  vehicle  clatters  into  the  court-yard, 
where  the  journey  is  destined  to  conclude. 

If  there  was  a noise  before  of  screaming  postilions  and 
cracked  horns,  it  was  nothing  to  the  Babel-like  clatter  which 
greets  us  now.  We  are  in  a great  court,  which  Hajji  Baba 
would  call  the  father  of  Diligences.  Half  a dozen  other 
coaches  arrive  at  the  same  minute  — no  light  affairs,  like 
your  English  vehicles,  but  ponderous  machines,  containing 
fifteen  passengers  inside,  more  in  the  cabriolet,  and  vast 
towers  of  luggage  on  the  roof : others  are  loading  : the  yard 
is  filled  with  passengers  coming  or  departing;  — bustling 
porters  and  screaming  commissionaires.  These  latter  seize 
you  as  you  descend  from  your  place,  — twenty  cards  are 
thrust  into  your  hand,  and  as  many  voices,  jabbering  with 
inconceivable  swiftness,  shriek  into  your  ear,  “Dis  way, 
sare ; are  you  for  ze  * ?Otel  of  Rhin  ? ’ ‘ Hotel  de  V Amlr- 
aute  ! — 6 Hotel  Bristol, ? sare  ! — Monsieur , ‘ V Hotel  de 
Lille  ? ’ Saer-rrre  ’ nom  de  JDieu , laissez  passer  ce  petit , 
Monsieur  ! Ow  mosh  loggish  ave  you,  sare  ? ” 

And  now,  if  you  are  a stranger  in  Paris,  listen  to  the  words 
of  Titmarsh.  — If  you  cannot  speak  a syllable  of  French, 


12 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK 


and  love  English  comfort,  clean  rooms,  breakfasts,  and  wait- 
ers ; if  you  would  have  plentiful  dinners,  and  are  not  par- 
ticular (as  how  should  you  be  )?  concerning  wine ; if,  in 
this  foreign  country,  you  will  have  your  English  compan- 
ions, your  porter,  your  friend,  and  your  brandy-and-water 
— do  not  listen  to  any  of  these  commissioner  fellows,  but 
with  your  best  English  accent,  shout  out  boldly,  “Meur- 
ice  ! ” and  straightway  a man  will  step  forward  to  conduct 
you  to  the  Rue  de  Rivoli. 

Here  you  will  find  apartments  at  any  price : a very  neat 
room,  for  instance,  for  three  francs  daily ; an  English 
breakfast  of  eternal  boiled  eggs,  or  grilled  ham ; a non- 
descript dinner,  profuse  but  cold  ; and  a society  which  will 
rejoice  your  heart.  Here  are  young  gentlemen  from  the 


universities  ; young  merchants  on  a lark ; large  families  of 
nine  daughters,  with  fat  father  and  mother ; officers  of 
dragoons,  and  lawyers’  clerks.  The  last  time  we  dined  at 
“ Meurice’s  ” we  hobbed  and  nobbed  with  no  less  a person 
than  Mr.  Moses,  the  celebrated  bailiff  of  Chancery  Lane ; 
Lord  Brougham  was  on  his  right,  and  a clergyman’s  lady, 
with  a train  of  white-haired  girls,  sat  on  his  left,  wonder- 
fully taken  with  the  diamond  rings  of  the  fascinating 
stranger ! 

It  is,  as  you  will  perceive,  an  admirable  way  to  see 
Paris,  especially  if  you  spend  your  days  reading  the 
English  papers  at  Galignani’s,  as  many  of  our  foreign 
tourists  do. 

But  all  this  is  promiscuous,  and  not  to  the  purpose.  If, 


AN  INVASION  OF  FRANCE . 


13 


— to  continue  on  the  subject  of  hotel  choosing,  — if  you 
love  quiet,  heavy  bills,  and  the  best  table-d?  hote  in  the  city, 
go,  0 stranger  ! to  the  “ Hotel  des  Princes ; ” it  is  close  to 
the  Boulevard,  and  convenient  for  Frascati’s.  The  “ Hotel 
Mirabeau  ” possesses  scarcely  less  attraction ; but  of  this 
you  will  find,  in  Mr.  Bulwer’s  “ Autobiography  of  Pelham,” 
a faithful  and  complete  account.  “ Lawson’s  Hotel  ” has 
likewise  its  merits,  as  also  the  “ Hotel  de  Lille,”  which 
may  be  described  as  a “ second  chop  ” Meurice. 

If  you  are  a poor  student  come  to  study  the  humanities, 
or  the  pleasant  art  of  amputation,  cross  the  water  forth- 
with, and  proceed  to  the  “ Hotel  Corneille,”  near  the 
Odeon,  or  others  of  its  species  ; there  are  many  where  you 
can  live  royally  ( until  you  economize  by  going  into  lodg- 
ings ) on  four  francs  a day ; and  where,  if  by  any  strange 
chance  you  are  desirous  for  a while  to  get  rid  of  your 
countrymen,  you  will  find  that  they  scarcely  ever  pen- 
etrate. 

But  above  all,  0 my  countrymen ! shun  boarding-houses, 
especially  if  you  have  ladies  in  your  train  ; or  ponder  well, 
and  examine  the  characters  of  the  keepers  thereof,  before 
you  lead  your  innocent  daughters,  and  their  mamma,  into 
places  so  dangerous.  In  the  first  place  you  have  bad 
dinners ; and,  secondly,  bad  company.  If  you  play  cards, 
you  are  very  likely  playing  with  a swindler ; if  you  dance, 

you  dance  with  a person  with  whom  you  had  better 

have  nothing  to  do. 

Note  (which  ladies  are  requested  not  to  read). — In  one  of  these 
establishments,  daily  advertised  as  most  eligible  for  Phiglish,  a friend 
of  the  writer  lived.  A lady,  who  had  passed  for  some  time  as  the  wife 
of  one  of  the  inmates,  suddenly  changed  her  husband  and  name,  her 
original  husband  remaining  in  the  house,  and  saluting  her  by  her  new 
title. 


A 

CAUTION  TO  TRAVELLERS. 


MILLION  dangers  and 
snares  await  the  traveller, 
as  soon  as  he  issues  out  of 
t that  vast  messagerie  which 
we  have  just  quitted : and 
as  each  man  cannot  do 
better  than  relate  such 
events  as  have  happened 
in  the  course  of  his  own 
experience,  and  may  keep 
the  unwary  from  the  path 
of  danger,  let  us  take  this, 
the  very  earliest  opportu- 
nity, of  imparting  to  the 
public  a little  of  the  wis- 
dom which  we  painfully 
have  acquired. 

And  first,  then,  with  regard  to  the  city  of  Paris,  it  is  to 
be  remarked,  that  in  that  metropolis  flourish  a greater 
number  of  native  and  exotic  swindlers  than  are  to  be  found 
in  any  other  European  nursery.  What  young  Englishman 
that  visits  it,  but  has  not  determined,  in  his  heart,  to  have 
a little  share  of  the  gayeties  that  go  on — just  for  once,  just 
to  see  what  they  are  like  ? How  many,  when  the  horrible 
gambling  dens  were  open,  did  resist  a sight  of  them  ? — 
nay,  was  not  a young  fellow  rather  flattered  by  a dinner 
invitation  from  the  Salon,  whither  he  went,  fondly  pre- 
tending that  he  should  see  “French  society,”  in  the  persons 
of  certain  Dukes  and  Counts  who  used  to  frequent  the 
place  ? 

My  friend  Pogson  is  a young  fellow,  not  much  worse, 
although  perhaps  a little  weaker  and  simpler  than  his 
neighbors;  and  coming  to  Paris  with  exactly  the  same 
notions  that  bring  many  others  of  the  British  youth  to  that 

14 


A CAUTION  TO  TRAVELLERS. 


lo 


capital,  events  befell  him  there,  last  winter,  which  are 
strictly  true,  and  shall  here  be  narrated,  by  way  of  warn- 
ing to  all. 

Pog,  it  must  be  premised,  is  a city  man,  who  travels  in 
drugs  for  a couple  of  the  best  London  houses,  blows  the 
flute,  has  an  album,  drives  his  own  gig,  and  is  considered, 
both  on  the  road  and  in  the  metropolis,  a remarkably  nice, 
intelligent,  thriving  young  man.  Pogson’s  only  fault  is 
too  great  an  attachment  to  the  fair : — “ the  sex,”  as  he  says 
often,  “will  be  his  ruin:  ” the  fact  is,  that  Pog  never  travels 
without  a “ Don  Juan”  under  his  driving  cushion,  and  is  a 
pretty-looking  young  fellow  enough. 

Sam  Pogson  had  occasion  to  visit  Paris,  last  October ; 
and  it  was  in  that  city  that  his  love  of  the  sex  had  liked  to 
have  cost  him  dear.  He  worked  his  way  down  to  Dover; 
placing,  right  and  left,  at  the  towns  on  his  route,  rhubarb, 
sodas,  and  other  such  delectable  wares  as  his  masters  dealt 
in  ( “ the  sweetest  sample  of  castor  oil,  smelt  like  a nose- 
gay— went  off  like  wildfire  — hogshead  and  a half  at  Eoch- 
ester,  eight  and  twenty  gallons  at  Canterbury,”  and  so  on), 
and  crossed  to  Calais,  and  thence  voyaged  to  Paris  in  the 
coupe  of  the  Diligence.  He  paid  for  two  places,  too, 
although  a single  man,  and  the  reason  shall  now  be  made 
known. 

Dining  at  the  table-d9 Jiote  at  “ Quillacq’s  ” — it  is  the 
best  inn  on  the  Continent  of  Europe  — our  little  traveller 
had  the  happiness  to  be  placed  next  to  a lady,  who  was,  he 
saw  at  a glance,  one  of  the  extreme  pink  of  nobility.  A 
large  lady,  in  black  satin,  with  eyes  and  hair  as  black  as 
sloes,  with  gold  chains,  scent-bottles,  sable  tippet,  worked 
pocket-handkerchief,  and  four  twinkling  rings  on  each  of 
her  plump  white  fingers.  Her  cheeks  were  as  pink  as  the 
finest  Chinese  rouge  could  make  them.  Pog  knew  the 
article  : he  travelled  in  it.  Her  lips  were  as  red  as  the 
ruby  lip  salve  : she  used  the  very  best,  that  was  clear. 

She  was  a fine-looking  woman,  certainly  ( holding  down 
her  eyes,  and  talking  perpetually  of  “ vies  trente-deux 
arts  ” ) ; and  Pogson,  the  wicked  young  dog,  who  professed 
not  to  care  for  young  misses,  saying  they  smelt  so  of  bread- 
and-butter,  declared,  at  once,  that  the  lady  was  one  of  his 
beauties ; in  fact,  when  he  spoke  to  us  about  her,  he  said, 
“ She’s  a slap-up  thing,  I tell  you  ; a reg’lar  good  one ; one 
of  my  sort ! ” And  such  was  Pogson’s  credit  in  all  com- 
mercial rooms,  that  one  of  his  sort  was  considered  to 
surpass  all  other  sorts. 


1G 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK. 


During  dinner-time,  Mr.  Pogson  was  profoundly  polite 
and  attentive  to  the  lady  at  his  side,  and  kindly  communi- 
cated to  her,  as  is  the  way  with  the  best-bred  English  on 
their  first  arrival  “on  the  Continent,”  all  his  impressions 
regarding  the  sights  and  persons  he  had  seen.  Such 
remarks  having  been  made  during  half  an  hour’s  ramble 
about  the  ramparts  and  town,  and  in  the  course  of  a walk 
down  to  the  custom-house,  and  a confidential  communica- 
tion with  the  commissionaire , must  be,  doubtless,  very 
valuable  to  Frenchmen  in  their  own  country ; and  the  lady 
listened  to  Pogson’s  opinions : not  only  with  benevolent 
attention,  but  actually,  she  said,  with  pleasure  and  delight. 
Mr.  Pogson  said  that  there  was  no  such  thing  as  good  meat 
in  France,  and  that’s  why  they  cooked  their  victuals  in  this 
queer  way ; he  had  seen  many  soldiers  parading  about  the 
place,  and  expressed  a true  Englishman’s  abhorrence  of  an 
armed  force;  not  that  he  feared  such  fellows  as  these  — 
little  whipper-snappers  — our  men  would  eat  them.  Here- 
upon the  lady  admitted  that  our  Guards  were  angels,  but 
that  Monsieur  must  not  be  too  hard  upon  the  French  ; “ her 
father  was  a General  of  the  Emperor.” 

Pogson  felt  a tremendous  respect  for  himself  at  the 
notion  that  he  was  dining  with  a General’s  daughter,  and 
instantly  ordered  a bottle  of  champagne  to  keep  up  his 
consequence. 

“ Mrs.  Bironn,  ma’am,”  said  he,  for  he  had  heard  the 
waiter  call  her  by  some  such  name,  “if  you  will  accept  a 
glass  of  champagne,  ma’am,  you’ll  do  me,  I’m  sure,  a great 
Aonor  : they  say  it’s  very  good,  and  a precious  sight  cheaper 
than  it  is  on  our  side  of  the  way,  too  — not  that  I care  for 
money.  Mrs.  Bironn,  ma’am,  your  health,  ma’am.” 

The  lady  smiled  very  graciously,  and  drank  the  wine. 

“ Har  you  any  relation,  ma’am,  if  I may  make  so  bold ; 
liar  you  anyways  connected  with  the  family  of  our  immor- 
tal bard  ? ” 

“ Sir,  I beg  your  pardon.” 

“ Don’t  mention  it,  ma’am  : but  Bironn  and  Byron  are 
hevidently  the  same  names,  only  you  pronounce  in  the 
French  way ; and  I thought  you  might  be  related  to  his 
lordship  : his  horigin,  ma’am,  was  of  French  extraction : ” 
and  here  Pogson  began  to  repeat, — 

“ Hare  thy  heyes  like  thy  mother’s,  my  fair  child, 

Hada!  sole  daughter  of  my  ’ouse  and  ’art  ? 

“ Oh ! ” said  the  lady,  laughing,  “ you  speak  of  Lor 
Byron  ? ” 


A CAUTION  TO  TRAVELLERS. 


17 


“Hautlior  of ‘Don  Juan/  6 Child  ’Arold,’  and  ‘Cain/a 
Mystery,”  said  Pogson  : — “ I do  ; and  hearing  the  waiter 
calling  you  Madam  la  Bironn,  took  the  liberty  of  hasking 
whether  you  were  connected  with  his  lordship ; that’s 
hall : ” and  my  friend  here  grew  dreadfully  red,  and  began 
twiddling  his  long  ringlets  in  his  lingers,  and  examining 
very  eagerly  the  contents  of  his  plate. 

“ Oh,  no  : Madame  la  Baronne  means  Mistress  Baroness  ; 
my  husband  was  Baron,  and  I am  Baroness.” 

“ What ! ’ave  I the  honor  — I beg  your  pardon,  ma’am 
— is  your  ladyship  a Baroness,  and  I not  know  it  ? pray 
excuse  me  for  calling  you  ma’am  ” 

The  Baroness  smiled  most  graciously  — with  such  a look 
as  Juno  cast  upon  unfortunate  Jupiter  when  she  wished  to 
gain  her  wicked  ends  upon  him — the  Baroness  smiled ; and, 
stealing  her  hand  into  a black  velvet  bag,  drew  from  it  an 
ivory  card-case,  and  from  the  ivory  card-case  extracted  a 
glazed  card,  printed  in  gold ; on  it  was  engraved  a coronet, 
and  under  the  coronet  the  words 


BARONNE  DE  FLORVAL-DELVAL, 

N3E  DE  MELVAL-NORVAL. 

Rue  Taitbout. 


The  grand  Pitt  diamond  — the  Queen’s  own  star  of  the 
garter  — a sample  of  otto-of-roses  at  a guinea  a drop,  would 
not  be  handled  more  curiously,  or  more  respectfully,  than 
this  porcelain  card  of  the  Baroness.  Trembling  he  put  it 
into  his  little  Bussia-leather  pocket-book  : and  when  he 
ventured  to  look  up,  and  saw  the  eyes  of  the  Baroness  de 
Florval-Delval,  nee  de  Melval-N orval,  gazing  upon  him  with 
friendly  and  serene  glances,  a thrill  of  pride  tingled  through 
Pogson’s  blood : he  felt  himself  to  be  the  very  happiest 
fellow  “ on  the  Continent.” 

But  Pogson  did  not,  for  some  time,  venture  to  resume 
that  sprightly  and  elegant  familiarity  which  generally 
forms  the  great  charm  of  his  conversation  : he  was  too 
much  frightened  at  the  presence  he  was  in,  and  contented 
himself  by  graceful  and  solemn  bows,  deep  attention,  and 
ejaculations  of  “Yes,  my  lady,”  and  “No,  your  ladyship,”  for 
2 


18 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK, 


some  minutes  after  the  discovery  had  been  made.  Pogson 
piqued  himself  on  his  breeding:  “I  hate  the  aristocracy/’ 


he  said,  “but  that’s  no  reason  why  I shouldn’t  behave 
like  a gentleman.” 

A surly,  silent  little  gentleman,  who  had  been  the  third 


A CAUTION  TO  TRAVELLERS . 


19 


at  the  ordinary,  and  would  take  no  part  either  in  the  con- 
versation or  in  Pogson’s  champagne,  now  took  up  his  hat, 
and,  grunting,  left  the  room,  when  the  happy  bagman  had 
the  delight  of  a tete-cl-tete.  The  Baroness  did  not  appear 
inclined  to  move  : it  was  cold ; a fire  was  comfortable,  and 
she  had  ordered  none  in  her  apartment.  Might  Pogson 
give  her  one  more  glass  of  champagne,  or  would  her  lady- 
ship prefer  “ something  hot.”  Her  ladyship  gravely  said, 
she  never  took  anything  hot.  “ Some  champagne,  then ; a 
leetle  drop  ? ” She  would ! she  would ! O gods ! how 
Pogson’ s hand  shook  as  he  filled  and  offered  her  the  glass ! 

What  took  place  during  the  rest  of  the  evening  had 
better  be  described  by  Mr.  Pogson  himself,  who  has  given 
us  permission  to  publish  his  letter. 

“Quillacq’s  Hotel  ( pronounced  Killyax),  Calais. 

“Dear  Tit,  — I arrived  at  Cally,  as  they  call  it,  this  day,  or,  rather, 
yesterday  ; for  it  is  past  midnight,  as  I sit  thinking  of  a wonderful  ad- 
venture that  has  just  befallen  me.  A woman  in  course  ; that’s  always 
the  case  with  me , you  know  : but  oh,  Tit!  if  you  could  but  see  her!  Of 
the  first  family  in  France,  the  Florval-Delvals,  beautiful  as  an  angel, 
and  no  more  caring  for  money  than  I do  for  split  peas. 

“ I’ll  tell  you  how  it  occurred.  Everybody  in  France,  you  know,  dines 
at  the  ordinary  — it’s  quite  distangy  to  do  so.  There  was  only  three  of 
us  to-day,  however,  — the  Baroness,  me,  and  a gent,  who  never  spoke  a 
word ; and  we  didn’t  want  him  to,  neither:  do  you  mark  that? 

“ You  know  my  way  with  the  women : champagne’s  the  thing;  make 
’em  drink,  make  ’em  talk  — - make  ’em  talk,  make  ’em  do  anything.  So  I 
orders  a bottle,  as  if  for  myself ; and,  ‘ Ma’am,’  says  I,  4 will  you  take  a 
glass  of  Sham  — just  one?  ’ Take  it  she  did  — for  you  know  it’s  quite 
distangy  here  : everybody  dines  at  the  table  de  hote , and  everybody  ac- 
cepts everybody’s  wine.  Bob  Irons,  who  travels  in  linen  on  our  circuit, 
told  me  that  he  had  made  some  slap-up  acquaintances  among  the  genteel- 
est  people  at  Paris,  nothing  but  by  offering  them  Sham. 

“ Well,  my  Baroness  takes  one  glass,  two  glasses,  three  glasses  — the 
old  fellow  goes  — we  have  a deal  of  chat  ( she  took  me  for  a military 
man,  she  said:  is  it  not  singular  that  so  many  people  should?),  and  by 
ten  o’clock  we  had  grown  so  intimate,  that  I had  from  her  her  whole 
history,  knew  where  she  came  from,  and  where  she  was  going.  Leave 
me  alone  with  ’em : I can  find  out  any  woman’s  history  in  half  an 
hour. 

“And  where  do  you  think  she  is  going?  to  Paris  to  be  sure : she  has 
her  seat  in  what  you  call  the  coopy  (though  you’re  not  near  so  cooped 
in  it  as  in  our  coaches.  I’ve  been  to  the  office  and  seen  one  of  ’em). 
She  has  her  place  in  the  coopy,  and  the  coopy  holds  three ; so  what  does 
Sam  Pogson  do?  — he  goes  and  takes  the  other  two.  Ain’t  I up  to  a 
thing  or  two  ? Oh,  no,  not  the  least ; but  I shall  have  her  to  myself 
the  whole  of  the  way. 

“We  shall  be  in  the  French  metropolis  the  day  after  this  reaches 
you:  please  look  out  for  a handsome  lodging  for  me,  and  never  mind 
the  expense.  And  I say,  if  you  could,  in  her  hearing,  when  you  came 


20 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK. 


down  to  the  coach,  call  me  Captain  Pogson,  I wish  you  would — it 
sounds  well  travelling,  you  know ; and  when  she  asked  me  if  I was 
not  an  officer,  I couldn’t  say  no.  Adieu,  then,  my  dear  fellow,  till 
Monday,  and  vive  le  joy,  as  they  say.  The  Baroness  says  I speak 
French  charmingly,  she  talks  English  as  well  as  you  or  I. 

“Your  affectionate  friend, 

“ S.  Pogson.” 

This  letter  reached  us  duly,  in  our  garrets,  and  we 
engaged  such  an  appartment  for  Mr.  Pogson,  as  beseemed 
a gentleman  of  his  rank  in  the  world  and  the  army.  At 
the  appointed  hour,  too,  we  repaired  to  the  Diligence  office, 
and  there  beheld  the  arrival  of  the  machine  which  con- 
tained him  and  his  lovely  Baroness. 

Those  who  have  much  frequented  the  society  of  gentle- 
men of  his  profession  (and  what  more  delightful)?  must  be 
aware,  that,  when  all  the  rest  of  mankind  look  hideous, 
dirty,  peevish,  wretched,  after  a forty  hours’  coach-journey, 
a bagman  appears  as  gay  and  spruce  as  when  he  started ; 
having  within  himself  a thousand  little  conveniences  for 
the  voyage,  which  common  travellers  neglect.  Pogson  had 
a little  portable  toilet,  of  which  he  had  not  failed  to  take 
advantage,  and  with  his  long,  curling,  flaxen  hair,  flowing 
under  a seal-skin  cap,  with  a gold  tassel,  with  a blue  and 
gold  satin  handkerchief,  a crimson  velvet  waistcoat,  a light 
green  cut-away  coat,  a pair  of  barred  brickdust-colored 
pantaloons,  and  a neat  mackintosh,  presented,  altogether,  as 
elegant  and  distingue  an  appearance  as  any  one  could  desire. 
He  had  put  on  a clean  collar  at  breakfast,  and  a pair  of  white 
kids  as  he  entered  the  barrier,  and  looked,  as  he  rushed 
into  my  arms,  more  like  a man  stepping  out  of  a band-box, 
than  one  descending  from  a vehicle  that  has  just  performed 
one  of  the  laziest,  dullest,  flattest,  stalest,  dirtiest  journeys 
in  Europe. 

To  my  surprise,  there  were  two  ladies  in  the  coach  with 
my  friend,  and  not  one , as  I had  expected.  One  of  these,  a 
stout  female,  carying  sundry  baskets,  bags,  umbrellas,  and 
woman’s  wraps,  was  evidently  a maid-servant : the  other,  in 
black,  was  Pogson’s  fair  one,  evidently.  I could  see  a 
gleam  of  curl-papers  over  a sallow  face,  — of  a dusky  night- 
cap flapping  over  the  curl-papers,  — but  these  were  hidden 
by  a lace  veil  and  a huge  velvet  bonnet,  of  which  the  crown- 
ing birds- of-paradise  were  evidently  in  a moulting  state. 
She  was  encased  in  many  shawls  and  wrappers;  she  put, 
hesitatingly,  a pretty  little  foot  out  of  the  carriage  — Pogson 
was  by  her  side  in  an  instant,  and,  gallantly  putting  one  of 


A CAUTION  TO  TRAVELLERS. 


21 


his  white  kids  round  her  waist;  aided  this  interesting  creat- 
ure to  descend.  I saw,  by  her  walk,  that  she  was  five-and- 
forty,  and  that  my  little  Pogson  was  a lost  man. 

After  some  brief  parley  between  them  — in  which  it  was 
charming  to  hear  how  my  friend  Samuel  ivoald  speak,  what 
he  called  French,  to  a lady  who  could  not  understand  one 
syllable  of  his  jargon — the  mutual  hackney-coaches  drew 
up;  Madame  la  Baronne  waved  to  the  Captain  a graceful 
French  curtsy.  “Ad you!”  said  Samuel,  and  waved  his 
lily  hand.  “ Adyou-addimang  .” 

A brisk  little  gentlemen,  who  had  made  the  journey  in 
the  same  coach  with  Pogson,  but  had  more  modestly  taken 
a seat  in  the  Imperial,  here  passed  us,  and  greeted  me  with 
a “ How  d’ye  do  ? ” He  had  shouldered  his  own  little 
valise,  and  was  trudging  off,  scattering  a cloud  of  commis- 
sionaires, who  would  fain  have  spared  him  the  trouble. 

“Do  you  know  that  chap  ?”  says  Pogson  ; “surly  fellow, 
ain’t  he  ? ” 

“ The  kindest  man  in  existence,”  answered  I ; “ all  the 
world  knows  little  Major  British.” 

“He’s  a Major,  is  he?- — why,  that’s  the  fellow  that 
dined  with  us  at  Killyax’s ; it’s  lucky  I did  not  call  myself 
Captain  before  him,  he  mightn’t  have  liked  it,  you  know  : ” 
and  then  Sam  fell  into  a reverie  ; — what  was  the  subject  of 
his  thoughts  soon  appeared. 

“Did  you  ever  see  such  a foot  and  ankle?”  said  Sam, 
after  sitting  for  some  time,  regardless  of  the  novelty  of  the 
scene,  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  plunged  in  the  deepest 
thought. 

“ Isn’t  she  a slap-up  woman,  eh,  now  ? ” pursued  he  ; and 
began  enumerating  her  attractions,  as  a horse-jockey  would 
the  points  of  a favorite  animal. 

“You  seem  to  have  gone  a pretty  length  already,”  says  I, 
“ by  promising  to  visit  her  to-morrow.” 

“ A good  length  ? — I believe  you.  Leave  me  alone  for 
that.” 

“ But  I thought  you  were  only  to  be  two  in  the  coupe, 
you  wicked  rogue.” 

“Two  in  the  coopy?  Oh!  ah!  yes,  you  know  — why, 
that  is,  I didn’t  know  she  had  her  maid  with  her  (what  an 
ass  I was  to  think  of  a noblewoman  travelling  without 
one)  ! and  couldn’t,  in  course,  refuse,  when  she  asked  me  to 
let  the  maid  in.” 

“ Of  course  not.” 


22 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK . 


“ Couldn’t,  you  know,  as  a man  of  Aonor ; but  I made  up 
for  all  that,”  said  Pogson,  winking  slyly,  and  putting  his 
hand  to  his  little  bunch  of  a nose,  in  a very  knowing  way. 

“ You  did,  and  how  ? ” 

“ Why,  you  dog,  I sat  next  to  her ; sat  in  the  middle  the 
whole  way,  and  my  back’s  half  broke,  1 can  tell  you  : ” and 
thus,  having  depicted  his  happiness,  we  soon  reached  the 
inn  where  this  back-broken  young  man  was  to  lodge  during 
his  stay  in  Paris. 

The  next  day  at  five  we  met ; Mr.  Pogson  had  seen  his 
Baroness,  and  described  her  lodgings,  in  his  own  expressive 
way,  as  “ slap-up.”  She  had  received  him  quite  like  an  old 
friend;  treated  him  to  eau  sucree , of  which  beverage  he 
expressed  himself  a great  admirer;  and  actually  asked  him 
to  dine  the  next  day.  But  there  was  a cloud  over  the 
ingenuous  youth’s  brow,  and  I inquired  still  farther. 

“Why,”  said  he,  with  a sigh,  “I  thought  she  was  a 
widow ; and,  hang  it ! who  should  come  in  but  her  husband 
the  Baron : a big  fellow,  sir,  with  a blue  coat,  a red  ribbing, 
and  such  a pair  of  mustachios  ! ” 

“ Well,”  said  I,  “ he  did’nt  turn  you  out,  I suppose  ? ” 

“ Oh,  no ! on  the  contrary,  as  kind  as  possible ; his  lord- 
ship  said  that  he  respected  the  English  army ; asked  me 
what  corps  I was  in,  — said  he  had  fought  in  Spain  against 
us,  — and  made  me  welcome.” 

“ What  could  you  want  more  ? ” 

Mr.  Pogson  at  this  only  whistled ; and  if  some  very  pro- 
found observer  of  human  nature  had  been  there  to  read  into 
this  little  bagman’s  heart,  it  would,  perhaps,  have  been  mani- 
fest, that  the  appearance  of  a whiskered  soldier  of  a husband 
had  counteracted  some  plans  that  the  young  scoundrel  was 
concocting. 

I live  up  a hundred  and  thirty-seven  steps  in  the  remote 
quarter  of  the  Luxembourg,  and  it  is  not  to  be  expected 
that  such  a fashionable  fellow  as  Sam  Pogson,  with  his 
pockets  full  of  money,  and  a new  city  to  see,  should  be 
always  wandering  to  my  dull  quarters ; so  that,  although 
he  did  not  make  his  appearance  for  some  time,  he  must  not 
be  accused  of  any  lukewarmness  of  friendship  on  that 
score. 

He  was  out,  too,  when  I called  at  his  hotel ; but  once,  I 
had  the  good  fortune  to  see  him,  with  his  hat  curiously  on 
one  side,  looking  as  pleased  as  Punch,  and  being  driven,  in 
an  open  cab,  in  the  Champs  Elysees.  “That’s  another 


A CAUTION  TO  TRAVELLERS . 


23 


tip-top  chap,”  said  he,  when  we  met  at  length.  “ What  do 
yon  think  of  an  Earl’s  son,  my  boy?  Honorable  Tom 
Eingwood,  son  of  the  Earl  of  Cinqbars  : what  do  you  think 
of  that,  eh  ? ” 

I thought  he  was  getting  into  very  good  society.  Sam 
was  a dashing  fellow,  and  was  always  above  his  own  line  of 
life ; he  had  met  Mr.  Eingwood  at  the  Baron’s,  and  they’d 
been  to  the  play  together ; and  the  honorable  gent,  as  Sam 
called  him,  had  joked  with  him  about  being  well  to  do  in 
a certain  quarter  ; and  he  had  had  a game  of  billiards  with 
the  Baron,  at  the  Estaminy , “ a very  distangy  place,  where 
you  smoke,”  said  Sam ; “ quite  select,  and  frequented  by 
the  tip-top  nobility  ; ” and  they  were  as  thick  as  peas  in  a 
shell ; and  they  were  to  dine  that  day  at  Eingwood’s,  and 
sup,  the  next  night,  with  the  Baroness. 

“ I think  the  chaps  down  the  road  will  stare,”  said  Sam, 
“ when  they  hear  how  I’ve  been  coming  it.”  And  stare,  no 
doubt,  they  would ; for  it  is  certain  that  very  few  commercial 
gentlemen  have  had  Mr.  Pogson’s  advantages. 

The  next  morning  we  had  made  an  arrangement  to  go 
out  shopping  together,  and  to  purchase  some  articles  of 
female  gear,  that  Sam  intended  to  bestow  on  his  relations, 
when  he  returned.  Seven  needle-books,  for  his  sisters ; 
a gilt  buckle,  for  his  mamma ; a handsome  French  cashmere 
shawl  and  bonnet,  for  his  aunt  (the  old  lady  keeps  an  inn 
in  the  Borough,  and  has  plenty  of  money,  and  no  heirs  ) ; 
and  a toothpick  case,  for  his  father.  Sam  is  a good  fellow 
to  all  his  relations,  and  as  for  his  aunt,  he  adores  her. 
Well,  we  were  to  go  and  make  these  purchases,  and  I arrived 
punctually  at  my  time ; but  Sam  was  stretched  on  a sofa, 
very  pale  and  dismal. 

I saw  how  it  had  been.  — “A  little  too  much  of  Mr. 
Eingwood’s  claret,  I suppose  ? ” 

He  only  gave  a sickly  stare. 

“ Where  does  the  Honorable  Tom  live  ? ” says  I. 

“ Honorable /”  says  Sam,  with  a hollow,  horrid  laugh; 
“ I tell  you,  Tit,  lie’s  no  more  Honorable  than  you  are.  ” 

“ What,  an  impostor  ? ” 

“No,  no;  not  that.  He  is  a real  Honorable,  only  — ” 

“ Oh,  ho  ! I smell  a rat  — a little  jealous,  eh  ? ” 

“Jealousy  be  hanged!  I tell  you  he’s  a thief ; and  the 
Baron’s  a thief $ and,  hang  me,  if  I think  his  wife  is  any 
better.  Eight-and-thirty  pounds  he  won  of  me  before 
supper ; and  made  me  drunk,  and  sent  me  home  : — is  that 


24 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK 


honorable?  How  can  I afford  to  lose  forty  pounds?  It’s 
took  me  two  years  to  save  it  up : if  my  old  aunt  gets  wind 
of  it,  she’ll  cut  me  off  with  a shilling : hang  me  ! ” and 
here  Sam,  in  an  agony,  tore  his  fair  hair. 

While  bewailing  his  lot  in  this  lamentable  strain,  his 
bell  was  rung,  which  signal  being  answered  by  a surly 
“come  in,”  a tall,  very  fashionable  gentleman,  with  a fur 
coat,  and  a fierce  tuft  to  his  chin,  entered  the  room. 
“ Pogson  my  buck,  how  goes  it  ? ” said  he  familiarly,  and 
gave  a stare  at  me  : I was  making  for  my  hat. 

“ Don’t  go,  ” said  Sam,  rather  eagerly ; and  I sat  down 
again. 

The  Honorable  Mr.  Ringwood  hummed  and  ha’d : and, 
at  last,  said  he  wished  to  speak  to  Mr.  Pogson  on  business, 
in  private  if  possible. 

“ There’s  no  secrets  betwixt  me  and  my  friend,”  cried 
Sam. 

Mr.  Ringwood  paused  a little : — “ An  awkward  business 
that  of  last  night,”  at  length  exclaimed  he. 

“ I believe  it  was  an  awkward  business,”  said  Sam,  dryly. 

“ I really  am  very  sorry  for  your  losses.” 

“ Thank  you : and  so  am  I,  I can  tell  you,”  said  Sam. 

“You  must  mind,  my  good  fellow,  and  not  drink:  for, 
when  you  drink,  you  will  play  high : by  Gad,  you  led  us 
in,  and  not  we  you.” 

“ I dare  say,  ” answered  Sam,  with  something  of  peev- 
ishness ; “losses  is  losses  : there’s  no  use  talking  about  ’em 
when  they’re  over  and  paid.” 

“ And  paid  ? ” here  wonderingly  spoke  Mr.  Ringwood  ; 
“why,  my  dear  fel — what  the  deuce  — has  Florval  been 
with  you  ? ” 

“ D — Florval  ! ” growled  Sam,  “ I’ve  never  set  eyes  on 
his  face  since  last  night;  and  never  wish  to  see  him 
again.” 

“Come,  come,  enough  of  this  talk;  how  do  you  intend 
to  settle  the  bills  which  you  gave  him  last  night  ? ” 

“ Bills  ? what  do  you  mean  ? ” 

“ I mean,  sir,  these  bills,  ” said  the  Honorable  Tom, 
producing  two  out  of  his  pocket-book,  and  looking  as  stern 
as  a lion.  “ ‘ I promise  to  pay,  on  demand,  to  the  Baron  de 
Florval,  the  sum  of  four  hundred  pounds.  October  20, 
1838.’  ‘Ten  days  after  date  I promise  to  pay  the  Baron 
de  et  csetera  et  csetera,  one  hundred  and  ninety-eight 
pounds.  Samuel  Pogson.’  You  didn’t  say  what  regiment 
you  were  in.” 


A CAUTION  TO  TRAVELLERS. 


25 


“ What  ! ” shouted  poor  Sam,  as  from  a dream,  starting 
lip  and  looking  preternatu rally  pale  and  hideous. 

“D — it,  sir,  you  don’t  affect  ignorance:  you  don’t 
pretend  not  to  remember  that  you  signed  these  bills,  for 
money  lost  in  my  rooms : money  lent  to  you,  by  Madam  de 
Florval,  at  your  own  request ; and  lost  to  her  husband  ? 
You  don’t  suppose,  sir,  that  I shall  be  such  an  infernal 
idiot  as  to  believe  you,  or  such  a coward  as  to  put  up  with 
a mean  subterfuge  of  this  sort.  Will  you,  or  will  you  not, 
pay  the  money,  sir  ? ” 

“ I will  not,”  said  Sam,  stoutly  ; “ it’s  a d — d swin  — ” 
Here  Mr.  Ringwood  sprung  up,  clenching  his  riding- 
whip,  and  looking  so  fierce  that  Sam  and  I bounded  back 
to  the  other  end  of  the  room.  “ Utter  that  word  again, 
and,  by  heaven,  I’ll  murder  you  ! ” shouted  Mr.  Ring  wood, 
and  looked,  as  if  he  would,  too  : “ once  more,  will  you,  or 
will  you  not,  pay  this  money  ? ” 

“ I can’t,  ” said  Sam  faintly. 

“I’ll  call  again,  Captain  Pogson,”  said  Mr.  Ringwood, 
“I’ll  call  again  in  one  hour  ; and,  unless  you  come  to  some 
arrangement,  you  must  meet  my  friend,  the  Baron  de  Flor- 
val, or  I’ll  post  you  for  a swindler  and  a coward.”  With 
this  he  went  out : the  door  thundered  to  after  him,  and 
when  the  clink  of  his  steps  departing  had  subsided,  I was 
enabled  to  look  round  at  Pog.  The  poor  little  man  had  his 
elbows  on  the  marble  table,  his  head  between  his  hands, 
and  looked,  as  one  has  seen  gentlemen  look  over  a steam- 
vessel  off  Ramsgate,  the  wind  blowing  remarkably  fresh  : 
at  last  he  fairly  burst  out  crying. 

“If  Mrs.  Pogson  heard  of  this,”  said  I,  “what  would 
become  of  the  ‘ Three  Tuns  ? ’ ” (for  I wished  to  give  him  a 
lesson).  “ If  your  Ma,  who  took  you  every  Sunday  to 
meeting,  should  know  that  her  boy  was  paying  attention 
to  married  women ; — if  Drench,  Glauber  and  Co.,  your 
employers,  were  to  know  that  their  confidential  agent  was 
a gambler,  and  unfit  to  be  trusted  with  their  money,  how 
long  do  you  think  your  connection  would  last  with  them, 
and  who  would  afterwards  employ  you  ? ” 

To  this  poor  Pog  had  not  a word  of  answer  ; but  sat  on  his 
sofa  whimpering  so  bitterly,  that  the  sternest  of  moralists 
would  have  relented  towards  him,  and  would  have  been 
touched  by  the  little  wretch’s  tears.  Everything,  too, 
must  be  pleaded  in  excuse  for  this  unfortunate  bagman  : 
who,  if  he  wished  to  pass  for  a captain,  had  only  done  so 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK. 


26 

because  lie  had  an  intense  respect  and  longing  for  rank  : if 
lie  had  made  love  to  the  Baroness,  had  only  done  so  because 
he  was  given  to  understand  by  Lord  Byron’s  “Don  Juan” 
that  making  love  was  a very  correct,  natty  thing : and  if  he 
had  gambled,  had  only  been  induced  to  do  so  by  the  bright 
eyes  and  example  of  the  Baron  and  the  Baroness.  O ye 
Barons  and  Baronesses  of  England ! if  ye  knew  what  a 
number  of  small  commoners  are  daily  occupied  in  studying 
your  lives,  and  imitating  your  aristocratic  ways,  how  care- 
ful would  ye  be  of  your  morals,  manners,  and  conver- 
sation ! 

My  soul  was  filled,  then,  with  a gentle  yearning  pity  for 
Pogson,  and  revolved  many  plans  for  his  rescue : none  of 
these  seeming  to  be  practicable,  at  last  we  hit  on  the  very 
wisest  of  all,  and  determined  to  apply  for  counsel  to  no  less 
a person  than  Major  British. 

A blessing  it  is  to  be  acquainted  with  my  worthy  friend, 
little  Major  British ; and  heaven,  sure,  it  was  that  put  the 
Major  into  my  head,  when  I heard  of  this  awkward  scrape 
of  poor  Fog’s.  The  Major  is  on  half-pay,  and  occupies  a 
modest  apartment  au  quatribne , in  the  very  hotel  which 
Pogson  had  patronized  at  my  suggestion ; indeed,  I had 
chosen  it  from  Major  British’s  own  peculiar  recommenda- 
tion. 

There  is  no  better  guide  to  follow  than  such  a character 
as  the  honest  Major,  of  whom  there  are  many  likenesses  now 
scattered  over  the  Continent  of  Europe : men  who  love  to 
live  well,  and  are  forced  to  live  cheaply,  and  who  find  the 
English  abroad  a thousand  times  easier,  merrier,  and  more 
hospitable  than  the  same  persons  at  home.  I,  for  my  part, 
never  landed  on  Calais  pier  without  feeling  that  a load  of 
sorrows  was  left  on  the  other  side  of  the  water  ; and  have 
always  fancied  that  black  care  stepped  on  board  the  steamer, 
along  with  the  custom-house  officers  at  Gravesend,  and 
accompanied  one  to  yonder  black  louring  towers  of  Lon- 
don— so  busy,  so  dismal,  and  so  vast. 

British  would  have  cut  any  foreigner’s  throat  who  vent- 
ured to  say  so  much,  but  entertained,  no  doubt,  private 
sentiments  of  this  nature  ; for  he  passed  eight  months  of 
the  year,  regularly,  abroad,  with  head-quarters  at  Paris  (the 
garrets  before  alluded  to),  and  only  went  to  England 
for  the  month’s  shooting,  on  the  grounds  of  his  old  colonel, 
now  an  old  lord,  of  whose  acquaintance  the  Major  was 
passably  inclined  to  boast. 


A CAUTION  TO  TRAVELLERS. 


27 


He  loved  and  respected,  like  a good  staunch  Tory  as  he 
is,  every  one  of  the  English  nobility  ; gave  himself  certain 
little  airs  of  a man  of  fashion,  that  were  by  no  means  disa- 
greeable ; and  was,  indeed,  kindly  regarded  by  such 
English  aristocracy  as  he  met,  in  his  little  annual  tours 
among  the  German  courts,  in  Italy  or  in  Paris,  where  he 
never  missed  an  ambassador’s  night : he  retailed  to  us,  who 
didn’t  go,  but  were  delighted  to  know  all  that  had  taken 
place,  accurate  accounts  of  the  dishes,  the  dresses,  and  the 
scandal  which  had  there  fallen  under  his  observation. 

He  is,  moreover,  one  of  the  most  useful  persons  in  society 
that  can  possibly  be ; for  besides  being  incorrigibly  duel- 
some  on  his  own  account,  he  is,  for  others,  the  most  acute 
and  peaceable  counsellor  in  the  world,  and  has  carried  more 
friends  through  scrapes  and  prevented  more  deaths  than 
any  member  of  the  Humane  Society.  British  never  bought 
a single  step  in  the  army,  as  is  well  known.  In  ’14  he 
killed  a celebrated  French  fire-eater,  who  had  slain  a young- 
friend  of  his,  and  living,  as  he  does,  a great  deal  with  young- 
men  of  pleasure,  and  good  old  sober  family  people,  he  is 
loved  by  them  both,  and  has  as  welcome  a place  made  for 
him  at  a roaring  bachelor’s  supper  at  the  “ Cafe  Anglais, “ 
as  at  a staid  dowager’s  dinner-table  in  the  Faubourg  St. 
Honore.  Such  pleasant  old  boys  are  very  profitable 
acquaintances,  let  me  tell  you;  and  lucky  is  the  young 
man  who  has  one  or  two  such  friends  in  his  list. 

Hurrying  on  Pogson  in  his  dress,  I conducted  him,  pant- 
ing, up  to  Major’s  quatrihne , where  we  were  cheerfully 
bidden  to  come  in.  The  little  gentleman  was  in  his  travel- 
ling jacket,  and  occupied  in  painting,  elegantly,  one  of  those 
natty  pairs  of  boots  in  which  he  daily  promenaded  the 
Boulevards.  A couple  of  pairs  of  tough  buff  gloves  had 
been  undergoing  some  pipe-claying  operation  under  his 
hands ; no  man  stepped  out  so  spick  and  span,  with  a hat 
so  nicely  brushed,  with  a stiff  cravat  tied  so  neatly  under  a 
fat  little  red  face,  with  a blue  frock-coat  so  scrupulously 
fitted  to  a punchy  little  person,  as  Major  British,  about 
whom  we  have  written  these  two  pages.  He  stared  rather 
hardly  at  my  companion,  but  gave  me  a kind  shake  of  the 
hand,  and  we  proceeded  at  once  to  business.  “ Major 
British,”  said  I,  “ we  want  your  advice  in  regard  to  an 
unpleasant  affair  which  has  just  occurred  to  my  friend 
Pogson.” 

“Pogson,  take  a chair.” 


28 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK. 


“ You  must  know,  sir,  that  Mr.  Pogson,  coming  from 
Calais  the  other  day,  encountered,  in  the  diligence,  a very 
handsome  woman.” 

British  winked  at  Pogson,  who,  wretched  as  he  was, 
could  not  help  feeling  pleased. 

“ Mr.  Pogson  was  not  more  pleased  with  this  lovely 
creature  than  was  she  with  him ; for,  it  appears,  she  gave 
him  her  card,  invited  him  to  her  house,  where  he  has  been 
constantly,  and  has  been  received  with  much  kindness.” 

“ I see,”  says  British. 

“Her  husband  the  Baron ” 


“ Now  it's  coming,”  said  the  Major,  with  a grin : “her 
husband  is  jealous,  I suppose,  and  there  is  a talk  of  the 
Bois  de  Boulogne  : my  dear  sir,  you  can’t  refuse — you  can’t 
refuse.” 

“ It’s  not  that,”  said  Pogson,  wagging  his  head  passion- 
ately. 

“Her  husband  the  Baron  seemed  quite  as  much  taken 
with  Pogson  as  his  lady  was,  and  has  introduced  him  to 
some  very  distingue  friends  of  his  own  set.  Last  night  one 
of  the  Baron’s  friends  gave  a party  in  honor  of  my  friend 


A CAUTION  TO  TRAVELLERS. 


29 


Pogson,  who  lost  forty-eight  pounds  at  cards  before  he  was 
made  drunk,  and  heaven  knows  how  much  after.” 

“Not  a shilling,  by  sacred  heaven!  — not  a shilling!” 
yelled  out  Pogson.  “ After  the  supper  I ’ad  such  an 
’eadacli’,  I couldn’t  do  anything  but  fall  asleep  on  the 
sofa.” 

“You  ’ad  such  an ’eadache’,  sir,  ” says  British  sternly, 
who  piques  himself  on  his  grammar  and  pronunciation, 
and  scorns  a cockney. 

“ Such  a /headache,  sir,  ” replied  Pogson,  with  much 
meekness. 

« The  unfortunate  man  is  brought  home  at  two  o’clock, 
as  tipsy  as  possible,  dragged  up  stairs,  senseless,  to  bed, 
and,  on  waking,  receives  a visit  from  his  entertainer  of  the 
night  before  — a lord’s  son,  Major,  a tip-top  fellow,  — who 
brings  a couple  of  bills  that  my  friend  Pogson  is  said  to 
have  signed.” 

“Well,  my  dear  fellow,  the  thing’s  quite  simple, — he 
must  pay  them.” 

“I  can’t  pay  them.” 

“ He  can’t  pay  them,”  said  we  both  in  a breath  : “ Pogson 
is  a commercial  traveller,  with  thirty  shillings  a week,  and 
how  the  deuce  is  he  to  pay  five  hundred  pounds  ?” 

“A  bagman,  sir!  and  what  right  has  a bagman  to 
gamble  ? Gentlemen  gamble,  *sir ; tradesmen,  sir,  have  no 
bnsiness  with  the  amusements  of  the  gentry.  What  busi- 
ness had  you  with  barons  and  lord’s  sons,  sir  ? — serve  you 
right,  sir.” 

“ Sir,”  says  Pogson,  with  some  dignity,  “ merit,  and  not 
birth,  is  the  criterion  of  a man  : I despise  an  hereditary 
aristocracy,  and  admire  only  Nature’s  gentlemen.  For  my 
part,  I think  that  a British  mercli  — ” 

“Hold  your  tongue,  sir,”  bounced  out  the  Major,  “and 
don’t  lecture  me ; don’t  come  to  me,  sir,  with  your  slang 
about  Nature’s  gentlemen  — Nature’s  tomfools,  sir!  Did 
Nature  open  a cash  account  for  you  at  a banker’s,  sir  ? 
Did  Nature  give  you  an  education,  sir?  What  do  you 
mean  by  competing  with  people  to  whom  Nature  has  given 
all  these  things  ? Stick  to  your  bags,  Mr.  Pogson,  and  your 
bagmen,  and  leave  barons  and  their  like  to  their  own 
ways.” 

“Yes,  but,  Major,”  here  cried  that  faithful  friend,  who 
has  always  stood  by  Pogson ; “ they  won’t  leave  him 
alone.” 


30 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK . 


“ The  honorable  gent  says  I must  fight  if  I don’t  pay,” 
whimpered  Sam. 

“ What ! fight  you  ? Do  you  mean  that  the  honorable 
gent,  as  you  call  him,  will  go  out  with  a bagman  ?” 

“He  doesn’t  know  I’m  a — I’m  a commercial  man,” 
blushingly  said  Sam  : “ he  fancies  I’m  a military  gent.” 

The  Major’s  gravity  was  guite  upset  at  this  absurd 
notion  ; and  he  laughed  outrageously.  “ Why,  the  fact  is, 
sir,”  said  I,  ‘‘that  my  friend  Pogson,  knowing  the  value  of 
the  title  of  Captain,  and  being  complimented  by  the  Baron- 
ess on  his  warlike  appearance,  said,  boldly,  he  was  in  the 
army.  He  only  assumed  the  rank  in  order  to  dazzle  her  weak 
imagination,  never  fancying  there  was  a husband,  and  a 
circle  of  friends,  with  whom  he  was  afterwards  to  make  an 
acquaintance;  and  then,  you  know,  it  was  too  late  to  with- 
draw.” 

“Pretty  pickle  you  have  put  yourself  in,  Mr.  Pogson, 
by  making  love  to  other  men’s  wives,  and  calling  yourself 
names,”  said  the  Major,  who  was  restored  to  good  humor. 
“ And  pray,  who  is  the  honorable  gent  ? ” 

“The  Earl  of  Cinqbars’  son,”  says  Pogson,  “the  Honor- 
ble  Tom  Bing  wood.” 

“ I thought  it  was  some  such  character ; and  the  Baron 
is  the  Baron  de  Florval-Delval  ?” 

“ The  very  same.” 

“ And  his  wife  a black-haired  woman,  with  a pretty  foot 
and  ankle ; calls  herself  Athenais ; and  is  always  talking 
about  her  trente-deux  ans  ? Why,  sir,  that  woman  was  an 
actress  on  the  Boulevard,  when  we  were  here  in  ’15.  She’s 
no  more  his  wife  than  I am.  Delval’s  name  is  Chicot. 
The  woman  is  always  travelling  between  London  and  Paris : 
I saw  she  was  hooking  you  at  Calais  ; she  has  hooked  ten 
men,  in  the  course  of  the  last  two  years,  in  this  very  way. 

She  lent  you  money,  didn’t  she?”  “Yes.”  “And  she 
leans  on  your  shoulder,  and  whispers,  ‘ Play  half  for  me,’ 
and  somebody  wins  it,  and  the  poor  thing  is  as  sorry  as  you 
are,  and  her  husband  storms  and  rages,  and  insists  on 
double  stakes ; and  she  leans  over  your  shoulder  again,  and 
tells  every  card  in  your  hand  to  your  adversary,  and  that’s 
the  way  it’s  done,  Mr.  Pogson.” 

“ I’ve  been  ’ad,  I see  I ’ave,”  said  Pogson,  very  humbly. 
‘‘Well,  sir,”  said  the  Major,  “in  consideration,  not  of 
you,  sir  — for,  give  me  leave  to  tell  you,  Mr.  Pogson,  that 
you  are  a pitiful  little  scoundrel — in  consideration  for  my 


A CAUTION  TO  TRAVELLERS . 


31 


Lord  Cinqbars,  sir,  with  whom,  I am  proud  to  say,  L am 
intimate/’  (the  Major  dearly  loved  a lord,  and  was,  by  his 
own  showing,  acquainted  with  half  the  peerage),  “I  will  aid 
you  in  this  affair.  Your  cursed  vanity,  sir,  and  want  of 
principle,  has  set  you,  in  the  first  place,  intriguing  with 
other  men’s  wives  ; and  if  you  had  been  shot  for  your  pains, 
a bullet  would  only  have  served  you  right,  sir.  You  must 
go  about  as  an  impostor,  sir,  in  society;  and  you  pay 
richly  for  your  swindling,  sir,  by  being  swindled  yourself : 
but,  as  I think  your  punishment  has  been  already  pretty 
severe,  I shall  do  my  best,-  out  of  regard  for  my  friend, 
Lord  ■ Cinqbars,  to  prevent  the  matter  going  any  far- 
ther ; and  I recommend  you  to  leave  Paris  without  delay. 
Now  let  me  wish  you  a £ good  morning.”  — Wherewith 
British  made  a majestic  bow,  and  began  giving  the  last 
touch  to  his  varnished  boots. 

We  departed  : poor  Sam  perfectly  silent  and  chapfallen  ; 
and  I meditating  on  the  wisdom  of  the  half-pay  philosopher, 
and  wondering  what  means  he  would  employ  to  rescue 
Pogson  from  his  fate. 

What  these  means  were  I know  not ; but  Mr.  Ringwood 
did  not  make  his  appearance  at  six ; and,  at  eight,  a letter 
arrived  for  “Mr.  Pogson,  commercial  traveller,”  &c.  &c. 
It  was  blank  inside,  but  contained  his  two  bills.  Mr.  Ring- 
wood  left  town,  almost  immediately,  for  Vienna;  nor  did 
the  Major  explain  the  circumstances  which  caused  his 
departure ; but  he  muttered  something  about  “ knew  some 
of  his  old  tricks,”  “threatened  police,  and  made  him  dis- 
gorge directly.” 

Mr.  Ring  wood  is,  as  yet,  young  at  his  trade ; and  I have 
often  thought  it  was  very  green  of  him  to  give  up  the  bills 
to  the  Major,  who,  certainly,  would  never  have  pressed  the 
matter  before  the  police,  out  of  respect  for  his  friend,  Lord 
Cinqbars. 


THE  FETES  OF  JULY. 

IN  A LETTER  TO  THE  EDITOR  OE  THE  u BUNGAY  BEACON.” 


Paris,  July  30th,  1839. 

E have  arrived  here  just  in 
time  for  the  fetes  of  July. — 
You  have  read,  no  doubt,  of 
that  glorious  revolution  which 
took  place  here  nine  years  ago, 
and  which  is  now  commem- 
orated annually,  in  a pretty 
facetious  manner,  by  gun- 
hring,  student  - processions, 
pole-climbing-for-silver-spoons, 
gold-watches  and  legs-of-mut- 
ton,  monarchical  orations,  and 
what  not,  and  sanctioned,  more- 
over, by  Chamber-of-Deputies, 
with  a grant  of  a couple  of 
hundred  thousand  francs  to 
defray  the  expenses  of  all  the 
crackers,  gunfirings,  and  legs- 
is  a new  fountain  in  the  Place 
Louis  Quinze,  otherwise  called  the  Place  Liouis  Seize,  or 
else  the  Place  de  la  Revolution,  or  else  the  Place  de  la 
Concorde  (who  can  say  why)  ? — which,  I am  told,  is  to  run 
bad  wine  during  certain  hours  to-morrow,  and  there  would 
have  been  a review  of  the  National  Guards  and  the  Line  — 
only,  since  the  Fieschi  business,  reviews  are  no  joke,  and  so 
this  lattter  part  of  the  festivity  has  been  discontinued. 

Do  you  not  laugh,  0 Pharos  of  Bungay,  at  the  contin- 
uance of  a humbug  such  as  this  ? — at  the  humbugging 
anniversary  of  a humbug  ? The  King  of  the  Barricades  is, 
next  to  the  Emperor  Nicholas,  the  most  absolute  Sovereign 
in  Europe  ; yet  there  is  not  in  the  whole  of  this  fair  king- 
dom of  France  a single  man  who  cares  sixpence  about  him, 

32 


THE  F&TES  OF  JULY. 


33 


or  his  dynasty : except,  mayhap,  a few  hangers-on  at  the 
Chateau,  who  eat  his  dinners,  and  put  their  hands  in  his 
purse.  The  feeling  of  loyalty  is  as  dead  as  old  Charles  the 
Tenth ; the  Chambers  have  been  laughed  at,  the  country  has 
been  laughed  at,  all  the  successive  ministries  have  been 
laughed  at  (and  you  know  who  is  the  wag  that  has  amused 
liimself  with  them  all)  ; and,  behold,  here  come  three  days 
at  the  end  of  July,  and  canons  think  it  neccessary  to  fire 
off,  squibs  and  crackers  to  blaze  and  fizz,  fountains  to  run 
wine,  kings  to  make  speeches,  and  subjects  to  crawl  up 
greasy  mats-de-cocagne  in  token  of  gratitude  and  rfyouis- 
sance  publique  ! — My  dear  sir,  in  their  aptitude  to  swallow, 
to  utter,  to  enact  humbugs,  these  French  people,  from  Maj- 
esty downwards,  beat  all  the  other  nations  of  this  earth. 
In  looking  at  these  men,  their  manners,  dresses,  opinions, 
politics,  actions,  history,  it  is  impossible  to  preserve  a grave 
countenance ; instead  of  having  Carlyle  to  write  a History 
of  the  French  Revolution,  I often  think  it  should  be  handed 
over  to  Dickens  or  Theodore  Hook : and  oh  ! where  is  the 
Rabelais  to  be  the  faithful  historian  of  the  last  phase  of 
the  Revolution  — the  last  glorious  nine  years  of  which  we 
are  now  commemorating  the  last  glorious  three  days  ? 

I had  made  a vow  not  to  say  a syllable  on  the  subject, 
although  I have  seen,  with  my  neighbors,  all  the  ginger- 
bread stalls  down  the  Champs  Elysees,  and  some  of  the 
“ catafalques  ” erected  to  the  memory  of  the  heroes  of  July, 
where  the  students  and  others,  not  connected  personally 
with  the  victims,  and  not  having  in  the  least  profited  by 
their  deaths,  come  and  weep ; but  the  grief  shown  on  the 
first  day  is  quite  as  absurd  and  fictitious  as  the  joy  exhibited 
on  the  last.  The  subject  is  one  which  admits  of  much 
wholesome  reflection  and  food  for  mirth  ; and,  besides,  is  so 
richly  treated  by  the  French  themselves,  that  it  would  be 
a sin  and  a shame  to  pass  it  over.  Allow  me  to  have  the 
honor  of  translating,  for  your  edification,  an  account  of 
the  first  day’s  proceedings  — it  is  mighty  amusing,  to  my 
thinking. 

“ CELEBRATION  OF  THE  DAYS  OF  JULY. 

“ To-day  (Saturday),  funeral  ceremonies,  in  honor  of  the 
victims  of  July,  were  held  in  the  various  edifices  conse- 
crated to  public  worship. 

" These  edifices,  with  the  exception  of  some  churches 
(especially  that  of  the  Petits-Peres),  were  uniformly  hung 
3 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK 


54 

with  black  on  the  outside ; the  hangings  bore  only  this  in- 
scription: 27,  28,  29  July,  1830 — surrounded  by  a wreath 
of  oak-leaves, 

“In  the  interior  of  the  Catholic  churches,  it  had  only 
been  thought  proper  to  dress  little  catafalques,  as  for  burials 
of  .the  third  and  fourth  class.  Very  few  clergy  attended; 
but  a considerable  number  of  the  National  Guard. 

“ The  Synagogue  of  the  Israelites  was  entirely  hung  with 
black ; and  a great  concourse  of  people  attended.  The  ser- 
vice was  performed  with  the  greatest  pomp. 

“ In  the  Protestant  temples  there  was  likewise  a very  full 
attendance : apologetical  discourses  on  the  Revolution  of 
July  were  pronounced  by  the  pastors. 

“ The  absence  of  M.  de  Quelen  (Archbishop  of  Paris), 
and  of  many  members  of  the  superior  clergy,  was*  remarked 
at  Notre  Dame. 

“ The  civil  authorities  attended  service  in  their  several 
districts. 

“ The  poles,  ornamented  with  tri-colored  flags,  which  for- 
merly were  placed  on  Notre  Dame,  were,  it  is  remarked, 
suppressed.  The  flags  on  the  Pont  Neuf  were,  during  the 
ceremony,  only  half-mast  high,  and  covered  with  crape. ” 

Et  caetera,  et  caetera,  et  caetera. 

“ The  tombs  of  the  Louvre  were  covered  with  black  hang- 
ings, and  adorned  with  tri-colored  flags.  In  front  and  in 
the  middle  was  erected  an  expiatory  monument  of  a pyra- 
midical  shape,  and  surmounted  by  a funeral  vase. 

“ These  tombs  were  guarded  by  the  Municipal  Guard, 
the  Troops  of  the  Line,  the  Sergens  de  Ville  ( town 
patrol)  and  a Brigade  of  Agents  of  Police  in  plain 
clothes,  under  the  orders  of  peace-officer  Vassal. 

“ Between  eleven  and  twelve  o’clock,  some  young  men,  to 
the  number  of  400  or  500,  assembled  on  the  Place  de  la 
Bourse,  one  of  them  bearing  a tri-colored  banner  with  an 
inscription,  ‘To  the  Manes  of  July:’  ranging  themselves 
in  order,  they  marched  five  abreast  to  the  Marche  des  In- 
nocens.  On  their  arrival,  the  Municipal  Guards  of  the 
Halle  aux  Draps,  where  the  post  had  been  doubled,  issued 
out  without  arms,  and  the  town-sergeants  placed  themselves 
before  the  market  to  prevent  the  entry  of  the  procession. 
The  young  men  passed  in  perfect  order,  and  without  say- 
ing a word  — only  lifting  their  hats  as  they  defiled  before 
the  tombs.  When  they  arrived  at  the  Louvre  they  found 
the  gates  shut,  and  the  garden  evacuated.  The  troops  were 
under  arms,  and  formed  in  battalion. 


THE  FETE 8 OF  JULY 


35 


“ After  the  passage  of  the  procession,  the  Garden  was 
again  open  to  the  public.’7 

And  the  evening  and  the  morning  were  the  first  day. 

There’s  nothing  serious  in  mortality : is  there,  from  the 
beginning  of  this  account  to  the  end  thereof,  aught  but 
sheer,  open,  monstrous,  undisguised  humbug  ? I said, 
before^  that  you  should  have  a history  of  these  people  by 
Dickens  or  Theodore  Hook,  but  there  is  little  need  of 
professed  wags;  — do  not  the  men  write  their  own  tale 
with  an  admirable  Sancho-like  gravity  and  naivete,  which 
one  could  not  desire  improved  ? How  good  is  that  touch 
of  sly  indignation  about  the  little  catafalques ! how  rich 
the  contrast  presented  by  the  economy  of  the  Catholics  to 
the  splendid  disregard  of  expense  exhibited  by  the  devout 
Jews ! and  how  touching  the  “ apologetical  discourses  on 
the  Revolution,  ” delivered  by  the  Protestant  pastors  ! 
Fancy  the  profound  affliction  of  the  Gardes  Municipaux. 
the  Sergens  de  Ville,  the  police  agents  in  plain  clothes, 
and  the  troops  with  fixed  bayonets,  sobbing  round  the 
“ expiatory  monuments  of  a pyramidieal  shape,  surmounted 
by  funeral  vases,”  and  compelled,  by  sad  duty,  to  fire 
into  the  public  who  might  wish  to  indulge  in  the  same 
woe!  0 “ manes  of  July!”  (the  phrase  is  pretty  and 
grammatical ) why  did  you  with  sharp  bullets  break  those 
Louvre  windows  ? Why  did  you  bayonet  red-coated  Swiss 
behind  that  fair  white  facade,  and,  braving  cannon,  musket, 
sabre,  perspective  guillotine,  burst  yonder  bronze  gates, 
rush  through  that  peaceful  picture-gallery,  and  hurl  royalty, 
loyalty,  and  a thousand  years  of  Kings,  head-over-heels  out 
of  yonder  Tuileries’  windows  ? 

It  is,  you  will  allow,  a little  difficult  to  say: — there  is, 
however,  one  benefit  that  the  country  has  gained  ( as  for 
liberty  of  press,  or  person,  diminished  taxation,  a juster 
representation,  who  ever  thinks  of  them  ) ? — one  benefit 
they  have  gained,  or  nearly  — abolition  de  la  peine-de-mort 
pour  delit  politique : no  more  wicked  guillotining  for  revolu- 
tions. A Frenchman  must  have  his  revolution  — it  is  his 
nature  to  knock  down  omnibuses  in  the  street,  and  across 
them  to  "fire  at  troops  of  the  line  — it  is  a sin  to  balk  it. 
Did  not  the  King  send  off  Revolutionary  Prince  Napoleon 
in  a eoach-and-four  ? Did  not  the  jury,  before  the  face  of 
God  and  justice,  proclaim  Revolutionary  Colonel  Yaudrey 
not  guilty  ? — One  may  hope,  soon,  that  if  a man  shows 
decent  courage  and  energy  in  half  a dozen  6meut.es , he  will 
get  promotion  and  a premium. 


36 


THE  PATHS  SKETCH  BOOK 


I do  not  (although,  perhaps,  partial  to  the  subject), 
want  to  talk  more  nonsense  than  the  occasion  warrants, 
and  will  pray  you  to  cast  your  eyes  over  the  following 
anecdote,  that  is  now  going  the  round  of  the  papers,  and 
respects  the  commutation  of  the  punishment  of  that 
Avretclied,  fool-hardy  Barbes,  who,  on  his  trial,  seemed  to 
invite  the  penalty  which  has  just  been  remitted  to  him. 
You  recollect  the  braggart’s  speech:  “When  the  Indian 

falls  into  the  power  of  the  enemy,  he  knows  the  fate  that 
awaits  him,  and  submits  his  head  to  the  knife : — I am  the 
Indian ! ” 

“Well  — ” 

“ M.  Hugo  was  at  the  Opera  on  the  night  the  sentence  of 
the  Court  of  Peers,  condemning  Barbes  to  death,  was  pub- 
lished. The  great  poet  composed  the  following  verses  : — 

‘ Par  votre  ange  envolee,  ainsi  qu’une  colombe, 

Par  le  royal  enfant,  doux  et  frele  roseau, 

Grace  encore  une  fois ! Grace  au  nom  de  la  tombe  ! 

Grace  au  nom  du  beryeau  ! ' * 

“M.  Victor  Hugo  wrote  the  lines  out  instantly  on  a 
sheet  of  paper,  which  he  folded,  and  simply  despatched 
them  to  the  King  of  the  French  by  the  penny-post. 

“ That  truly  is  a noble  Aroice,  which  can  at  all  hours  thus 
speak  to  the  throne.  Poetry,  in  old  days,  was  called  the 
language  of  the  Gods  — it  is  better  named  now  — it  is  the 
language  of  the  Kings. 

“But  the  clemency  of  the  King  had  anticipated  the 
letter  of  the  Poet.  His  Majesty  had  signed  the  commu- 
tation of  Barbes,  while  the  poet  was  still  Avriting. 

“Louis  Philippe  replied  to  the  author  of  ‘Buy  Bias’ 
most  graciously,  that  he  had  already  subscribed  to  a wish 
so  noble,  and  that  the  verses  had  only  confirmed  his 
previous  disposition  to  mercy.  ” 

Koav  in  countries  Avhere  fools  most  abound,  did  one  ever 
read  of  more  monstrous,  palpable  folly  ? In  any  country, 
save  this,  would  a poet  who  chose  to  Avrite  four  crack- 
brained  verses,  comparing  an  angel  to  a dove,  and  a little 


* Translated  for  the  benefit  of  country  gentlemen  : — 

“By  your  angel  flown  away  just  like  a dove, 

By  the  royal  infant,  that  frail  and  tender  reed, 

Pardon  yet  once  more ! Pardon  in  the  name  of  the  tomb! 
Pardon  in  the  name  of  the  cradle ! ” 


THE  FETES  OF  JULY. 


37 


boy  to  a reed,  and  calling  upon  tlie  chief  magistrate,  in  the 
name  of  the  angel,  or  dove  (the  Princess  Mary),  in  her 
tomb,  and  the  little  infant  in  his  cradle,  to  spare  a criminal, 
have  received  a “ gracious  answer  ” to  his  nonsense  ? 
Would  he  have  ever  despatched  the  nonsense  ? and  would 
any  journalist  have  been  silly  enough  to  talk  of  “the  noble 
voice  that  could  thus  speak  to  the  throne,  ” and  the  noble 
throne  that  could  return  such  a noble  answer  to  the  noble 
voice  ? You  get  nothing  done  here  gravely  and  decently. 

Tawdry  stage  tricks  are  played,  and  braggadocio  clap- 
traps uttered,  on  every  occasion,  however  sacred  or  solemn  : 
in  the  face  of  death,  as  by  Barbes  with  his  hideous  Indian 
metaphor;  in  the  teeth  of  reason,  as  by  M.  Victor  Hugo 
with  his  twopenny-post  poetry;  and  of  justice,  as  by  the 
King’s  absurd  reply  to  this  absurd  demand  ? Suppose  the 
Count  of  Paris  to  be  twenty  times  a reed,  and  the  Princess 
Mary  a host  of  angels,  is  that  any  reason  why  the  law  should 
not  have  its  course  ? Justice  is  the  God  of  our  lower  world, 
our  great  omnipresent  guardian : as  such  it  moves,  or 
should  move  on  majestic,  awful,  irresistible,  having  no 
passions  — like  a God:  but,  in  the  very  midst  of  the  path 
across  which  it  is  to  pass,  lo ! M.  Victor  Hugo  trips  for- 
ward, smirking,  and  says,  O divine  Justice ! I will  trouble 
you  to  listen  to  the  following  trifling  effusion  of  mine : — 

“Par  votre  ange  envolee , ainsi  qu’une,  ” frc. 

Awful  Justice  stops,  and,  bowing  gravely,  listens  to  M. 
Hugo’s  verses,  and,  with  true  Prench  politeness,  says, 
“ Mon  cher  Monsieur,  these  verses  are  charming,  ravissans , 
delicieux , and,  coming  from  such  a celebrite  Utteraire  as 
yourself,  shall  meet  with  every  possible  attention  — in 
fact  had  I required  anything  to  confirm  my  own  previous 
opinions,  this  charming  poem,  would  have  done  so.  Bon 
jour,  mon  cher  Monsieur  Hugo,  au  re  voir ! ” — and  they 
part : — J ustice  taking  off  his  hat  and  bowing,  and  the 
author  of  “Buy  Bias”  quite  convinced  that  he  has  been 
treating  with  him  eZ’  egal  en  egal.  I can  hardly  bring  my 
mind  to  fancy  that  anything  is  serious  in  France  — it  seems 
to  be  all  rant,  tinsel,  and  stage-play.  Sham  liberty,  sham 
monarchy,  sham  glory,  sham  justice, — ou  diable  done  la 
verite  va-t-elle  se  nicher  ? 

The  last  rocket  of  the  fete  of  July  has  just  mounted, 
exploded,  made  a portentous  bang,  and  emitted  a gorgeous 


38 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK 


show  of  blue  lights,  and  then  (like  many  reputations) 
disappeared  totally : the  hundredth  gun  on  the  Invalid 
terrace  has  uttered  its  last  roar  — and  a great  comfort  it  is 
for  eyes  and  ears  that  the  festival  is  over.  We  shall  be 
able  to  go  about  our  every-day  business  again,  and  not  be 
hustled  by  the  gendarmes  or  the  crowd. 

The  sight  which  I have  just  come  away  from  is  as  bril- 
liant, happy,  and  beautiful  as  can  be  conceived ; and  if  you 
want  to  see  French  people  to  the  greatest  advantage,  you 
should  go  to  a festival  like  this,  where  their  manners,  and 
innocent  gayety,  show  a very  pleasing  contrast  to  the 
coarse  and  vulgar  hilarity  which  the  same  class  would 
exhibit  in  our  own  country  — at  Epsom  race-course,  for 
instance,  or  Greenwich  Fair.  The  greatest  noise  that  I 
heard  was  that  of  a company  of  jolly  villagers  from  a 
place  in  the  neighborhood  of  Paris,  who,  as  soon  as  the 
fireworks  were  over,  formed  themselves  into  a line,  three  or 
four  abreast,  and  so  marched  singing  home.  As  for  the  fire- 
works, squibs  and  crackers  are  very  hard  to  describe,  and 
very  little  was  to  be  seen  of  them  : to  me,  the  prettiest 
sight  was  the  vast,  orderly,  happy  crowd,  the  number  of 
children,  and  the  extraordinary  care  and  kindness  of  the 
parents  towards  these  little  creatures.  It  does  one  good  to 
see  honest,  heavy  epiciers,  fathers  of  families,  playing  with 
them  in  the  Tuileries,  or,  as  to-night,  bearing  them  stoutly 
on  their  shoulders,  through  many  long  hours,  in  order  that 
the  little  ones  too  may  have  their  share  of  the  fun.  John 
Bull,  I fear,  is  more  selfish  : he  does  not  take  Mrs.  Bull  to 
the  public-house ; but  leaves  her,  for  the  most  part,  to  take 
care  of  the  children  at  home. 

The  fete,  then,  is  over;  the  pompous  black  pyramid  at 
the  Louvre  is  only  a skeleton  now ; all  the  flags  have  been 
miraculously  whisked  away  during  the  night,  and  the  fine 
chandeliers  which  glittered  down  the  Champs  Ely  sees  for 
full  half  a mile,  have  been  consigned  to  their  dens  and 
darkness.  Will  they  ever  be  reproduced  for  other  celebra- 
tions of  the  glorious  29th  of  July?  — I think  not;  the 
Government  which  vowed  that  there  should  be  no  more 
persecutions  of  the  press,  was,  on  that  very  29th,  seiz- 
ing a Legitimist  paper,  for  some  real  or  fancied  offence 
against  it : it  had  seized,  and  was  seizing  daily,  numbers  of 
persons  merely  suspected  of  being  disaffected  (and  you  may 
fancy  how  liberty  is  understood,  when  some  of  these  pris- 
oners, the  other  day,  on  coming  to  trial,  were  found  guilty 


39 


THE  FETES  OF  JULY. 

and  sentenced  to  one  day’s  imprisonment,  after  thirty-six 
days'  detention  on  suspicion ).  I think  the  Government 
which  follows  such  a system,  cannot  be  very  anxious  abou* 
any  farther  revolutionary  fetes,  and  that  the  Chamber  may 
reasonably  refuse  to  vote  more  money  for  them.  Why 
should  men  be  so  mighty  proud  of  having,  on  a certain  day, 
cut  a certain  number  of  their  fellow-countrymen’s  throats  ? 
The  Guards  and  the  Line  employed  this  time  nine  years  did 
no  more  than  those  who  cannonaded  the  starving  Lyonnese, 
or  bayoneted  the  luckless  inhabitants  of  the  Rue  Trans- 
nounain  : — they  did  but  fulfil  the  soldier’s  honorable 
duty  : — his  superiors  bid  him  kill  and  he  killeth  : — per- 
haps, had  he  gone  to  his  work  with  a little  more  heart,  the 
result  would  have  been  different,  and  then  — would  the 
conquering  party  have  been  justified  in  annually  rejoicing- 
over  the  conquered  ? Would  we  have  thought  Charles  X. 
justified  in  causing  fireworks  to  be  blazed,  and  concerts  to  be 
sung,  and  speeches  to  be  spouted,  in  commemoration  of  his 
victory  over  his  slaughtered  countrymen  ? — I wish  for  my 
part  they  would  allow  the  people  to  go  about  their  business 
as  on  the  other  362  days  of  the  year,  and  leave  the  Champs 
Ely  sees  free  for  the  omnibuses  to  run,  and  the  Tuileries  in 
quiet,  so  that  the  nurse-maids  might  come  as  usual,  and  the 
newspapers  be  read  for  a halfpenny  apiece. 

Shall  I trouble  you  with  an  account  of  the  speculations 
of  these  latter,  and  the  state  of  the  parties  which  they 
represent  ? The  complication  is  not  a little  curious,  and 
may  form,  perhaps,  a subject  of  graver  disquisition.  The 
July  fetes  occupy,  as  you  may  imagine,  a considerable  part 
of  their  columns  just  now,  and  it  is  amusing  to  follow  them 
one  by  one  ; to  read  Tweedledum’s  praise,  and  Tweedle- 
dee’s  indignation  — to  read,  in  the  Debats  how  the  King 
was  received  with  shouts  and  loyal  vivats  — in  the  Nation , 
how  not  a tongue  was  wagged  in  his  praise,  but,  on  the 
instant  of  his  departure,  how  the  people  called  for  the 
“ Marseillaise  ” and  applauded  that.  — But  best  say  no  more 
about  the  fete.  The  Legitimists  were  always  indignant  at 
it.  The  high  Philippist  party  sneers  at  and  despises  it; 
the  Republicans  hate  it : it  seems  a joke  against  them. 
Why  continue  it  ? — If  there  be  anything  sacred  in  the 
name  and  idea  of  loyalty,  why  renew  this  fete  ? It  only 
shows  how  a rightful  monarch  was  hurled  from  his  throne, 
and  a dexterous  usurper  stole  his  precious  diadem.  If 
there  be  anything  noble  in  the  memory  of  a day,  when 


40 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK 


citizens,  unused  to  war,  rose  against  practised  veterans,  and, 
armed  with  the  strength  of  their  cause,  overthrew  them, 
why  speak  of  it  now  ? or  renew  the  bitter  recollections  of 
the  bootless  struggle  and  victory  ? 0 Lafayette ! 0 hero 

of  two  worlds  ! 0 accomplished  Cromwell  Grandison  ! you 

have  to  answer  for  more  than  any  mortal  man  who  has 
played  a part  in  history  : two  republics  and  one  monarchy 
does  the  world  owe  to  you;  and  especially  grateful  should 
your  country  be  to  you.  Did  you  not,  in  ’90,  make  clear 
the  path  for  honest  Kobespierre,  and  in  ’30,  prepare  the 
way  for  — 


[The  Editor  of  the  Bungay  Beacon  would  insert  no 
more  of  this  letter  which  is,  therefore,  forever  lost  to  the 
public.] 


ON  THE  FRENCH  SCHOOL 
OF  PAINTING: 


WITH  APPROPRIATE  ANECDOTES,  ILLUSTRATIONS,  AND 
PHILOSOPHICAL  DISQUISITIONS. 

IN  A LETTER  TO  MR.  MACGILP,  OF  LONDON. 


HE  three  collections  of  pictures 
at  the  Louvre,  the  Luxembourg, 
and  the  Ecole  des  Beaux  Arts, 
contain  a number  of  specimens 
of  French  art,  since  its  com- 
mencement almost,  and  give  the 
stranger  a pretty  fair  opportu- 
nity to  study  and  appreciate  the 
school.  The  French  list  of  paint- 
ers contains  soimi  very  good 
names  — no  very  great  ones,  ex- 
cept Poussin  (unless  the  ad- 
mirers of  Claude  choose  to  rank 
him  among  great  painters), — 
and  I think  the  school  was 
' ' 1 never  in  so  flourishing  a con- 

dition as  it  is  at  the  present  day.  They  say  there  are  three 
thousand  artists  in  this  town  alone : of  these  a handsome 
minority  paint  not  merely  tolerably,  but  well  understand 
their  business : draw  the  figure  accurately ; sketch  with 
cleverness ; and  paint  portraits,  churches,  or  restaurateurs’ 
shops,  in  a decent  manner. 

To  account  for  a superiority  over  England  — which,  I 
think,  as  regards  art,  is  incontestable  — it  must  be  remem- 
bered that  the  painter’s  trade,  in  France,  is  a very  good 

41 


42 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK . 


one  ; better  appreciated,  better  understood,  and,  generally, 
far  better  paid  than  with  us.  There  are  a dozen  excellent 
schools  which  a lad  may  enter  here,  and,  under  the  eye  of 
a practised  master,  learn  the  apprenticeship  of  his  art  at  an 
expense  of  about  ten  pounds  a year.  In  England  there  is 
no  school  except  the  Academy,  unless  the  student  can 
afford  to  pay  a very  large  sum,  and  place  himself  under 
the  tuition  of  some  particular  artist.  Here,  a young  man. 
for  his  ten  pounds,  has  all  sorts  of  accessory  instruction, 
models,  &c. ; and  has  further,  and  for  nothing,  numberless 
incitements  to  study  his  profession  which  are  not  to  be  found 
in  England : — the  streets  are  filled  with  picture-shops 
the  people  themselves  are  pictures  walking  about;  the 
churches,  theatres,  eating-houses,  concert-rooms  are  covered 
with  pictures : Nature  itself  is  inclined  more  kindly  to 

him,  for  the  sky  is  a thousand  times  more  bright  and  beau- 
tiful, and  the  sun  shines  for  the  greater  part  of  the  year. 
Add  to  this,  incitements  more  selfish,  but  quite  as  power- 
ful : a French  artist  is  paid  very  handsomely ; for  five 
hundred  a year  is  much  where  all  are  poor;  and  has  a 
rank  in  society  rather  above  his  merits  than  below  them, 
being  caressed  by  hosts  and  hostesses  in  places  where  titles 
are  laughed  at  and  a baron  is  thought  of  no  more  account 
than  a banker’s  clerk. 

The  life  of  the  young  artist  here  is  the  easiest,  merriest, 
dirtiest  existence  possible.  He  comes  to  Paris,  probably  at 
sixteen,  from  his  province  ; his  parents  settle  forty  pounds 
a year  on  him,  and  pay  his  master ; he  establishes  himself 
in  the  Pays  Eatin,  or  in  the  new  quarter  of  Notre  Dame  de 
Lorette  (which  is  quite  peopled  with  painters);  he  arrives 
at  his  atelier  at  a tolerably  early  hour,  and  labors  among  a 
score  of  companions  as  merry  and  poor  as  himself.  Each 
gentleman  has  his  favorite  tobacco-pipe  ; and  the  pictures 
are  painted  in  the  midst  of  a cloud  of  smoke,  and  a din  of 
puns  and  choice  French  slang,  and  a roar  of  choruses,  of 
which  no  one  can  form  an  idea  who  has  not  been  present  at 
such  an  assembly. 

You  see  here  every  variety  of  coiffure  that  has  ever  been 
known.  Some  young  men  of  genius  have  ringlets  hanging 
over  their  shoulders  — you  may  smell  the  tobacco  with 
which  they  are  scented  across  the  street ; some  have  straight 
locks,  black,  oily,  and  redundant ; some  have  toupets  in 
the  famous  Louis-Philippe  fashion ; some  are  cropped 
close;  some  have  adopted  the  present  mode  — which  he 


ON  THE  FRENCH  SCHOOL  OF  PAINTING . 


43 


who  would  follow  must,  in  order  to  do  so,  part  his  hair  in  the 
middle,  grease  it  with  grease,  and  gum  it  with  gum,  and 
iron  it  flat  down  over  his  ears  ; when  arrived  at  the  ears, 
you  take  the  tongs  and  make  a couple  of  ranges  of  curls 
close  round  the  whole  head,  — such  curls  as  you  may  see 
under  a gilt  three-cornered  hat,  and  in  her  Britannic 
Majesty’s  coachman’s  state  wig. 

This  is  the  last  fashion.  As  for  the  beards,  there  is  no 
end  to  them  ; all  my  friends  the  artists  have  beards  who 
can  raise  them ; and  Nature,  though  she  has  rather  stinted 
the  bodies  and  limbs  of  the  French  nation,  has  been  very 
liberal  to  them  of  hah*,  as  you  may  see  by  the  following 


specimen.*  Fancy  these  heads  under  all  sorts  of  caps  — 
Chinese  caps,  Mandarin  caps,  Greek  skull-caps,  English 
jockey-caps,  Russian  or  Kuzzilbash  caps,  Middle-age  caps 
(such  as  are  called,  in  heraldry,  caps  of  maintenance), 
Spanish  nets,  and  striped  worsted  nightcaps.  Fancy  all  the 
jackets  you  have  ever  seen,  and  you  have  before  you,  as 
well  as  pen  can  describe,  the  costumes  of  these  indescrib- 
able Frenchmen. 

In  this  company  and  costume  the  French  student  of  art 
passes  his  days  and  acquires  knowledge ; how  he  passes  his 
evenings,  at  what  theatres,  at  what  guinguettes , in  company 
with  what  seducing  little  milliner,  there  is  no  need  to  say ; 
but  I knew  one  who  pawned  his  coat  to  go  to  a carnival 


* This  refers  to  an  illustrated  edition  of  the  work. 


44 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK . 


ball,  and  walked  abroad  very  cheerfully  in  his  blouse  for 
six  weeks,  until  he  could  redeem  the  absent  garment. 

These  young  men  (together  with  the  students  of  sciences) 
comport  themselves  towards  the  sober  citizen  pretty  much 
as  the  German  bursch  towards  the  philister , or  as  the  mili- 
tary man,  during  the  empire,  did  to  the  pekin : — from  the 
height  of  their  poverty  they  look  down  upon  him  with  the 
greatest  imaginable  scorn  — a scorn,  I think,  by  which  the 
citizen  seems  dazzled,  for  his  respect  for  the  arts  is  intense. 
The  case  is  very  different  in  England,  where  a grocer’s 
daughter  would  think  she  made  a mesalliance  by  marrying 
a painter,  and  where  a literary  man  (in  spite  of  all  we  can 
say  against  it)  ranks  below  that  class  of  gentry  composed 
of  the  apothecary,  the  attorney,  the  wine-merchant,  whose 
positions,  in  country  towns  at  least,  are  so  equivocal.  As, 
for  instance,  my  friend  the  Rev.  James  Asterisk,  who  has 
an  undeniable  pedigree,  a paternal  estate,  and  a living  to 
boot,  once  dined  in  Warwickshire,  in  company  with  several 
squires  and  parsons  of  that  enlightened  county.  Asterisk, 
as  usual,  made  himself  extraordinarily  agreeable  at  dinner, 
and  delighted  all  present  with  his  learning  and  wit.  “ Who 
is  that  monstrous  pleasant  fellow  ? ” said  one  of  the  squires. 
“ Don’t  you  know  ?”  replied  another.  “It’s  Asterisk,  the 
author  of  so-and-so,  and  a famous  contributor  to  such  and 
such  a magazine.”  “ Good  heavens  ! ” said  the  squire,  quite 
horrified!  “a  literary  man  ! I thought  he  had  been  a gen- 
tleman ! ” 

Another  instance:  M.  Guizot,  when  he  was  Minister 
here,  had  the  grand  hotel  of  the  Ministry,  and  gave  entertain- 
ments to  all  the  great  de  par  le  monde , as  Brantome  says, 
and  entertained  them  in  a proper  ministerial  magnificence. 
The  splendid  and  beautiful  Duchess  of  Dash  was  at  one  of 
his  ministerial  parties ; and  went,  a fortnight  afterwards, 
as  in  duty  bound,  to  pay  her  respects  to  M.  Guizot.  But  it 
happened,  in  this  fortnight,  that  M.  Guizot  was  Minister 
no  longer  ; having  given  up  his  portfolio,  and  his  grand 
hotel,  to  retire  into  private  life,  and  to  occupy  his  humble 
apartments  in  the  house  which  he  possesses,  and  of  which 
he  lets  the  greater  portion.  A friend  of  mine  was  present 
at  one  of  the  ex-Minister’s  soirees , where  the  Duchess  of 
Dash  made  her  appearance.  He  says  the  Duchess,  at  her 
entrance,  seemed  quite  astounded,  and  examined  the  prem- 
ises with  a most  curious  wonder.  Two  or  three  shabby  little 
rooms,  with  ordinary  furniture,  and  a Minister  en  retraite , 


ON  THE  FRENCH  SCflOOL  OF  PAINTING . 


45 


who  lives  by  letting  lodgings  ! In  our  country  was  ever 
such  a thing  heard  of  ? No,  thank  heaven  ! and  a Briton 
ought  to  be  proud  of  the  difference. 

But  to  our  muttons.  This  country  is  surely  the  paradise 
of  painters  and  penny-a-liners ; and  when  one  reads  of  M . 
Horace  Vernet  at  Koine,  exceeding  ambassadors  at  Koine 
by  his  magnificence,  and  leading  such  a life  as  Kubens  or 
Titian  did  of  old  ; when  one  sees  M.  Thiers’s  grand  villa  in 
the  Rue  St.  George  (a  dozen  years  ago  he  was  not  even  a 
penny-a-liner  : no  such  luck)  ; when  one  contemplates,  in 
imagination,  M.  Gudin,  the  marine  painter,  too  lame  to 
walk  through  the  picture-gallery  of  the  Louvre,  accommo- 
dated, therefore,  with  a wheel-chair,  a privilege  of  princes 
only,  and  accompanied  — nay,  for  what  I know,  actually 
trundled  — down  the  gallery  by  majesty  itself  — who  does 
not  long  to  make  one  of  the  great  nation,  exchange  his 
native  tongue  for  the  melodious  jabber  of  France  ; or,  at 
least,  adopt  it  for  his  native  country,  like  Marshal  Saxe, 
Napoleon,  and  Anacharsis  Clootz  ? Noble  people ! they 
made  Tom  Paine  a deputy;  and  as  for  Tom  Macaulay,  they 
would  make  a dynasty  of  him. 

Well,  this  being  the  case,  no  wonder  there  are  so  many 
painters  in  France ; and  here,  at  least,  we  are  back  to  them. 
At  the  Ecole  Koyale  des  Beaux  Arts,  you  see  two  or  three 
hundred  specimens  of  their  performances  ; all  the  prize- 
men, since  1750,  I think,  being  bound  to  leave  their  prize 
sketch  or  picture.  Can  anything  good  come  out  of  the 
Koyal  Academy  ? is  a question  which  has  been  considerably 
mooted  in  England  (in  the  neighborhood  of  Suffolk  Street 
especially).  The  hundreds  of  French  samples  are,  I think, 
not  very  satisfactory.  The  subjects  are  almost  all  what 
are  called  classical : Orestes  pursued  by  every  variety  of 
Furies ; numbers  of  little  wolf-sucking  Komuluses ; Hec- 
tors and  Andromaches  in  a complication  of  parting  em- 
braces, and  so  forth ; for  it  was  the  absurd  maxim  of  our 
forefathers,  that  because  these  subjects  had  been  the 
fashion  twenty  centuries  ago,  they  must  remain  so  in  scecula 
saeculoruw; ; because  to  these  lofty  heights  giants  had  scaled, 
behold  the  race  of  pigmies  must  get  upon  stilts  and  jump  at 
them  likewise  ! and  on  the  canvas,  and  in  the  theatre,  the 
French  frogs  (excuse  the  pleasantry)  were  instructed  to 
swell  out  and  roar  as  much  as  possible  like  bulls. 

What  was  the  consequence,  my  dear  friend  ? In  trying 
to  make  themselves  into  bulls,  the  frogs  make  themselves 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK . 


40 

into  jackasses,  as  might  be  expected.  For  a hundred  and 
ten  years  the  classical  humbug  oppressed  the  nation ; and 
you  may  see,  in  this  gallery  of  the  Beaux  Arts,  seventy 
years’  specimens  of  the  dulness  which  it  engendered. 

Now,  as  Nature  made  every  man  with  a nose  and  eyes  of 
his  own,  she  gave  him  a character  of  his  own  too  ; and  yet 
we,  0 foolish  race ! must  try  our  very  best  to  ape  some  one 
or  two  of  our  neighbors,  whose  ideas  fit  us  no  more  than 
their  breeches  ! It  is  the  study  of  nature,  surely,  that 
profits  us,  and  not  of  these  imitations  of  her.  A man  as  a 
man,  from  a dustman  up  to  iEschylus,  is  God’s  work,  and 
good  to  read,  as  all  works  of  Nature  are  : but  the  silly 
animal  is  never  content ; is  ever  trying  to  fit  itself  into 
another  shape  ; wants  to  deny  its  own  identity,  and  has 
not  the  courage  to  utter  its  own  thoughts.  Because  Lord 
Byron  was  wicked,  and  quarrelled  with  the  world ; and 
found  himself  growing  fat,  and  quarrelled  with  his 
victuals,  and  thus,  naturally,  grew  ill-humored,  did  not 
half  Europe  grow  ill-humored  too  ? Did  not  every  poet 
feel  his  young  affections  withered,  and  despair  and  dark- 
ness cast  upon  his  soul  ? Because  certain  mighty  men  of 
old  could  make  heroical  statues  and  plays,  must  we  not  be 
told  that  there  is  no  other  beauty  but  classical  beauty  ? — 
must  not  every  little  whipster  of  a French  poet  chalk  you 
out  plays,  “ Henriades,”  and  sucli-like,  and  vow  that  here 
was  the  real  thing,  the  undeniable  Kalon? 

The  undeniable  fiddlestick!  For  a hundred  years,  my 
dear  sir,  the  world  was  humbugged  by  the  so-called  classi- 
cal artists,  as  they  now  are  by  what  is  called  the  Christian 
art  (of  which  anon)  ; and  it  is  curious  to  look  at  the  picto- 
rial traditions  as  here  handed  down.  The  consequence  of 
them  is,  that  scarce  one  of  the  classical  pictures  exhibited 
is  worth  much  more  than  two-and-sixpence.  Borrowed 
from  statuary,  in  the  first  place,  the  color  of  the  paintings 
seems,  as  much  as  possible,  to  participate  in  it ; they  are 
mostly  of  a misty,  stony  green,  dismal  hue,  as  if  they  had 
been  painted  in  a world  where  no  color  was.  In  every 
picture,  there  are,  of  course,  white  mantles,  white  urns, 
white  columns,  white  statues  — those  oblige  accomplish- 
ments of  the  sublime.  There  are  the  endless  straight 
noses,  long  eyes,  round  chins,  short  upper  lips,  just  as  they 
are  ruled  down  for  you  in  the  drawing-books,  as  if  the  latter 
were  the  revelations  of  beauty,  issued  by  supreme  author- 
ity from  which  there  was  no  appeal.  Why  is  the  classical 


ON  TUN  FRENCH  SCHOOL  OF  FAINTING . 


47 


reign  to  endure?  Wliy  is  yonder  simpering  Venus  de’ 
Medicis  to  be  our  standard  of  beauty,  or  the  Greek  trage- 
dies to  bound  our  notions  of  the  sublime  ? There  was  no 
reason  why  Agamemnon  should  set  the  fashions,  and 
remain  avaij  avSpwv  to  eternity  : and  there  is  a classical 
quotation,  which  you  may  have  occasionally  heard,  begin- 
ning Pixere  fortes , &c.,  which,  as  it  avers  that  there  were 
a great  number  of.  stout  fellows  before  Agamemnon,  may 
not  unreasonably  induce  us  to  conclude  that  similar  heroes 
were  to  succeed  him.  Shakspeare  made  a better  man 
when  his  imagination  moulded  the  mighty  figure  of  Mac- 
beth. And  if  you  will  measure  Satan  by  Prometheus,  the 
blind  old  Puritan’s  work  by  that  of  the  liery  Grecian  poet, 
does  not  Milton’s  angel  surpass  iEschylus’s  — surpass  him 
by  “ many  a rood  ? ” 

In  the  same  school  of  the  Beaux  Arts,  where  are  to  be 
found  such  a number  of  pale  imitations  of  the  antique, 
Monsieur  Thiers  (and  he  ought  to  be  thanked  for  it)  has 
caused  to  be  placed  a full-sized  copy  of  “The  Last  Judg- 
ment” of  Michael  Angelo  and  a number  of  casts  from 
statues  by  the  'same  splendid  hand.  There  is  the  sublime, 
if  you  please — a new  sublime — an  original  sublime  — quite 
as  sublime  as  the  Greek  sublime.  See  yonder,  in  the  midst 
of  his  angels,  the  Judge  of  the  world  descending  in  glory; 
and  near  him,  beautiful  and  gentle,  and  yet  indescribably 
august  and  pure,  the  Virgin  by  his  side.  There  is  the 
“Moses,”  the  grandest  figure  that  ever  was  carved  in 
stone.  It  has  about  it  something  frightfully  majestic,  if 
one  may  so  speak.  In  examining  this,  and  the  astonishing 
picture  of  “The  Judgment,”  or  even  a single  figure  of  it, 
the  spectator’s  sense  amounts  almost  to  pain.  I would  not 
like  to  be  left  in  a room  alone  with  the  “Moses.”  How 
did  the  artist  live  amongst  them,  and  create  them  ? How 
did  he  suffer  the  painful  labor  of  invention  ? One  fancies 
that  he  would  have  been  scorched  up,  like  Semele,  by  .sights 
too  tremendous  for  his  vision  to  bear.  One  cannot  imagine 
him,  with  our  small  physical  endowments  and  weaknesses, 
a man  like  ourselves. 

As  for  the  Ecole  Eoyale  des  Beaux  Arts,  then,  and  all  the 
good  its  students  have  done,  as  students,  it  is  stark  naught. 
When  the  men  did  anything,  it  was  after  they  had  left  the 
academy,  and  began  thinking  for  themselves.  There  is 
only  one  picture  among  the  many  hundreds  that  has,  to  my 
idea,  much  merit  (a  charming  composition  of  Homer  singing, 


48 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK. 


signed  J ourdy) ; and  the  only  good  that  the  Academy  has 
done  by  its  pupils  was  to  send  them  to  Home,  where  they 
might  learn  better  things.  At  home,  the  intolerable,  stupid 
classicalities,  taught  by  men  who,  belonging  to  the  least 
erudite  country  in  Europe,  were  themselves,  from  their 
profession,  the  least  learned  among  their  countrymen,  only 
weighed  the  pupils  down,  and  cramped  their  hands,  their 
eyes,  and  their  imaginations ; drove  them  away  from  nat- 
ural beauty,  which,  thank  God,  is  fresh  and  attainable  by 
us  all,  to-day,  and  yesterday,  and  to-morrow ; and  sent  them 
rambling  after  artificial  grace,  without  the  proper  means  of 
judging  or  attaining  it. 

A word  for  the  building  of  the  Palais  des  Beaux  Arts. 
It  is  beautiful,  and  as  well  finished  and  convenient  as  beau- 
tiful. With  its  light  and  elegant  fabric,  its  pretty  foun- 
tain, its  archway  of  the  Renaissance , and  fragments  of 
sculpture,  you  can  hardly  see,  on  a fine  day,  a place  more 
riant  and  pleasing. 

Passing  from  thence  up  the  picturesque  Hue  de  Seine, 
let  us  walk  to  the  Luxembourg,  where  bonnes,  students, 
grisettes,  and  old  gentlemen  with  pigtails,  love  to  wander 
in  the  melancholy,  quaint  old  gardens  ; where  the  peers  have 
a new  and  comfortable  court  of  justice,  to  judge  all  the 
emeutes  which  are  to  take  place ; and  where,  as  everybody 
knows,  is  the  picture-gallery  of  modern  French  artists, 
whom  government  thinks  worthy  of  patronage. 

A very  great  proportion  of  the  pictures,  as  we  see  by  the 
catalogue,  are  by  the  students  whose  works  we  have  just 
been  to  visit  at  the  Beaux  Arts,  and  who,  having  performed 
their  pilgrimage  to  Rome,  have  taken  rank  among  the  pro- 
fessors of  the  art.  I don’t  know  a more  pleasing  exhibi- 
tion ; for  there  are  not  a dozen  really  bad  pictures  in  the 
collection,  some  very  good,  and  the  rest  showing  great  skill 
and  smartness  of  execution. 

In  the  same  way,  however,  that  it  has  been  supposed 
that  no  man  could  be  a great  poet  unless  he  wrote  a very 
big  poem,  the  tradition  is  kept  up  among  the  painters,  and 
we  have  here  a vast  number  of  large  canvases,  with  figures 
of  the  proper  heroical  length  and  nakedness.  The  anti- 
classicists  did  not  arise  in  France  until  about  1827 ; and,  in 
consequence,  up  to  that  period,  we  have  here  the  old  clas- 
sical faith  in  full  vigor.  There  is  Brutus,  having  chopped 
his  son’s  head  off,  with  all  the  agony  of  a father,  and  then, 
calling  for  number  two ; there  is  JEneas  carrying  off  old 


ON  THE  FRENCH  SCHOOL  OF  PAINTING . 


49 


Anchises ; there  are  Paris  and  Venus,  as  naked  as  two 
Hottentots,  and  many  more  such  choice  subjects  from  Lem- 
priere. 

But  the  chief  specimens  of  the  sublime  are  in  the  way  of 
murders,  with  which  the  catalogue  swarms.  Here  are  a 
few  extracts  from  it : — 

7.  Beaume,  Chevalier  de  la  Legion  d’Honneur.  “ The  Grand  Dau- 
pliiness  Dying.” 

18.  Blondel,  Chevalier  de  la,  &e.  “Zenobia  found  Dead.” 

36.  Debay,  Chevalier.  “ The  Death  of  Lucretia.” 

38.  Dejuinne.  “ The  Death  of  Hector.” 

34.  Court,  Chevalier  de  la,  &c.  “ The  Death  of  Caesar.” 

39,  40,  41.  Delacroix,  Chevalier.  “Dante  and  Virgil  in  the  Infer- 
nal Lake,”  “ The  Massacre  of  Scio,”  and  “ Medea  going  to  murder  her 
Children.” 

43.  Delaroche,  Chevalier.  “ Joas  taken  from  among  the  Dead.” 

44.  “ The  Death  of  Queen  Elizabeth.” 

45.  “Edward  V.  and  his  Brother”  (preparing  for  death). 

50.  “ Hecuba  going  to  be  Sacrificed,”  Drolling,  Chevalier. 

51.  Dubois.  “ Young  Clovis  found  Dead.” 

56.  Henry,  Chevalier.  “ The  Massacre  of  St.  Bartholomew.” 

75.  Guerin,  Chevalier.  “ Cain,  after  the  Death  of  Abel.” 

83.  Jacquand.  “ Death  of  Adelaide  de  Comminges.” 

88.  “ The  Death  of  Eudamidas.” 

93.  “The  Death  of  Ilymetto.” 

103.  “ The  Death  of  Philip  of  Austria.”  — And  so  on. 

You  see  what  woful  subjects  they  take,  and  how  pro- 
fusely they  are  decorated  with  knighthood.  They  are  like 
the  Black  Brunswiekers,  these  painters,  and  ought  to  be 
called  Chevaliers  de  la  Mort . I don’t  know  why  the  merri- 
est people  in  the  world  should  please  themselves  with  such 
grim  representations  and  varieties  of  murder,  or  why  mur- 
der itself  should  be  considered  so  eminently  sublime  and 
poetical.  It  is  good  at  the  end  of  a tragedy ; but,  then,  it 
is  good  because  it  is  the  end,  and  because,  by  the  events 
foregone,  the  mind  is  prepared  for  it.  But  these  men  will 
have  nothing  but  fifth  acts  ; and  seem  to  skip,  as  unworthy, 
all  circumstances  leading  to  them.  This,  however,  is  part 
of  the  scheme  — the  bloated,  unnatural,  stilted,  spouting, 
sham  sublime,  that  our  teachers  have  believed  and  tried  tp 
pass  off  as  real,  and  which  your  humble  servant  and  other 
antiliumbuggists  should  heartily,  according  to  the  strength 
that  is  in  them,  endeavor  to  pull  down.  What,  for  instance 
could  Monsieur  Lafond  care  about  the  death  of  Eudamidas  V 
What  was  Hecuba  to  Chevalier  Drolling,  or  Chevalier 
Drolling  to  Hecuba  ? I would  lay  a wager  that  neither  of 
them  ever  conjugated  tvtttg),  and  that  their  school  learning 


50 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK . 


carried  them  not  as  far  as  the  letter,  but  only  to  the  game 
of  taw.  How  were  they  to  be  inspired  by  such  subjects  ? 
From  having  seen  Talma  and  Mademoiselle  Georges  flaunt- 
ing in  sham  Greek  costumes,  and  having  read  up  the 
articles  Eudamidas,  Hecuba,  in  the  “ Mythological  Diction- 
ary.” What  a classicism,  inspired  by  rogue,  gas-lamps,  and 
a few  lines  in  Lempriere,  and  copied,  half  from  ancient  stat- 
ues, and  half  from  a naked  guardsman  at  one  shilling  and 
sixpence  the  hour ! 

Delacroix  is  a man  of  a very  different  genius,  and  his 
“Medea  ” is  a genuine  creation  of  a noble  fancy.  For  most  of 
the  others,  Mrs.  Brownrigg,  and  her  two  female  7 prentices, 
would  have  done  as  well  as  the  desperate  Colchian  with  her 
T€Kva  c^tArara.  M.  Delacroix  has  produced  a number  of 
rude,  barbarous  pictures  ; but  there  is  the  stamp  of  genius  on 
all  of  them, — the  great  poetical  intention , which  is  worth 
all  your  execution.  Delaroche  is  another  man  of  high 
merit ; with  not  such  a great  heart , perhaps,  as  the  other, 
but  a flue  and  careful  draughtsman,  and  an  excellent 
arranger  of  his  subject.  “ The  Death  of  Elizabeth  ” is  a raw 
young  performance  seemingly  — not,  at  least,  to  my  taste. 
The  “ Enfaus  d’Edouard  ” is  renowned  over  Europe,  and 
has  appeared  in  a hundred  different  ways  in  print.  It 
is  properly  pathetic  and  gloomy,  and  merits  fully  its  high 
reputation.  This  painter  rejoices  in  such  subjects  — in 
what  Lord  Portsmouth  used  to  call  “black  jobs.”  He  has 
killed  Charles  I.  and  Lady  Jane  Grey,  and  the  Dukes  of 
Guise,  and  I don’t  know  whom  besides.  He  is,  at  present, 
occupied  with  a vast  work  at  the  Beaux  Arts,  where  the 
writer  of  this  had  the  honor  of  seeing  him,  — a little,  keen- 
looking man,  some  flve  feet  in  height.  He  wore,  on  this 
important  occasion,  a bandanna  round  his  head,  and  was  in 
the  act  of  smoking  a cigar. 

Horace  Vernet,  whose  beautiful  daughter  Delaroche  mar- 
ried, is  the  king  of  French  battle-painters  — an  amazingly 
rapid  and  dexterous  draughtsman,  who  has  Napoleon  and 
all  the  campaigns  by  heart,  and  has  painted  the  Grenadier 
Fran^ais  under  all  sorts  of  attitudes.  His  pictures  on  such 
subjects  are  spirited,  natural,  and  excellent;  and  he  is  so 
clever  a man,  that  all  he  does  is  good  to  a certain  degree. 
His  “Judith”  is  somewhat  violent,  perhaps.  His  “ Kebecca” 
most  pleasing ; and  not  the  less  so  for  a little  pretty  affec- 
tation of  attitude  and  needless  singularity  of  costume. 
“ Raphael  and  Michael  Angelo  ” is  as  clever  a picture  as 


ON  THE  FRENCH  SCHOOL  OF  PAINTING . 


51 


can  be  — clever  is  just  the  word  — the  groups  and  drawing 
excellent,  the  coloring  pleasantly  bright  and  gaudy  ; and 
the  French  students  study  it  incessantly  ; there  are  a dozen 
who  copy  it  for  one  who  copies  Delacroix.  His  little 
scraps  of  wood-cuts,  in  the  now  publishing  “ Life  of  Napo- 
leon/7 are  perfect  gems  in  their  way,  and  the  noble  price 
paid  for  them  not  a penny  more  than  he  merits. 

The  picture,  by  Court,  of  “ The  Death  of  Caesar/7  is 
remarkable  for  effect  and  excellent  workmanship : and  the 
head  of  Brutus  (who  looks  like  Arman d Carrel)  is  full  of 
energy.  There  are  some  beautiful  heads  of  women,  and 
some  very  good  color  in  the  picture.  Jacquand7s  “ Death 
of  Adelaide  de  Comminges 77  is  neither  more  nor  less  than 
beautiful.  Adelaide  had,  it  appears,  a lover,  who  betook 
himself  to  a convent  of  Trappists.  She  followed  him 
thither,  disguised  as  a man,  took  the  vows,  and  was  not  dis- 
covered by  him  till  on  her  death-bed.  The  painter  has  told 
this  story  in  a most  pleasing  and  affecting  manner  : the  pict- 
ure is  full  of  onction  and  melancholy  grace.  The  objects, 
too,  are  capitally  represented ; and  the  tone  and  color  very 
good.  Decaisne7s  “ Guardian  Angel  77  is  not  so  good  in 
color,  but  is  equally  beautiful  in  expression  and  grace.  A 
little  child  and  a nurse  are  asleep : an  angel  watches  the 
infant.  You  see  women  look  very  wistfully  at  this  sweet 
picture ; and  what  triumph  would  a painter  have  more  ? 

We  must  not  quit  the  Luxembourg  without  noticing  the 
dashing  sea-pieces  of  Gudin,  and  one  or  two  landscapes  by 
Giroux  (the  plain  of  Grasivaudan),  and  “ The  Prometheus  77 
of  Aligny.  This  is  an  imitation,  perhaps  ; as  is  a noble  pict- 
ure of  “ Jesus  Christ  and  the  Children/7  by  Flandrin : but 
the  artists  are  imitating  better  models,  at  any  rate  ; and 
one  begins  to  perceive  that  the  odious  classical  dynasty  is 
no  more.  Poussin’s  magnificent  “ Polyphemus 77  (I  only 
know  a print  of  that  marvellous  composition)  has,  perhaps, 
suggested  the  first-named  picture ; and  the  latter  has  been 
inspired  by  a good  enthusiastic  study  of  the  Boman 
schools. 

Of  this  revolution,  Monsieur  Ingres  has  been  one  of  the 
chief  instruments.  He  was,  before  Horace  Yernet,  presi- 
dent of  the  French  Academy  at  Borne,  and  is  famous  as  a 
chief  of  a school.  When  he  broke  up  his  atelier  here,  to 
set  out  for  his  presidency,  many  of  his  pupils  attended  him 
faithfully  some  way  on  his  journey ; and  some,  with  scarcely 
a penny  in  their  pouches,  walked  through  France  and 


52 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK 


across  the  Alps,  in  a pious  pilgrimage  to  Rome,  being 
determined  not  to  forsake  their  old  master.  Such  an  action 
was  worthy  of  them,  and  of  the  high  rank  which  their 
profession  holds  in  France,  where  the  honors  to  be  acquired 
by  art  are  only  inferior  to  those  which  are  gained  in  war. 
One  reads  of  such  peregrinations  in  old  days,  when  the 
scholars  of  some  great  Italian  painter  followed  him  from 
Venice  to  Rome,  or  from  Florence  to  Ferrara.  In  regard 
of  Ingres’s  individual  merit  as  a painter,  the  writer  of  this 
is  not  a fair  judge,  having  seen  but  three  pictures  by  him ; 
one  being  a plafond  in  the  Louvre,  which  his  disciples 
much  admire. 

Ingres  stands  between  the  Imperio-Davido-classical  school 
of  French  art,  and  the  namby-pamby  mystical  German 
school,  which  is  for  carrying  us  back  to  Cranach  and  Differ, 
and  which  is  making  progress  here. 

For  everything  here  finds  imitation ; the  French  have  the 
genius  of  imitation  and  caricature.  This  absurd  humbug, 
called  the  Christian  or  Catholic  art,  is  sure  to  tickle  our 
neighbors,  and  will  be  a favorite  with  them,  when  better 
known.  My  dear  MacGilp,  I do  believe  this  to  be  a greater 
humbug  than  the  humbug  of  David  and  Girodet,  inasmuch 
as  the  latter  was  founded  on  Nature  at  least;  whereas  the 
former  is  made  up  of  silly  affectations,  and  improvements 
upon  Nature.  Here,  for  instance,  is  Chevalier  Ziegler’s 
picture  of  “ St.  Luke  painting  the  Virgin.”  St.  Luke  has 
a monk’s  dress  on,  embroidered,  however,  smartly  round  the 
sleeves.  The  Virgin  sits  in  an  immense  yellow-ochre  halo, 
with  her  son  in  her  arms.  She  looks  preternaturally 
solemn  ; as  does  St.  Luke,  who  is  eying  his  paint-brush  with 
an  intense  ominous  mystical  look.  They  call  this  Catholic 
art.  There  is  nothing,  my  dear  friend,  more  easy  in  life. 
First  take  your  colors,  and  rub  them  down  clean, — bright 
carmine,  bright  yellow,  bright  sienna,  bright  ultramarine, 
bright  green.  Make  the  costumes  of  your  figures  as  much 
as  possible  like  the  costumes  of  the  early  part  of  the 
fifteenth  century.  Paint  them  in  with  the  above . colors  ; 
and  if  on  a gold  ground,  the  more  “ Catholic”  your  art  is. 
Dress  your  apostles  like  priests  before  the  altar;  and 
remember  to  have  a good  commodity  of  crosiers,  censers, 
and  other  such  gimcracks,  as  you  may  see  in  the  Catholic 
chapels,  in  Sutton  Street  and  elsewhere.  Deal  in  Virgins, 
and  dress  them  like  a burgomaster’s  wife  by  Cranach  or 
Van  Eyck.  Give  them  all  long  twisted  tails  to  their  gowns, 


ON  THE  FRENCH  SCHOOL  OF  PAINTING . 


53 


and  proper  angular  draperies.  Place  all  their  heads  on  one 
side,  with  the  eyes  shut,  and  the  proper  solemn  simper. 
At  the  back  of  the  head,  draw,  and  gild  with  gold-leaf,  a 
halo  or  glory,  of  the  exact  shape  of  a cart-wheel : and  you 
have  the  thing  done.  It  is  Catholic  art  tout  crcbche , as 
Louis  Philippe  says.  We  have  it  still  in  England,  handed 
down  to  us  for  four  centuries,  in  the  pictures  on  the  cards, 
as  the  redoutable  king  and  queen  of  clubs.  Look  at  them  : 
you  will  see  that  the  costumes  and  attitudes  are  precisely 
similar  to  those  which  figure  in  the  catholicities  of  the 
school  of  Overbeck  and  Cornelius. 

Before  you  take  your  cane  at  the  door,  look  for  one 
instant  at  the  statue-room.  Yonder  is  Jouffley’s  “Jeune 
Fille  confiant  son  premier  secret  a Venus.  ” Charming, 
charming ! It  is  from  the  exhibition  of  this  year  only ; 
and  I think  the  best  sculpture  in  the  gallery  — pretty, 
fanciful,  naive ; admirable  in  workmanship  and  imitation 
of  Nature.  I have  seldom  seen  flesh  better  represented  in 
marble.  Examine,  also,  Jaley’s  “Pudeur,  ” JacquoFs 
“ Nymph,  ” and  Bude’s  “ Boy  with  the  Tortoise.  ” These 
are  not  very  exalted  subjects,  or  what  are  called  exalted, 
and  do  not  go  beyond  simple,  smiling  beauty  and  nature. 
But  what  then  ? Are  we  gods,  Miltons,  Michael  Angelos, 
that  can  leave  earth  when  we  please,  and  soar  to  heights 
immeasurable  ? No,  my  dear  MacGilp ; but  the  fools  of 
academicians  would  fain  make  us  so.  Are  you  not,  and 
half  the  painters  in  London,  panting  for  an  opportunity  to 
show  your  genius  in  a great  “ historical  picture  ?”  0 

blind  race  ! Have  you  wings  ? Not  a feather : and  yet 
you  must  be  ever  puffing,  sweating  up  to  the  tops  of  rugged 
hills;  and  arrived  there,  clapping  and  shaking  your  ragged 
elbows,  and  making  as  if  you  would  fly  ! Come  down,  silly 
Daedalus ; come  down  to  the  lowly  places  in  which  Nature 
ordered  you  to  walk.  The  sweet  flowers  are  springing 
there ; the  fat  muttons  are  waiting  there ; the  pleasant  sun 
shines  there ; be  content  and  humble,  and  take  your  share 
of  the  good  cheer. 

While  we  have  been  indulging  in  this  discussion,  the 
omnibus  has  gayly  conducted  us  across  the  water ; and  le 
garde  qui  veille  a la  pjorte  du  Louvre  ne  defend  pas  our 

entry. 

What  a paradise  this  gallery  is  for  French  students,  or 
foreigners  who  sojourn  in  the  capital!  It  is  hardly 
necessary  to  say  that  the  brethren  of  the  brush  are  not 


54 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK 


usually  supplied  by  Fortune  with  any  extraordinary 
wealth,  or  means  of  enjoying  the  luxuries  with  which 
Paris,  more  than  any  other  city,  abounds.  But  here  they 
have  a luxury  which  surpasses  all  others,  and  spend  their 
days  in.a  palace  which  all  the  money  of  all  the  Rothschilds 
could  not  buy.  They  sleep,  perhaps,  in  a garret,  and  dine 
in  a cellar ; but  no  grandee  in  Europe  has  such  a drawing- 
room. Kings’  houses  have,  at  best,  but  damask  hangings, 
and  gilt  cornices.  What  are  these  to  a wall  covered  with 
canvas  by  Paul  Veronese,  or  a hundred  yards  of  Rubens  ? 
Artists  from  England,  who  have  a national  gallery  that 
resembles  a moderate-sized  gin-shop,  who  may  not  copy 
pictures,  except  under  particular  restrictions,  and  on  rare 
and  particular  days,  may  revel  here  to  their  hearts’  content. 
Here  is  a room  half  a mile  long,  with  as  many  windows  as 
Aladdin’s  palace,  open  from  sunrise  till  evening,  and  free  to 
all  manners  and  all  varieties  of  study : the  only  puzzle  to 
the  student  is  to  select  the  one  he  shall  begin  upon,  and 
keep  his  eyes  away  from  the  rest. 

Fontaine’s  grand  staircase,  with  its  arches,  and  painted 
ceilings  and  shining  Doric  columns,  leads  directly  to  the 
gallery;  but  is  thought  too  line  for  working  days,  and  is 
only  opened  for  the  public  entrance  on  Sabbath.  A little 
back  stair  (leading  from  a court,  in  which  stand  numerous 
bas-reliefs,  and  a solemn  sphinx,  of  polished  granite),  is  the 
common  entry  for  students  and  others,  who,  during  the 
week,  enter  the  gallery. 

Hither  have  lately  been  transported  a number  of  the 
works  of  French  artists,  which  formerly  covered  the  walls 
of  the  Luxembourg  ( death  only  entitles  the  French  painter 
to  a place  in  the  Louvre  ) ; and  let  us  confine  ourselves  to 
the  Frenchmen  only,  for  the  space  of  this  letter. 

I have  seen,  in  a fine  private  collection  at  St.  Germain, 
one  or  two  admirable  single  figures  of  David,  full  of  life, 
truth,  and  gayety.  The  color  is  not  good,  but  all  the  rest 
excellent : and  one  of  these  so  much-lauded  pictures  is  the 
portrait  of  a washer-woman.  “ Pope  Pius,  ” at  the  Louvre, 
is  as  bad  in  color  as  remarkable  for  its  vigor  and  look  of 
life.  The  man  had  a genius  for  painting  portraits  and 
common  life,  but  must  attempt  the  heroic ; failed  signally  ; 
and  what  is  worse,  carried  a whole  nation  blundering  after 
him.  Had  you  told  a Frenchman  so,  twenty  years  ago,  he 
would  have  thrown  the  dementi  in  your  teetli ; or,  at  least, 
laughed  at  you  in  scornful  incredulity.  They  say  of  us 


ON  THE  FRENCH  SCHOOL  OF  PAINTING,  55 

that  we  don’t  know  when  we  are  beaten : they  go  a step 
further,  and  swear  their  defeats  are  victories.  David  was 
a part  of  the  glory  of  the  empire  ; and  one  might  as  well 
have  said  then  that  “ Eomulus 93  was  a bad  picture,  as  that 
Toulouse  was  a lost  battle.  Old-fashioned  people,  who 
believe  in  the  Emperor,  believe  in  the  Theatre  Frangais, 
and  believe  Ducis  improved  upon  Shakspeare,  have  the 
above  opinion.  Still,  it  is  curious  to  remark,  in  this  place, 
how  art  and  literature  become  party  matters,  and  political 
sects  have  their  favorite  painters  and  authors. 

Nevertheless,  Jacques  Louis  David  is  dead.  He  died 
about  a year  after  his  bodily  demise  in  1825.  The  roman- 
ticism killed  him.  Walter  Scott,  from  his  Castle  of 
Abbotsford,  sent  out  a troop  of  gallant  young  Scotch 
adventurers,  merry  outlaws,  valiant  knights,  and  savage 
Highlanders,  who,  with  trunk  hosen  and  buff  jerkins,  fierce 
two-handed  swords,  and  harness  on  their  back,  did  challenge, 
combat,  and  overcome  the  heroes  and  demigods  of  Greece 
and  Eome.  Notre  dame  a la  rescousse  ! Sir  Brian  de  Bois 
Guilbert  has  borne  Hector  of  Troy  clear  out  of  his  saddle. 
Andromache  may  weep : but  her  spouse  is  beyond  the 
reach  of  physic.  See ! Bobin  Hood  twangs  his  bow,  and 
the  heathen  gods  fly,  howling.  Montjoie  St.  Denis  l down 
goes  Ajax  under  the  mace  of  Dunois ; and  yonder  are 
Leonidas  and  Eomulus  begging  their  lives  of  Eob  Eoy 
Macgregor.  Classicism  is  dead.  Sir  John  Froissart  has 
taken  Dr.  Lempriere  by  the  nose,  and  reigns  sovereign. 

Of  the-  great  pictures  of  David  the  defunct,  we  need  not, 
then,  say  much.  Eomulus  is  a mighty  fine  fellow,  no 
doubt ; and  if  he  has  come  out  to  battle  stark  naked  (except 
a very  handsome  helmet),  it  is  because  the  costume  became 
him,  and  shows  off  his  figure  to  advantage.  But  was  there 
ever  anything  so  absurd  as  this  passion  for  the  nude,  which 
was  followed  by  all  the  painters  of  the  Davidian  epoch  ? 
And  how  are  we  to  suppose  yonder  straddle  to  be  the  true 
characteristic  of  the  heroic  and  the  sublime?  Eomulus 
stretches  his  legs  as  far  as  ever  nature  will  allow ; the 
Horatii,  in  receiving  their  swords,  think  proper  to  stretch 
their  legs  too,  and  to  thrust  forward  their  arms,  thus, — 


56 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK. 


Romulus’s  is  in  the  exact  action  of  a telegraph ; and 
the  Horatii  are  all  in  the  position  of  the  lunge.  Is 
this  the  sublime  ? Mr.  Angelo,  of  Bond  Street,  might 
admire  the  attitude  ; his  namesake,  Michael,  I don’t  think 
would. 

The  little  picture  of  “ Paris  and  Helen,”  one  of  the  mas- 
ter’s earliest,  I believe,  is  likewise  one  of  his  best : the 
details  are  exquisitely  painted.  Helen  looks  needlessly 
sheepish,  and  Paris  has  a most  odious  ogle ; but  the  limbs 
of  the  male  figure  are  beautifully  designed,  and  have  not 
the  green  tone  which  you  see  in  the  later  pictures  of  the 
master.  What  is  the  meaning  of  this  green  ? Was  it 
the  fashion,  or  the  varnish  ? Girodet’s  pictures  are  green ; 
Gros’s  emperors  and  grenadiers  have  universally  the  jaun- 
dice. Gerard’s  “ Psyche  ” has  a most  decided  green  sick- 
ness ; and  I am  at  a loss,  I confess,  to  account  for  the 
enthusiasm  which  this  performance  inspired  on  its  first 
appearance  before  the  public. 

In  the  same  room  with  it  is  Girodet’s  ghastly  “ Deluge,” 
and  Gericault’s  dismal  “Medusa.”  Gericault  died,  they 
say,  for  want  of  fame.  He  was  a man  who  possessed 
a considerable  fortune  of  his  own ; but  pined  because 
no  one  in  his  day  would  purchase  his  pictures,  and 
so  acknowledge  his  talent.  At  present,  a scrawl  from  his 
pencil  brings  an  enormous  price.  All  his  works  have  a 
grand  cachet : he  never  did  anything  mean.  When  he 
painted  the  “ Raft  of  the  Medusa,”  it  is  said  he  lived  for  a 
long  time  among  the  corpses  which  he  painted,  and  that  his 
studio  was  a second  Morgue.  If  you  have  not  seen  the 
picture,  you  are  familiar,  probably,  with  Reynold’s  admir- 
able engraving  of  it.  A huge  black  sea ; a raft  beating 
upon  it ; a horrid  company  of  men  dead,  half  dead,  writh- 
ing and  frantic  with  hideous  hunger  or  hideous  hope ; and, 
far  away,  black,  against  a stormy  sunset,  a sail.  The  story 
is  powerfully  told,  and  has  a legitimate  tragic  interest,  so 
to  speak,  — deeper,  because  more  natural,  than  Girodet’s 
green  “Deluge,”  for  instance:  or  his  livid  “Orestes,”  or 
red-hot  “ Clytemnestra.” 

Seen  from  a distance  the  latter’s  “ Deluge  ” has  a certain 
awe-inspiring  air  with  it.  A slimy  green  man  stands  on  a 
green  rock,  and  clutches  hold  of  a tree.  On  the  green 
man’s  shoulders  is  his  old  father,  in  a green  old  age ; to 
him  hangs  his  wife,  with  a babe  on  her  breast,  and  dan- 
gling at  her  hair,  another  child.  In  the  water  floats  a corpse 


ON  THE  FRENCH  SCHOOL  OF  PAINTING . 


57 


(a  beautiful  head) ; and  a green  sea  and  atmosphere  envel- 
opes all  this  dismal  group.  The  old  father  is  represented 
with  a bag  of  money  in  his  hand ; and  the  tree,  which  the 
man  catches,  is  cracking,  and  just  on  the  point  of  giving 
way.  These  two  points  were  considered  very  fine  by  the 
critics : they  are  two  such  ghastly  epigrams  as  continually 
disfigure  French  Tragedy.  For  this  reason  I have  never 
been  able  to  read  Eacine  with  pleasure,  — the  dialogue  is 
so  crammed  with  these  lugubrious  good  things  — melan- 
choly antitheses  — sparkling  undertakers7  wit ; but  this  is 
heresy,  and  had  better  be  spoken  discreetly. 

The  gallery  contains  a vast  number  of  Poussin’s  pictures  ; 
they  put  me  in  mind  of  the  color  of  objects  in  dreams, — 
a strange,  hazy,  lurid  hue.  How  noble  are  some  of  his 
landscapes  ! What  a depth  of  solemn  shadow  is  in  yonder 
wood,  near  which,  by  the  side  of  a black  water,  halts 
Diogenes.  The  air  is  thunder-laden,  and  breathes  heavily. 
You  hear  ominous  whispers  in  the  vast  forest  gloom. 

Near  it  is  a landscape,  by  Carel  Dujardin,  I believe,  con- 
ceived in  quite  a different  mood,  but  exquisitely  poetical 
too.  A horseman  is  riding  up  a hill,  and  giving  money  to 
a blowsy  beggar-wencli.  0 matutini  rores  aurceque  salu - 
bres  ! in  what  a wonderful  way  has  the  artist  managed  to 
create  you  out  of  a few  bladders  of  paint  and  pots  of  var- 
nish. You  can  see  the  matutinal  dews  twinkling  in  the 
grass,  and  feel  the  fresh,  salubrious  airs  (“the  breath 
of  Nature  blowing  free,”  as  the  corn-law  man  sings)  blow- 
ing free  over  the  heath ; silvery  vapors  are  rising  up 
from  the  blue  lowlands.  You  can  tell  the  hour  of  the 
morning  and  the  time  of  the  year : you  can  do  anything 
but  describe  it  in  words.  As  with  regard  to  the  Poussin 
above  mentioned,  one  can  never  pass  it  without  bearing 
away  a certain  pleasing,  dreamy  feeling  of  awe  and  mus- 
ing; the  other  landscape  inspires  the  spectator  infallibly 
with  the  most  delightful  briskness  and  cheerfulness  of 
spirit.  Herein  lies  the  vast  privilege  of  the  landscape- 
painter:  he  does  not  address  you  with  one  fixed  par- 
ticular subject  or  expression,  but  with  a thousand  never 
contemplated  by  himself,  and  which  only  arise  out  of 
occasion.  You  may  always  be  looking  at  the  natural 
landscape  as  at  a fine  pictorial  imitation  of  one ; it  seems 
eternally  producing  new  thoughts  in  your  bosom,  as  it  does 
fresh  beauties  from  its  own.  I cannot  fancy  more  delight- 
ful, cheerful,  silent  companions  for  a man  than  half  a dozen 


THE  TALUS  SKETCH  BOOK . 


58 

landscapes  hung  round  his  study.  Portraits,  on  the  con- 
trary, and  large  pieces  of  figures,  have  a painful,  fixed, 
staring  look,  which  must  jar  upon  the  mind  in  many  of  its 
moods.  Fancy  living  in  a room  with  David’s  sans-culotte 
Leonidas  staring  perpetually  in  your  face  ! 

There  is  a little  Watteau  here,  and  a rare  piece  of 
fantastical  brightness  and  gayety  it  is.  What  a delightful 
affectation  about  yonder  ladies  flirting  their  fans,  and 
trailing  about  in  their  long  brocades ! What  splendid 
dandies  are  those,  ever-smirking,  turning  out  their  toes, 
with  broad  blue  ribbons  to  tie  up  their  crooks  and  their 
pigtails,  and  wonderful  gorgeous  crimson  satin  breeches  ! 
Yonder,  in  the  midst  of  a golden  atmosphere,  rises  a bevy 
of  little  round  Cupids,  bubbling  up  in  clusters  as  out  of  a 
champagne-bottle,  and  melting  away  in  air.  There  is,  to  be 
sure,  a hidden  analogy  between  liquors  and  pictures  : the 
eye  is  deliciously  tickled  by  these  frisky  Watteaus,  and 
yields  itself  up  to  a light,  smiling,  gentlemanlike  intoxica- 
tion. Thus,  were  we  inclined  to  pursue  further  this  mighty 
subject,  yonder  landscape  of  Claude, — calm,  fresh,  delicate, 
yet  full  of  flavor, — should  be  likened  to  a bottle  of  Chateau 
Margaux.  And  what  is  the  Poussin  before  spoken  of  but 
Bomanee  Gelee  ? — heavy,  sluggish,  — the  lucious  odor 
almost  sickens  you ; a sultry  sort  of  drink ; your  limbs  sink 
under  it ; you  feel  as  if  you  had  been  drinking  hot  blood. 

An  ordinary  man  would  be  whirled  away  in  a fever,  or 
would  hobble  off  this  mortal  stage  in  a premature  gout-fit, 
if  he  too  early  or  too  often  indulged  in  such  tremendous 
drink.  I think  in  my  heart  I am  fonder  of  pretty  third- 
rate  pictures  than  of  your  great  thundering  first-rates. 
Confess  how  many  times  you  have  ♦read  Beranger,  and 
how  many  Milton  ? If  you  go  to  the  “ Star  and  Garter,” 
don’t  you  grow  sick  of  that  vast,  luscious  landscape,  and 
long  for  the  sight  of  a couple  of  cows,  or  a donkey,  and  a 
few  yards  of  common  ? Donkeys,  my  dear  MacGilp,  since 
we  have  come  to  this  subject,  say  not  so;  Bichmond  Hill 
for  them.  Milton  they  never  grow  tired  of ; and  are  as 
familiar  with  Baphael  as  Bottom  with  exquisite  Titania. 
Let  us  thank  heaven,  my  dear  sir,  for  according  to  us  the 
power  to  taste  and  appreciate  the  pleasures  of  mediocrity. 
I have  never  heard  that  we  were  great  geniuses.  Earthy 
are  we,  and  of  the  earth ; glimpses  of  the  sublime  are  but 
rare  to  us ; leave  we  them  to  great  geniuses,  and  to  the 
donkeys;  and  if  it  nothing  profit  us  aerias  tentdsse  domos 


ON  THE  FRENCH  SCHOOL  OF  PAINTING. 


f>9 


along  with  them,  let  us  thankfully  remain  below,  being- 
merry  and  humble. 

I have  now  only  to  mention  the  charming  “ Cruche 
Cassee  ” of  Greuze,  which  all  the  young  ladies  delight  to 
copy ; and  of  which  the  color  (a  thought  too  blue,  perhaps) 
is  marvellously  graceful  and  delicate.  There  are  three 
more  pictures  by  the  artist,  containing  exquisite  female 
heads  and  color ; but  they  have  charms  for  French  critics 
which  are  difficult  to  be  discovered  by  English  eyes  ; and 
the  pictures  seem  weak  to  me.  A very  fine  picture  by  Bon 
Bollongue,  “ Saint  Benedict  resuscitating  a Child,”  deserves 
particular  attention,  and  is  superb  in  vigor  and  richness  of 
color.  You  must  look,  too,  at  the  large,  noble,  melancholy 
landscapes  of  Philippe  de  Champagne ; and  the  two  mag- 
nificent Italian  pictures  of  Leopold  Bobert : they  are,  per- 
haps, the  very  finest  pictures  that  the  French  school  has 
produced, — as  deep  as  Poussin,  of  a better  color,  and  of  a 
wonderful  minuteness  and  veracity  in  the  representation  of 
objects. 

Every  one  of  Lesueur’s  church-pictures  is  worth  examin- 
ing and  admiring ; the}^  are  full  of  “ unction  ” and  pious 
mystical  grace.  “ Saint  Scholastica  ” is  divine ; and  the 
u Taking  down  from  the  Cross  ” as  noble  a composition 
as  ever  was  seen  ; I care  not  by  whom  the  other  may  be. 
There  is  more  beauty,  and  less  affectation,  about  this  pict- 
ure than  you  will  find  in  the  performances  of  many  Italian 
masters,  with  high-sounding  names  (out  with  it,  and  say 
Raphael  at  once).  I hate  those  simpering  Madonnas.  I 
declare  that  the  “ Jardiniere  ” is  a puking,  smirking  miss, 
with  nothing  heavenly  about  her.  I vow  that  the  “ Saint 
Elizabeth”  is  a bad  picture, — a bad  composition,  badly 
drawn,  badly  colored,  in  a bad  imitation  of  Titian, — a 
piece  of  vile  affectation.  I say,  that  when  Raphael  painted 
this  picture  two  years  before  his  death,  the  spirit  of  paint- 
ing had  gone  from  out  of  him ; he  was  no  longer  inspired ; 
it  was  time  that  lie  should  die!  ! 

There, — the  murder  is  out!  My  paper  is  filled  to  the 
brim,  and  there  is  no  time  to  speak  of  LesueuFs  “ Cruci- 
fixion,” which  is  odiously  colored,  to  be  sure ; but  earnest, 
tender,  simple,  holy.  But  such  things  are  most  difficult  to 
translate  into  words  ; — one  lays  down  the  pen,  and  thinks 
and  thinks.  The  figures  appear,  and  «take  their  places  one 
by  one : ranging  themselves  according  to  order,  in  light  or 
in  gloom,  the  colors  are  reflected  duly  in  the  little  camera 


00 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK 


obscura  of  the  brain,  and  the  whole  picture  lies  there  com- 
plete ; but  can  you  describe  it  ? No,  not  if  pens  were  fitch- 
brushes,  and  words  were  bladders  of  paint.  With  which, 
for  the  present,  adieu. 

Your  faithful 

M.  A.  T. 

To  Mr.  Robert  MacGilp, 

Newman  Street,  London. 


THE  PAINTER’S  BARGAIN. 


MON  GAMBOUGE  was  the  son 
of  Solomon  Gambouge ; and  as 
all  the  world  knows,  both  father 
and  son  were  astonishingly  clever 
fellows  at  their  profession.  Sol- 
omon painted  landscapes,  which 
nobody  bought ; and  Simon  took 
a higher  line,  and  painted  por- 
traits to  admiration,  only  nobody 
came  to  sit  to  him. 

As  he  was  not  gaining  five 
pounds  a year  by  his  profes- 
sion, and  had  arrived  at  the 
age  of  twenty,  at  least,  Simon 
determined  to  better  himself  by  taking  a wife, — a plan 
which  a number  of  other  wise  men  adopt,  in  similar  years 
and  circumstances.  So  Simon  prevailed  upon  a butcher’s 
daughter  (to  whom  he  owed  considerable  for  cutlets)  to 
quit  the  meat-shop  and  follow  him.  Griskinissa  — such 
was  the  fair  creature’s  name  — “ was  as  lovely  a bit  of 
mutton,”  her  father  said,  u as  ever  a man  would  wish  to 
stick  a knife  into.”  She  had  sat  to  the  painter  for  all  sorts 
of  characters ; and  the  curious  who  possess  any  of  Gam- 
bouge’s  pictures  will  see  her  as  Venus,  Minerva,  Madonna, 
and  in  numberless  other  characters : Portrait  of  a lady  — 
Griskinissa ; Sleeping  Nymph  — Griskinissa,  without  a rag 
of  clothes,  lying  in  a forest ; Maternal  Solicitude  — Gris- 
kinissa again,  with  young  Master  Gambouge,  who  was  by 
this  time  the  offspring  of  their  affections. 

The  lady  brought  the  painter  a handsome  little  fortune 
of  a couple  of  hundred  pounds ; and  as  long  as  this  sum 

61 


62 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK. 


lasted  no  woman  could  be  more  lovely  or  loving.  Hut  want 
began  speedily  to  attack  their  little  household ; baker’s  bills 
were  unpaid  ; rent  was  due,  and  the  reckless  landlord  gave 
no  quarter ; and,  to  crown  the  whole,  her  father,  unnatural 
butcher ! suddenly  stopped  the  supplies  of  mutton-chops ; 
and  swore  that  his  daughter,  and  the  dauber,  her  husband, 
should  have  no  more  of  his  wares.  At  first  they  embraced 
tenderly,  and,  kissing  and  crying  over  their  little  infant 
vowed  to  heaven  that  they  would  do  without : but  in  the 
course  of  the  evening  Griskinissa  grew  peckish,  and  poor 
Simon  pawned  his  best  coat. 

When  this  habit  of  pawning  is  discovered,  it  appears  to 
the  poor  a kind  of  Eldorado.  Gambouge  and  his  wife  were 
so  delighted,  that  they,  in  course  of  a month,  made  away 
with  her  gold  chain,  her  great  warming-pan,  his  best  crim- 
son plush  inexpressibles,  two  wigs,  a washhand  basin  and 
ewer,  fire-irons,  window-curtains,  crockery,  and  arm-chairs. 
Griskinissa  said,  smiling,  that  she  had  found  a second 
father  in  her  unde , — a base  pun,  which  showed  that 
her  mind  was  corrupted,  and  that  she  was  no  longer  the 
tender,  simple  Griskinissa  of  other  days. 

I am  sorry  to  say  that  she  had  taken  to  drinking ; she 
swallowed  the  warming-pan  in  the  course  of  three  days, 
and  fuddled  herself  one  whole  evening  with  the  crimson 
plush  breeches. 

Drinking  is  the  devil — the  father,  that  is  to  say,  of  all 
vices.  Griskinissa’s  face  and  her  mind  grew  ugly  together ; 
her  good  humor  changed  to  bilious,  bitter  discontent ; her 
pretty,  fond  epithets,  to  foul  abuse  and  swearing ; her 
tender  blue  eyes  grew  watery  and  blear,  and  the  peach-color 
on  her  cheeks  fled  from  its  old  habitation,  and  crowded  up 
into  her  nose,  where,  with  a number  of  pimples,  it  stuck  fast. 
Add  to  this  a dirty,  draggle-tailed  chintz ; long,  matted 
hair,  wandering  into  her  eyes,  and  over  her  lean  shoulders, 
which  were  once  so  snowy,  and  you  have  the  picture  of 
drunkenness  and  Mrs.  Simon  Gambogue. 

Poor  Simon,  who  had  been  a gay,  lively  fellow  enough  in 
the  days  of  his  better  fortune,  was  completely  cast  down 
by  his  present  ill  luck,  and  cowed  by  the  ferocity  of  his 
wife.  From  morning  till  night  the  neighbors  could  hear 
this  woman’s  tongue,  and  understand  her  doings ; bellows 
went  skimming  across  the  room,  chairs  were  flumped  down 
on  the  floor,  and  poor  Gambouge’s  oil  and  varnish  pots 
went  clattering  through  the  windows,  or  down  the  stairs. 


THE  PAINTERS  BARGAIN 


63 


The  baby  roared  all  day ; and  Simon  sat  pale  and  idle  in 
a corner,  taking  a small  sup  at  the  brandy-bottle,  when 
Mrs.  Gambouge  was  out  of  the  way. 

One  day,  as  he  sat  disconsolately  at  his  easel,  furbishing 
up  a picture  of  his  wife,  in  the  character  of  Peace,  which 
he  had  commenced  a year  before,  he  was  more  than  ordi- 
narily desperate,  and  cursed  and  swore  in  the  most  pathetic 
manner.  “ O miserable  fate  of  genius  ! ” cried  he,  “ was  I, 
a man  of  such  commanding  talents,  born  for  this  ? to  be 
bullied  by  a fiend  of  a wife  ; to  have  my  masterpieces 
neglected  by  the*  world,  or  sold  only  for  a few  pieces  ? 
Cursed  be  the  love  which  has  misled  me ; cursed  be  the  art 


which  is  unworthy  of  me  ! Let  me  dig  or  steal,  let  me  sell 
myself  as  a soldier,  or  sell  myself  to  the  Devil,  I should  not 
be  more  wretched  than  I am  now  ! ” 

“ Quite  the  contrary,  ” cried  a small,  cheery  voice. 
u What ! ” exclaimed  Gambouge,  trembling  and  surprised. 
“ Who’s  there  ? — where  are  you  ? — who  are  you  ? ” 

“You  were  just  speaking  of  me,  ” said  the  voice. 
Gambouge  held,  in  his  left  hand,  his  palette;  in  his 
right,  a bladder  of  crimson  lake,  which  he  was  about  to 
squeeze  out  upon  the  mahogany.  “ Where  are  you?  ” cried 
he  again. 


64 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK 


“ S-q-u-e-e-z-e  !”  exclaimed  the  little  voice. 

Gambouge  picked  out  the  nail  from  the  bladder,  and 
gave  a squeeze  ; when,  as  sure  as  I’m  living,  a little  imp 
spurted  out  from  the  hole  upon  the  palette,  and  began 
laughing  in  the  most  singular  and  oily  manner. 

When  first  born  he  was  little  bigger  than  a tadpole ; then 
he  grew  to  be  as  big  as  a mouse ; then  he  arrived  at  the 
size  of  a cat;  and  then  he  jumped  off  the  palette,  and, 
turning  head  over  heels,  asked  the  poor  painter  what  he 
wanted  with  him. 

The  strange  little  animal  twisted  head  over  heels,  and 
fixed  himself  at  last  upon  the  top  of  Garnbouge’s  easel,  — 
smearing  out,  with  his  heels,  all  the  white  and  vermilion 
which  had  just  been  laid  on  the  allegoric  portrait  of  Mrs. 
Gambouge. 

“ What ! ” exclaimed  Simon,  “ is  it  the  — ” 

“ Exactly  so ; talk  of  me,  you  know,  and  I am  always  at 
hand : besides,  I am  not  half  so  black  as  I am  painted,  as 
you  will  see  when  you  know  me  a little  better.” 

“ Upon  my  word,  ” said  the  painter,  “ it  is  a very  singular 
surprise  which  you  have  given  me.  To  tell  truth,  I did  not 
even  believe  in  your  existence.” 

The  little  imp  put  on  a theatrical  air,  and  with  one  of 
Mr.  Maeready’s  best  looks,  said, — 

“ There  are  more  things  in  heaven  and  earth,  Gambogio, 

Than  are  dreamed  of  in  your  philosophy.” 

Gambouge,  being  a Frenchman,  did  not  understand  the 
quotation,  but  felt  somehow  strangely  and  singularly  inter- 
ested in  the  conversation  of  his  new  friend. 

Diabolus  continued  : “ You  are  a man  of  merit,  and  want 
money ; you  will  starve  on  your  merit ; you  can  only  get 
money  from  me.  Come,  my  friend,  how  much  is  it  ? I ask 
the  easiest  interest  in  the  world : old  Mordecai,  the  usurer, 
has  made  you  pay  twice  as  heavily  before  now:  nothing 
but  the  signature  of  a bond,  which  is  a mere  ceremony,  and 
the  transfer  of  an  article  which,  in  itself,  is  a supposition 
— a valueless,  windy,  uncertain  property  of  yours,  called  by 
some  poet  of  your  own,  I think,  an  animula , vagala,  blan- 
dula — bah!  there  is  no  use  beating  about  the  bush — I 
mean  a soul.  Come,  let  me  have  it;  you  know  you  will 
sell  it  some  other  way,  and  not  get  such  good  pay  for  your 
bargain ! ” — and,  having  made  this  speech,  the  Devil 


THE  PAINTER'S  BARGAIN . 


65 


pulled  out  from  his  fob  a sheet  as  big  as  a double  Times , 
only  there  was  a different  stamp  in  the  corner. 

It  is  useless  and  tedious  to  describe  law  documents  : 
lawyers  only  love  to  read  them ; and  they  have  as  good  in 
Chitty  as  any  that  are  to  be  found  in  the  Devil’s  own ; so 
nobly  have  the  apprentices  emulated  the  skill  of  the 
master.  Suffice  it  to  say,  that  poor  Gambouge  read  over 
the  paper,  and  signed  it.  He  was  to  have  all  he  wished 
for  seven  years,  and  at  the  end  of  that  time  was  to  become 
the  property  of  the  — — ; Probffieti  that  during  the  course 
of  the  seven  years,  every  single  wish  which  he  might  form 
should  be  gratified  by  the  other  of  the  contracting  parties ; 
otherwise  the  deed  became  null  and  nonavenue,  and  Gam- 
bouge should  be  left  “ to  go  to  the his  own  way.” 

“ You  will  never  see  me  again,”  said  Diabolus,  in  shak- 
ing hands  with  poor  Simon,  on  whose  fingers  he  left  such  a 
mark  as  is  to  be  seen  at  this  day  — “ never,  at  least,  unless 
you  want  me ; for  everything  you  ask  will  be  performed  in 
the  most  quiet  and  every-day  manner  : believe  me,  it  is  the 
best  and  most  gentlemanlike,  and  avoids  anything  like 
scandal.  But  if  you  set  me  about  anything  which  is  extraor- 
dinary, and  out  of  the  course  of  nature,  as  it  were,  come 
I must,  you  know ; and  of  this  you  are  the  best  judge.” 
So  saying,  Diabolus  disappeared ; but  whether  up  the 
chimney,  through  the  key-hole,  or  by  any  other  aperture 
or  contrivance,  nobody  knows.  Simon  Gambouge  was  left 
in  a fever  of  delight,  as,  heaven  forgive  me  ! I believe 
many  a worthy  man  would  be,  if  he  were  allowed  an  oppor- 
tunity to  make  a similar  bargain. 

“ Heigho  ! ” said  Simon.  “ I wonder  whether  this  be  a 
reality  or  a dream.  — I am  sober,  I know  ; for  who  will  give 
me  credit  for  the  means  to  be  drunk  ? and  as  for  sleeping. 
I7m  too  hungry  for  that.  I wish  I could  see  a capon  and  a 
bottle  of  white  wine.” 

“Monsieur  Simon  !”  cried  a voice  on  the  landing-place. 

“ C’est  ici,  ” quoth  Gambouge, . hastening  to  open  the 
door.  He  did  so ; and  lo  ! there  was  a restaurateur's  boy 
at  the  door,  supporting  a tray,  a tin-covered  dish,  and  plates 
on  the  same ; and,  by  its  side,  a tall  amber-colored  flask 
of  Sauterne. 

“I  am  the  new  boy,  sir,  ” exclaimed  this  youth,  on  enter- 
ing; “but  I believe  this  is  the  right  door,  and  you  asked 
for  these  things.  ” 

Simon  grinned,  and  said,  “ Certainly,  I did  ash  for  these 


66 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK 


things.  ” But  such  was  the  effect  which  his  interview  with 
the  demon  had  had  on  his  innocent  mind,  that  he  took 
them,  although  he  knew  they  were  for  old  Simon,  the  Jew 
dandy,  who  was  mad  after  an  opera  girl,  and  lived  on  the 
floor  beneath. 

“ Go,  my  boy,  ” he  said ; u it  is  good : call  in  a couple  of 
hours,  and  remove  the  plates  and  glasses.  ” 

The  little  waiter  trotted  down  stairs,  and  Simon,  sat 
greedily  down  to  discuss  the  capon  and  the  white  wine. 
He  bolted  the  legs,  he  devoured  the  wings,  he  cut  every 


morsel  of  flesh  from  the  breast;  — seasoning  his  repast 
with  pleasant  draughts  of  wine,  and  caring  nothing  for  tin 
inevitable  bill  which  was  to  follow  all. 

“ Ye  gods  ! ” said  he,  as  he  scraped  away  at  the  backbone 
“ what  a dinner ! what  wine!  — and  how  gayly  served  v 
too ! ” There  were  silver  forks  and  spoons,  and  the  rem- 
nants of  the  fowl  were  upon  a silver  dish.  “Why  the 
money  for  this  dish  and  these  spoons,”  cried  Simon, 
“ would  keep  me  and  Mrs.  G.  for  a month ! I wish  ” — 


THE  PAINTER'S  BARGAIN . 


67 


and  here  Simon  whistled,  and  turn  3d  round  to  see  that  no 
one  was  peeping — “ I wish  the  plate  were  mine.  ” 

Oh,  the  horrid  progress  of  the  Devil!  “ Here  they  are,” 
thought  Simon  to  himself ; “ why  should  not  I take  them?” 
and  take  them  he  did.  “ Detection,  ” said  he,  is  not  so  bad 
as  starvation ; and  I would  as  soon  live  at  the  galleys  as 
live  with  Madame  Gambouge.  ” 

So  Gambouge  shovelled  dish  and  spoons  into  the  flap  of 
his  surtout,  and  ran  down  stairs  as  if  the  Devil  were  behind 
him  — as,  indeed,  he  was. 

He  immediately  made  for  the  house  of  his  old  friend  the 
pawnbroker  — that  establishment  which  is  called  in  France 
the  Mont  de  Piete.  “I  am  obliged  to  come  to  you  again, 
my  old  friend,  ” said  Simon,  “ with  some  family  plate,  of 
which  I beseech  you  to  take  care.  ” 

The  pawnbroker  smiled  as  he  examined  the  goods.  “ I 
can  give  you  nothing  upon  them,  ” said  he. 

“What!”  cried  Simon;  “not  even  the  worth  of  the 
silver  ? ?? 

“No;  I could  buy  them  at  that  price  at  the  ‘Cafe 
Morisot,  ’ Due  de  la  Verrerie,  where,  I suppose,  you  got 
them  a little  cheaper.  ” And,  so  saying,  he  showed  to  the 
guilt-stricken  Gambouge  how  the  name  of  that  coffee-house 
was  inscribed  upon  every  one  of  the  articles  which  he 
wished  to  pawn. 

The  effects  of  conscience  are  dreadful  indeed.  Oh  ! how 
fearful  is  retribution,  how  deep  is  despair,  how  bitter  is 
remorse  for  crime  — when  crime  is  found  out  ! — otherwise, 
conscience  takes  matters  much  more  easily.  Gambouge 
cursed  his  fate,  and  swore  henceforth  to  be  virtuous. 

“ But,  hark  ye,  my  friend,  ” continued  the  honest  broker, 
“ there  is  no  reason  why,  because  I cannot  lend  upon  these 
things,  I should  not  buy  them  : they  will  do  to  melt,  if  for 
no  other  purpose.  Will  you  have  half  the  money  ? — 
speak,  or  I peach.  ” 

Simon’s  resolves  about  virtue  were  dissipated  instantane- 
ously. “ Give  me  half,  ” he  said,  “ and  let  me  go.  — What 
scoundrels  are  these  pawnbrokers  ! ” ejaculated  he,  as  he 
passed  out  of  the  accursed  shop,  “ seeking  every  wicked 
pretext  to  rob  the  poor  man  of  his  hard-won  gain.  ” 

When  he  had  marched  forwards  for  a street  or  two, 
Gambouge  counted  the  money  which  he  had  received,  and 
found  that  he  was  in  possession  of  no  less  than  a hundred 
francs.  It  was  night,  as  he  reckoned  out  his  equivocal 


68 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK. 


gains,  and  he  counted  them  at  the  light  of  a lamp.  He 
looked  up  at  the  lamp,  in  doubt  as  to  the  course  he  should 
next  pursue  : upon  it  was  inscribed  the  simple  number, 
152.  “A  gambling-house,  ” thought  Gambouge.  “I  wish 
I had  half  the  money  that  is  now  on  the  table,  up  stairs.” 

He  mounted,  as  many  a rogue  has  done  before  him,  and 
found  half  a hundred  persons  busy  at  a table  of  rouge  et 
noir.  Gambouge’s  five  napoleons  looked  insignificant  by 
the  side  of  the  heaps  which  were  around  him ; but  the 
effects  of  the  wine,  of  the  theft,  and  of  the  detection  by  the 
pawnbroker,  were  upon  him,  and  he  threw  down  his  capital 
stoutly  upon  the  0 0. 

It  is  a dangerous  spot  that  0 0,  or  double  zero ; but  to 
Simon  it  was  more  lucky  than  to  the  rest  of  the  world. 
The  ball  went  spinning  round  — in  “ its  predestined  circle 
rolled,  ” as  Shelley  has  it,  after  Goethe  — and  plumped 
down  at  last  in  the  double  zero.  One  hundred  and  thirty- 
five  gold  napoleons  ( louis  they  were  then  ) were  counted 
out  to  the  delighted  painter.  “ Oh,  Diabolus  ! ” cried  he, 
“ now  it  is  that  I begin  to  believe  in  thee  ! Don’t  talk 
about  merit,”  he  cried  ; “talk  about  fortune.  Tell  me  not 
about  heroes  for  the  future  — tell  me  of  zeroes.  ” And 
down  went  twenty  napoleons  more  upon  the  0. 

The  Devil  was  certainly  in  the  ball : round  it  twirled, 
and  dropped  into  zero  as  naturally  as  a duck  pops  its  head 
into  a pond.  Our  friend  received  five  hundred  pounds  for 
his  stake ; and  the  croupiers  and  lookers-on  began  to  stare 
at  him. 

There  were  twelve  thousand  pounds  upon  the  table, 
Suffice  it  to  say,  that  Simon  won  half,  and  retired  from  the 
Palais  Royal  with  a thick  bundle  of  bank-notes  crammed 
into  his  dirty  three-cornered  hat.  He  had  been  but  half 
an  hour  in  the  place,  and  he  had  won  the  revenues  of  a 
prince  for  half  a year ! 

Gambouge,  as  soon  as  he  felt  that  he  was  a capitalist, 
and  that  he  had  a stake  in  the  country,  discovered  that  he 
was  an  altered  man.  He  repented  of  his  foul  deed,  and  his 
base  purloining  of  the  restaurateur’s  plate.  “ 0 honesty  ! ” 
he  cried,  “how  unworthy  is  an  action  like  this  of  a man 
who  has  a property  like  mine  ! ” So  he  went  back  to  the 
pawnbroker  with  the  gloomiest  face  imaginable.  “My 
friend,  ” said  he,  “ I have  sinned  against  all  that  I hold 
most  sacred : I have  forgotten  my  family  and  my  religion. 
Here  is  thy  money.  In  the  name  of  heaven,  restore  me  the 
plate  which  I have  wrongfully  sold  thee  ! ” 


THE  PAIN  TEWS  BARGAIN. 


69 


But  the  pawnbroker  grinned,  and  said,  “Nay  Mr.  Gam- 
bouge, I will  sell  that  plate  for  a thousand  francs  to  you, 
or  I will  never  sell  it  at  all.  ” 

“ Well,  ” cried  Gambouge,  “thou  art  an  inexorable 
ruffian,  Troisboules  ; but  I will  give  thee  all  I am  worth.  ” 
And  here  he  produced  a billet  of  five  hundred  francs. 
“ Look,  ” said  he,  “ this  money  is  all  I own ; it  is  the  pay- 
ment of  two  years’  lodging.  To  raise  it,  I have  toiled  for 
many  months  ; and,  failing,  I have  been  a criminal.  0 
heaven ! I stole  that  plate  that  I might  pay  my  debt,  and 
keep  my  dear  wife  from  wandering  houseless.  But  I 
cannot  bear  this  load  of  ignominy  — I cannot  suffer  the 
thought  of  this  crime.  I will  go  to  the  person  to  whom  I 
did  wrong.  I will  starve,  I will  confess  ; but  I will,  I will 
do  right ! ” 

The  broker  was  alarmed.  “ Give  me  thy  note,  ” he  cried ; 
“here  is  the  plate.” 

“Give  me  an  acquittal  first,”  cried  Simon,  almost 
broken-hearted ; “ sign  me  a paper,  and  the  money  is 
yours.”  So  Troisboules  wrote  according  to  Gambouge’s 
dictation : “ Received,  for  thirteen  ounces  of  plate,  twenty 
pounds.  ” 

“ Monster  of  iniquity ! ” cried  the  painter,  “ fiend  of 
wickedness ! thou  art  caught  in  thine  own  snares.  Hast 
thou  not  sold  me  five  pounds’  worth  of  plate  for  twenty  ? 
Have  I it  not  in  my  pocket  ? Art  thou  not  a convicted 
dealer  in  stolen  goods  ? Yield,  scoundrel,  yield  thy  money, 
or  I will  bring  thee  to  justice  ! ” 

The  frightened  pawnbroker  bullied  and  battled  for  a 
while;  but  he  gave  up  his  money  at  last,  and  the  dispute 
ended.  Thus  it  will  be  seen  that  Diabolus  had  rather 
a hard  bargain  in  the  wily  Gambouge.  He  had  taken  a 
victim  prisoner,  but  he  had  assuredly  caught  a Tartar. 
Simon  now  returned  home,  and,  to  do  him  justice,  paid  the 
bill  for  his  dinner,  and  restored  the  plate. 

And  now  I may  add  (and  the  reader  should  ponder  upon 
this,  as  a profound  picture  of  human  life),  that  Gambouge, 
since  he  had  grown  rich,  grew  likewise  abundantly  moral. 
He  was  a most  exemplary  father.  He  fed  the  poor,  and 
was  loved  by  them.  He  scorned  a base  action.  And  I 
have  no  doubt  that  Mr.  Thurtell,  or  the  late  lamented  Mr. 
Greenacre,  in  similar  circumstances,  would  have  acted  like 
the  worthy  Simon  Gambouge. 


70 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK. 


There  was  but  one  blot  upon  his  character  — he  hated 
Mrs.  Gam.  worse  than  ever.  As  he  grew  more  benevolent, 
she  grew  more  virulent : when  he  went  to  plays,  she  went 
to  Bible  societies,  and  vice  versa : in  fact,  she  led  him  such 
a life  as  Xantippe  led  Socrates,  or  as  a dog  leads  a cat  in 
the  same  kitchen.  With  all  his  fortune  — for,  as  may  be 
supposed,  Simon  prospered  in  all  worldly  things  — he  was 
the  most  miserable  dog  in  the  whole  city  of  Paris.  Only  in 
the  point  of  drinking  did  he  and  Mrs.  Simon  agree ; and 
for  many  years,  and  during  a considerable  number  of  hours 
in  each  day,  he  thus  dissipated,  partially,  his  domestic 
chagrin.  0 philosophy  ! we  may  talk  of  thee  : but,  except 
at  the  bottom  of  the  wine-cup,  where  thou  liest  like  truth 
in  a well,  where  shall  we  find  thee  ? 

He  lived  so  long,  and  in  his  worldly  matters  prospered 
so  much,  there  was  so  little  sign  of  devilment  in  the 
accomplishment  of  his  wishes,  and  the  increase  of  his  pros- 
perity, that  Simon,  at  the  end  of  six  years,  began  to  doubt 
whether  he  had  made  any  such  bargain  at  all,  as  that  which 
we  have  described  at  the  commencement  of  this  history. 
He  had  grown,  as  we  said,  very  pious  and  moral.  He  went 
regularly  to  mass,  and  had  a confessor  into  the  bargain.  He 
resolved,  therefore,  to  consult  that  reverend  gentleman,  and 
to  lay  before  him  the  whole  matter. 

“ I am  inclined  to  think,  holy  sir,”  said  Gambouge,  after 
he  had  concluded  his  history,  and  shown  how,  in  some 
miraculous  way,  all  his  desires  were  accomplished,  “that, 
after  all,  this  demon  was  no  other  than  the  creation  of  my 
own  brain,  heated  by  the  effects  of  that  bottle  of  wine,  the 
cause  of  my  crime  and  my  prosperity.” 

The  confessor  agreed  with  him,  and  they  walked  out  of 
church  comfortably  together,  and  entered  afterwards  a cafe , 
where  they  sat  down  to  refresh  themselves  after  the 
fatigues  of  their  devotion. 

A respectable  old  gentleman,  with  a number  of  orders  at 
his  button-hole,  presently  entered  the  room,  and  sauntered 
up  to  the  marble  table,  before  which  reposed  Simon  and  his 
clerical  friend.  “ Excuse  me,  gentlemen,”  he  said,  as  he 
took  a place  opposite  them,  and  began  reading  the  papers 
of  the  day. 

“ Bah  ! ” said  he,  at  last,  — “ sont-ils  grands  ces  journaux 
Anglais  ? Look,  sir,”  he  said,  handing  over  an  immense 
sheet  of  The  Times  to  Mr.  Gambouge,  “ was  ever  anything 
so  monstrous  ? ” 


THE  PAINTERS  BARGAIN. 


71 


Gambouge  smiled,  politely,  and  examined  the  proffered 
page.  “ It  is  enormous/7  he  said ; “ but  I do  not  read 
English.77 

“ Nay,77  said  the  man  with  the  orders,  “ look  closer  at  it, 
Signor  Gambouge;  it  is  astonishing  how  easy  the  language 
is.77 

Wondering,  Simon  took  the  sheet  of  paper.  He  turned 
pale  as  he  looked  at  it,  and  began  to  curse  the  ices  and  the 
waiter.  “ Come,  M.  l’Abbe,77  he  said  ; “ the  heat  and  glare 
of  this  place  are  intolerable.77 

The  stranger  rose  with  them.  “ An  plaisir  de  vous 
revoir,  mon  cher  monsieur,77  said  he;  “I  do  not  mind 
speaking  before  the  Abbe  here,  who  will  be  my  very  good 
friend  one  of  these  days  ; but  I thought  it  necessary  to 
refresh  your  memory,  concerning  our  little  business  trans- 
action six  years  since ; and  could  not  exactly  talk  of  it  at 
church , as  you  may  fancy.77 

Simon  Gambouge  had  seen,  in  the  double-sheeted  Times , 
the  paper  signed  by  himself,  which  the  little  Devil  had 
pulled  out  of  his  fob. 

There  was  no  doubt  on  the  subject ; and  Simon,  who  had 
but  a year  to  live,  grew  more  pious,  and  more  careful  than 
ever.  He  had  consultations  with  all  the  doctors  of  the 
Sorbonne  and  all  the  lawyers  of  the  Palais.  But  his  mag- 
nificence grew  as  wearisome  to  him  as  his  poverty  had  been 
before;  and  not  one  of  the  doctors  whom  he  consulted 
could  give  him  a pennyworth  of  consolation. 

Then  he  grew  outrageous  in  his  demands  upon  the  Devil, 
and  put  him  to  all  sorts  of  absurd  and  ridiculous  tasks ; but 
they  were  all  punctually  performed,  until  Simon  could 
invent  no  new  ones,  and  the  Devil  sat  all  day  with  his 
hands  in  his  pockets  doing  nothing. 

One  day,  Simon’s  confessor  came  bounding  into  the  room, 
with  the  greatest  glee.  “ My  friend,77  said  he,  “ I have  it ! 
Eureka  ! — I have  found  it.  Send  the  Pope  a hundred 
thousand  crowns,  build  a new  Jesuit  college  at  Pome,  give  a 
hundred  gold  candlesticks  to  St.  Peter’s;  and  tell  his  Holi- 
ness you  will  double  all  if  he  will  give  you  absolution  ! 77 

Gambouge  caught  at  the  notion,  and  hurried  off  a courier 
to  Pome  ventre  d terre.  His  Holiness  agreed  to  the  request 
of  the  petition,  and  sent  him  an  absolution,  written  out  with 
his  own  fist,  and  all  in  due  form. 


72 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK. 


“Now,”  said  he,  “foul  fiend,  I defy  you ! arise,  Diabolus  ! 
your  contract  is  not  worth  a jot : the  Pope  has  absolved  me, 
and  I am  safe  on  the  road  to  salvation.”  In  a fervor  of 
gratitude  he  clasped  the  hand  of  his  confessor,  and  em- 
braced him : tears  of  joy  ran  down  the  cheeks  of  these 
good  men. 

They  heard  an  inordinate  roar  of  laughter,  and  there 
was  Diabolus  sitting  opposite  to  them  holding  his  sides, 
and  lashing  his  tail  about,  as  if  he  would  have  gone  mad 
with  glee. 

“ Why,”  said  he,  “ what  nonsense  is  this  ! do  you  sup- 
pose I care  about  that  ? ” and  he  tossed  the  Pope\s  missive 
into  a corner.  “M.  l’Abbe  knows,”  he  said,  bowing  and 
grinning,  “ that  though  the  Pope’s  paper  may  pass  current 
here , it  is  not  worth  twopence  in  our  country.  What 
do  I care  about  the  Pope’s  absolution  ? You  might  just  as 
well  be  absolved  by  your  under  butler.” 

“ Egad,”  said  the  Abbe,  “ the  rogue  is  right  — I quite 
forgot  the  fact,  which  he  points  out  clearly  enough.” 

“No,  no,  Gambouge,”  continued  Diabolus,  with  horrid 
familiarity,  “ go  thy  ways,  old  fellow,  that  cock  won't  fight.” 
And  he  retired  up  the  chimney,  chuckling  at  his  wit  and 
his  triumph.  Gambouge  heard  his  tail  scuttling  all  the 
way  up,  as  if  he  had  been  a sweeper  by  profession. 

Simon  was  left  in  that  condition  of  grief  in  which,  accord- 
ing to  the  newspapers,  cities  and  nations  are  found  when 
a murder  is  committed,  or  a lord  ill  of  the  gout  — a situa- 
tion, we  say,  more  easy  to  imagine  than  to  describe. 

To  add  to  his  woes,  Mrs.  Gambouge,  who  was  now  first 
made  acquainted  with  his  compact,  and  its  probable  conse- 
quences, raised  such  a storm  about  his  ears,  as  made  him 
wish  almost  that  his  seven  years  were  expired.  She 
screamed,  she  scolded,  she  swore,  she  wept,  she  went  into 
such  fits  of  hysterics,  that  poor  Gambouge,  who  had  com- 
pletely knocked  under  to  her,  was  worn  out  of  his  life. 
He  was  allowed  no  rest,  night  or  day : he  moped  about 
his  fine  house,  solitary  and  wretched,  and  cursed  his  stars 
that  he  ever  had  married  the  butcher’s  daughter. 

It  wanted  six  months  of  the  time. 

A sudden  and  desperate  resolution  seemed  all  at  once  to 
have  taken  possession  of  Simon  Gambouge.  He  called  his 
family  and  his  friends  together  — he  gave  one  of  the  great- 
est feasts  that  ever  was  known  in  the  city  of  Paris  — he 
gayly  presided  at  one  end  of  his  table,  while  Mrs.  Gam., 


THE  PAINTER’S  BARGAIN. 


73 


splendidly  arrayed,  gave  herself  airs  at  the  other  extremity. 

After  dinner,  using  the  customary  formula,  he  called 
upon  Diabolus  to  appear.  The  old  ladies  screamed  and 
hoped  he  would  not  appear  naked ; the  young  ones  tittered, 
and  longed  to  see  the  monster : everybody  was  pale  with 
expectation  and  affright. 

A very  quiet,  gentlemanly  man,  neatly  dressed  in  black, 
made  his  appearance,  to  the  surprise  of  all  present,  and 
bowed  all  round  to  the  company.  “I  will  not  show  my 
credentials  ” he  said,  blushing,  and  pointing  to  his  hoofs, 
which  were  cleverly  hidden  by  liis  pumps  and  shoe-buckles, 
“ unless  the  ladies  absolutely  wish  it;  but  I am  the  person 
you  want,  Mr.  Gambouge  ; pray  tell  me  what  is  your  will.” 

“You  know,”  said  that  gentleman,  in  a stately  and  de- 
termined voice,  “ that  you  are  bound  to  me,  according  to 
our  agreement,  for  six  months  to  come.” 

“ I am,”  replied  the  new  comer. 

“ You  are  to  do  all  that  I ask,  whatsoever  it  may  be,  or 
you  forfeit  the  bond  which  I gave  you  ? ” 

“ It  is  true.” 

“You  declare  this  before  the  present  company  ?” 

“ Upon  my  honor,  as  a gentleman,”  said  Diabolus,  bow- 
ing, and  laying  his  hand  upon  his  waistcoat. 

A whisper  of  applause  ran  round  the  room  : all  were 
charmed  with  the  bland  manners  of  the  fascinating 
stranger. 

“ My  love,”  continued  Gambouge,  mildly  addressing  his 
lady,  “ will  you  be  so  polite  as  to  step  this  way  ? You 
know  I must  go  soon,  and  I am  anxious,  before  this  noble 
company,  to  make  a provision  for  one  who,  in  sickness  as 
in  health,  in  poverty  as  in  riches,  has  been  my  truest  and 
fondest  companion.” 

Gambouge  mopped  his  eyes  with  his  handkerchief — all 
the  company  did  likewise.  Diabolus  sobbed  audibly,  and 
Mrs.  Gambouge  sidled  up  to  her  husband’s  side,  and  took 
him  tenderly  by  the  hand.  “ Simon  ! ” said  she,  “ is  it 
true  ? and  do  you  really  love  your  Griskinissa  ? ” 

Simon  continued  solemnly  : “ Come  hither,  Diabolus  ; you 
are  bound  to  obey  me  in  all  things  for  the  six  months 
during  which  our  contract  has  to  run;  take,  then,  Griskin- 
issa Gambouge,  live  alone  with  her  for  half  a year,  never 
leave  her  from  morning  till  night,  obey  all  her  caprices, 
follow  all  her  whims,  and  listen  to  all  the  abuse  which  falls 
from  her  infernal  tongue.  Do  this,  and  I ask  no  more  of 
you  ; I will  deliver  myself  up  at  the  appointed  time,” 


74 


THE  PAlllS  SKETCH  BOOK. 


Not  Lord  G , when  flogged  by  Lord  B ■,  in  the 

House, — not  Mr.  Cartlitch,  of  Astley’s  Amphitheatre,  in 
his  most  pathetic  passages,  could  look  more  crestfallen, 
and  howl  more  hideously,  than  Diabolus  did  now.  “ Take 


another  year,  Gambouge,”  screamed  he  ; “ two  more  — ten 
more  — a century ; roast  me  on  Lawrence’s  gridiron,  boil 
me  in  holy  water,  but  don’t  ask  that : don’t,  don’t  bid  me 
live  with  Mrs.  Gambouge  ! ” 


THE  PAINTER'S  BARGAIN . 


75 


Simon  smiled  sternly.  “ I have  said  it,”  he  cried ; “ do 
this,  or  our  contract  is  at  an  end.” 

The  Devil,  at  this,  grinned  so  horribly  that  every  drop 
of  beer  in  the  house  turned  sour : he  gnashed  his  teeth 
so  frightfully  that  every  person  in  the  company  wellnigh 
fainted  with  the  cholic.  He  slapped  down  the  great  parch- 
ment upon  the  floor,  trampled  upon  it  madly,  and  lashed  it 
with  his  hoofs  and  his  tail : at  last,  spreading  out  a mighty 
pair  of  wings  as  wide  as  from  here  to  Kegent  Street,  he 
slapped  Gambouge  with  his  tail  over  one  eye,  and  vanished, 
abruptly,  through  the  key-hole. 

Gambouge  screamed  with  pain  and  started  up.  “You 
drunken,  lazy  scoundrel ! ” cried  a shrill  and  well-known 
voice,  “ you  have  been  asleep  these  two  hours : ” and  here 
he  received  another  terrific  box  on  the  ear. 

It  was  too  true,  he  had  fallen  asleep  at  his  work ; and 
the  beautiful  vision  had  been  dispelled  by  the  thumps  of 
the  tipsy  Griskinissa.  Nothing  remained  to  corroborate  his 
story,  except  the  bladder  of  lake,  and  this  was  spirted  all 
over  his  waistcoat  and  breeches. 

“I  wish,”  said  the  poor  fellow,  rubbing  his  tingling 
cheeks,  “that  dreams  were  true;”  and  he  went  to  work 
again  at  his  portrait. 

My  last  accounts  of  Gambouge  are,  that  he  has  left  the 
arts,  and  is  footman  in  a small  family.  Mrs.  Gam.  takes 
in  washing ; and  it  is  said  that  her  continual  dealings  with 
soap-suds  and  hot  water  have  been  the  only  things  in  life 
which  have  kept  her  from  spontaneous  combustion. 


CARTOUCHE. 


HAVE  been  much  interested  with  an 
account  of  the  exploits  of  Monsieur 
Louis  Dominic  Cartouche,  and  as 
Newgate  and  the  highways  are  so 
much  the  fashion  with  us  in  Eng- 
land, we  may  be  allowed  to  look 
abroad  for  histories  of  a similar  ten- 
dency. It  is  pleasant  to  find  that 
virtue  is  cosmopolite,  and  may  exist 
among  wooden-shoed  Papists  as  well 
as  honest  Church-of-England  men. 

Louis  Dominic  was  born  in  a quar- 
ter of  Paris  called  the  Courtille,  says 
the  historian  whose  work  lies  before 
me ; — born  in  the  Courtille,  and  in  the  year  1693.  Another 
biographer  asserts  that  he  was  born  two  years  later,  and  in 
the  Marais;  — of  respectable  parents,  of  course.  Think  of 
the  talent  that  our  two  countries  produced  about  this  time : 
Marlborough,  Villars,  Mandrin,  Turpin,  Boileau,  Dry  den, 
Swift,  Addison,  Moliere,  Racine,  Jack  Sheppard,  and  Louis 
Cartouche,  — all  famous  within  the  same  twenty  years,  and 
fighting,  writing,  robbing  & Venvi  ! 

Well,  Marlborough  was  no  chicken  when  he  began  to 
show  his  genius;  Swift  was  but  a dull,  idle,  college  lad; 
but  if  we  read  the  histories  of  some  other  great  men 
mentioned  in  the  above  list  — I mean  the  thieves,  espe- 
cially — we  shall  find  that  they  all  commenced  very  early  : 
they  showed  a passion  for  their  art,  as  little  Raphael  did, 
or  little  Mozart ; and  the  history  of  Cartouche’s  knaveries 
begins  almost  with  his  breeches. 

Dominic’s  parents  sent  him  to  school  at  the  college  of 
Clermont  (now  Louis  le  Grand)  ; and  although  it  has  never 


76 


CARTOUCHE. 


77 


been  discovered  that  the  Jesuits,  who  directed  that  semi- 
nary, advanced  him  much  in  classical  or  theological  knowl- 
edge, Cartouche,  in  revenge,  showed,  by  repeated  instances, 
his  own  natural  bent  and  genius,  which  no  difficulties  were 
strong  enough  to  overcome.  His  first  great  action  on 
record,  although  not  successful  in  the  end,  and  tinctured 
with  the  innocence  of  youth,  is  yet  highly  creditable  to  him. 
He  made  a general  swoop  of  a hundred  and  twenty  night- 
caps belonging  to  his  companions,  and  disposed  of  them  to 
his  satisfaction ; but  as  it  was  discovered  that  of  all  the 
youths  in  the  college  of  Clermont,  he  only  was  the  pos- 
sessor of  a cap  to  sleep  in,  suspicion  (which,  alas ! was 
confirmed ) immediately  fell  upon  him : and  by  this  little 
piece  of  youthful  naivety  a scheme,  prettily  conceived  and 
smartly  performed,  was  rendered  naught. 

Cartouche  had  a wonderful  love  for  good  eating,  alid  put 
all  the  apple-women  and  cooks,  who  came  to  supply  the 
students,  under  contribution.  Hot  always,  however,  desir- 
ous of  robbing  these,  he  used  to  deal  with  them,  occasion- 
ally, on  honest  principles  of  barter ; that  is,  whenever  he 
could  get  hold  of  his  schoolfellows’  knives,  books,  rulers,  or 
playthings,  which  he  used  fairly  to  exchange  for  tarts 
and  gingerbread. 

It  seemed  as  if  the  presiding  genius  of  evil  was  deter- 
mined to  patronize  this  young  man ; for  before  he  had  been 
long  at  college,  and  soon  after  he  had,  with  the  greatest 
difficulty,  escaped  from  the  nightcap  scrape,  an  opportunity 
occurred  by  which  he  was  enabled  to  gratify  both  his  pro- 
pensities at  once,  and  not  only  to  steal,  but  to  steal  sweet- 
meats. It  happened  that  the  principal  of  the  college 
received  some  pots  of  Harbonne  honey,  which  came  under 
the  eyes  of  Cartouche,  and  in  which  that  young  gentleman, 
as  soon  as  ever  he  saw  them,  determined  to  put  his  fingers. 
The  president  of  the  college  put  aside  his  honey-pots  in  an 
apartment  within  his  own ; to  which,  except  by  the  one 
door  which  led  into  the  room  which  his  reverence  usually 
occupied,  there  was  no  outlet.  There  was  no  chimney  in 
the  room  ; and  the  windows  looked  into  the  court,  where 
there  was  a porter  at  night,  and  where  crowds  passed  by 
day.  What  was  Cartouche  to  do  ? — have  the  honey  he 
must. 

Over  this  chamber,  which  contained  what  his  soul  longed 
after,  and  over  the  president’s  rooms,  there  ran  a set  of 
unoccupied  garrets,  into  which  the  dexterous  Cartouche 


78 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK 


penetrated.  These  were  divided  from  the  rooms  below, 
acording  to  the  fashion  of  those  days,  by  a set  of  large 
beams,  which  reached  across  the  whole  building,  and  across 
which  rude  planks  were  laid,  which  formed  the  ceiling  of 
the  lower  story  and  the  floor  of  the  upper.  Some  of  these 
planks  did  young  Cartouche  remove ; and  having  descended 
by  means  of  a rope,  tied  a couple  of  others  to  the  neck  of 
the  honey-pots,  climbed  back  again,  and  drew  up  his  prey 
in  safety.  He  then  cunningly  fixed  the  planks  again  in 
their  old  places,  and  retired  to  gorge  himself  upon  his 
booty.  And,  now,  see  the  punishment  of  avarice  ! Every- 
body knows  that  the  brethren  of  the  order  of  Jesus  are 
bound  by  a vow  to  have  no  more  than  a certain  small  sum 
of  money  in  their  possession.  The  principal  of  the  college 
of  Clermont  had  amassed  a larger  sum,  in  defiance  of  this 
rule : and  where  do  you  think  the  old  gentleman  had 
hidden  it  ? In  the  honey-pots ! As  Cartouche  dug  his 
spoon  into  one  of  them,  he  brought  out,  besides  a quantity 
of  golden  honey,  a couple  of  golden  louis,  which  with 
ninety-eight  more  of  their  fellows,  were  comfortably  hidden 
in  the  pots.  Little  Dominic,  who,  before,  had  cut  rather  a 
poor  figure  among  his  fellow-students,  now  appeared  in  as 
fine  clothes  as  any  of  them  could  boast  of ; and  when  asked 
by  his  parents,  on  going  home,  how  he  came  by  them,  said 
that  a young  nobleman  of  his  schoolfellows  had  taken  a 
violent  fancy  to  him,  and  made  him  a present  of  a couple 
of  his  suits.  Cartouche  the  elder,  good  man,  went  to  thank 
the  young  nobleman ; but  none  such  could  be  found,  and 
young  Cartouche  disdained  to  give  any  explanation  of  his 
manner  of  gaining  the  money. 

Here,  again,  we  have  to  regret  and  remark  the  inadver- 
tence of  youth.  Cartouche  lost  a hundred  louis  — for 
what  ? For  a pot  of  honey  not  worth  a couple  of  shillings. 
Had  he  fished  out  the  pieces,  and  replaced  the  pots  and  the 
honey,  he  might  have  been  safe,  and  a respectable  citizen 
all  his  life  after.  The  principal  would  not  have  dared  to 
confess  the  loss  of  his  money,  and  did  not,  openly  ; but  he 
vowed  vengeance  against  the  stealer  of  his  sweetmeat,  and 
a rigid  search  was  made.  Cartouche,  as  usual,  wTas  fixed 
upon ; and  in  the  tick  of  his  bed,  lo ! there  were  found  a 
couple  of  empty  honey-pots  ! From  this  scrape  there  is  no 
knowing  how  he  would  have  escaped,  had  not  the  president 
himself  been  a little  anxious  to  hush  the  matter  up ; and 
accordingly,  young  Cartouche  was  made  to  disgorge  the 


CARTOUCHE . 


79 


residue  of  his  ill-gotten  gold  pieces,  old  Cartouche  made  up 
the  deficiency,  and  his  son  was  allowed  to  remain  unpun- 
ished— until  the  next  time. 

This,  you  may  fancy,  was  not  very  long  in  coming ; and 
though  history  has  not  made  us  acquainted  with  the  exact 
crime  which  Louis  Dominic  next  committed,  it  must  have 
been  a serious  one ; for  Cartouche,  who  had  borne  philo- 
sophically all  the  whippings  and  punishments  which  were 
administered  to  him  at  college,  did  not  dare  to  face  that  one 
which  his  indignant  father  had  in  pickle  for  him.  As  he 
was  coming  home  from  school,  on  the  first  day  after  his 
crime,  when  he  received  permission  to  go  abroad,  one  of 
his  brothers,  who  was  on  the  look-out  for  him,  met  him  at 
a short  distance  from  home,  and  told  him  what  was  in 
preparation  ; which  so  frightened  this  young  thief,  that  he 
declined  returning  home  altogether,  and  set  out  upon  the 
wide  world  to  shift  for  himself  as  he  could. 

Undoubted  as  his  genius  was,  he  had  not  arrived  at  the 
full  exercise  of  it,  and  his  gains  were  by  no  means  equal  to 
his  appetite.  In  whatever  professions  he  tried,  — whether 
he  joined  the  gipsies,  which  he  did,  — whether  he  picked 
pockets  on  the  Pont  ISTeuf,  which  occupation  history  attrib- 
utes to  him,  — poor  Cartouche  was  always  hungry.  Hungry 
and  ragged,  he  wandered  from  one  place  and  profession  to 
another,  and  regretted  the  honey-pots  at  Clermont,  and  the 
comfortable  soup  and  bouilli  at  home. 

Cartouche  had  an  uncle,  a kind  man,  who  was  a mer- 
chant, and  had  dealings  at  Rouen.  One  day,  walking  on 
the  quays  of  that  city,  this  gentleman  saw  a very  miser- 
able, dirty,  starving  lad,  who  had  just  made  a pounce  upon 
some  bones  and  turnip-peelings,  that  had  been  flung  out  on 
the  quay,  and  was  eating  them  as  greedily  as  if  they  had 
been  turkeys  and  truffles.  The  worthy  man  examined  the 
lad  a little  closer.  0 heavens  ! it  was  their  runaway  prodi- 
gal— it  was  little  Louis  Dominic!  The  merchant  was 
touched  by  his  case ; and  forgetting  the  nightcaps,  the 
honey-pots,  and  the  rags  and  dirt  of  little  Louis,  took  him 
to  his  arms,  and  kissed  and  hugged  him  with  the  tenderest 
affection.  Louis  kissed  and  hugged  too,  and  blubbered  a 
great  deal : he  was  very  repentant,  as  a man  often  is  when 
he  is  hungry  ; and  he  went  home  with  his  uncle,  and  his 
peace  was  made ; and  his  mother  got  him  new  clothes,  and 
filled  his  belly,  and  for  a while  Louis  was  as  good  a son  as 
might  be. 


80 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK 


But  why  attempt  to  balk  the  progress  of  genius  ? Louis’s 
was  not  to  be  kept  down.  He  was  sixteen  years  of  age  by 
this  time  — a smart,  lively  young  fellow,  and,  what  is  more, 
desperately  enamored  of  a lovely  washerwoman.  To  be 
successful  in  your  love,  as  Louis  knew,  you  must  have  some- 
thing more  than  mere  flames  and  sentiment ; — a washer,  or 
any  other  woman,  cannot  live  upon  sighs  only ; but  must 
have  new  gowns  and  caps,  and  a necklace  every  now  and 
then,  and  a few  handkerchiefs  and  silk  stockings,  and  a 
treat  into  the  country  or  to  the  play.  Now,  how  are  all 
these  things  to  be  had  without  money  ? Cartouche  saw  at 
once  that  it  was  impossible  ; and  as  his  father  would  give 
him  none,  he  was  obliged  to  look  for  it  elsewhere.  He 
took  to  his  old  courses,  and  lifted  a purse  here,  and  a watch 
there  ; and  found,  moreover,  an  accommodating  gentleman, 
who  took  the  wares  off  his  hands. 

This  gentleman  introduced  him  into  a very  select  and 
agreeable  society,  in  which  Cartouche’s  merit  began  speed- 
ily to  be  recognized,  and  in  which  he  learnt  how  pleasant 
it  is  in  life  to  have  friends  to  assist  one,  and  how  much 
may  be  done  by  a proper  division  of  labor.  M.  Cartouche, 
in  fact,  formed  part  of  a regular  company  or  gang  of 
gentlemen,  who  were  associated  together  for  the  pupose  of 
making  war  on  the  public  and  the  law. 

Cartouche  had  a lovely  young  sister,  who  was  to  be 
married  to  a rich  young  gentleman  from  the  provinces. 
As  is  the  fashion  in  France,  the  parents  had  arranged  the 
match  among  themselves  ; and  the  young  people  had  never 
met  until  just  before  the  time  appointed  for  the  marriage, 
when  the  bridegroom  came'  up  to  Paris  with  his  title- 
deeds,  and  settlements,  and  money.  Now  there  can  hardly 
be  found  in  history  a finer  instance  of  devotion  than 
Cartouche  now  exhibited.  He  went  to  his  captain,  ex- 
plained the  matter  to  him,  and  actually,  for  the  good  of  his 
country,  as  it  were  (the  thieves  might  be  called  his 
country ),  sacrificed  his  sister’s  husband’s  property.  Infor- 
mations were  taken,  the  house  of  the  bridegroom  was 
reconnoitred,  and,  one  night,  Cartouche,  in  company  with 
some  chosen  friends,  made  his  first  visit  to  the  house  of  his 
brother-in-law.  • All  the  people  were  gone  to  bed ; and, 
doubtless,  for  fear  of  disturbing  the  porter,  Cartouche  and 
his  companions  spared  him  the  trouble  of  opening  the  door, 
by  ascending  quietly  at  the  window.  They  arrived  at  the 
room  where  the  bridegroom  kept  his  great  chest,  and  set 


CARTOUCHE . 81 

industriously  to  work,  filing  and  picking  the  locks  which 
defended  the  treasure. 

, The  bridegroom  slept  in  the  next  room ; but  however 
tenderly  Cartouche  and  his  workmen  handled  their  tools, 
from  fear  of  disturbing  his  slumbers,  their  benevolent 
design. was  disappointed,  for  awaken  him  they  did;  and 
quietly  slipping  out  of  bed,  he  came  to  a place  where  he 
had  a complete  view  of  all  that  was  going  on.  He  did  not 
cry  out,  or  frighten  himself  sillily ; but,  on  the  contrary, 
contented  himself  with  watching  the  countenances  of  the 
robbers,  so  that  he  might  recognize  them  on  another  occa- 
sion; and,  though  an  avaricious  man,  he  did  not  feel  the 
slightest  anxiety  about  his  money-chest ; for  the  fact  is,  he 
had  removed  all  the  cash  and  papers  the  day  before. 

As  soon,  however,  as  they  had  broken  all  the  locks,  and 
found  the  nothing  which  lay  at  the  bottom  of  the  chest,  he 
shouted  with  such  a loud  voice,  “Here,  Thomas  ! — John  ! 
— officer  ! — keep  the  gate,  fire  at  the  rascals  ! ” that  they, 
incontinently  taking  fright,  skipped  nimbly  out  of  window, 
and  left  the  house  free. 

Cartouche,  after  this,  did  not  care  to  meet  his  brother-in- 
law,  but  eschewed  all  those  occasions  on  which  the  latter 
was  to  be  present  at  his  father’s  house.  The  evening 
before  the  marriage  came ; and  then  his  father  insisted 
upon  his  appearance  among  the  other  relatives  of  the 
bride’s  and  bridegroom’s  families,  who  were  all  to  assemble 
and  make  merry.  Cartouche  was  obliged  to  yield ; and 
brought  with  him  one  or  two  of  his  companions,  who  had 
been,  by  the  way,  present  in  the  affair  of  the  empty  money- 
boxes ; and  though  he  never  fancied  that  there  was  any 
danger  in  meeting  his  brother-in-law,  for  he  had  no  idea 
that  he  had  been  seen  on  the  night  of  the  attack,  with  a 
natural  modesty,  which  did  him  really  credit,  he  kept  out 
of  the  young  bridegroom’s  sight  as  much  as  he  could,  and 
showed  no  desire  to  be  presented  to  him.  At  supper,  how- 
ever, as  he  was  sneaking  modestly  down  to  a side-table,  his 
father  shouted  after  him,  “Ho,  Dominic,  come  hither, 
and  sit  opposite  to  your  brother-in-law : ” which  Dominic 
did,  his  friends  following.  The  bridegroom  pledged  him 
very  gracefully  in  a bumper ; and  was  in  the  act  of  making 
him  a pretty  speech,  on  the  honor  of  an  alliance  with  such 
a family,  and  on  the  pleasures  of  brother-in-lawship  in 
general,  when,  looking  in  his  face  — ye  gods!  he  saw  the 
very  man  who  had  been  filing  at  his  money-chest  a few 
6 


82 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK. 


nights  ago ! By  his  side,  too,  sat  a couple  more  of  the 
gang.  The  poor  fellow  turned  deadly  pale  and  sick,  and, 
setting  his  glass  down,  ran  quickly  out  of  the  room,  for  he 
thought  he  was  in  company  of  a whole  gang  of  robbers. 
And  when  he  got  home,  he  wrote  a letter  to  the  elder  Car- 
touche, humbly  declining  any  connection  with  his  family. 

Cartouche  the  elder,  of  course,  angrily  asked  the  reason 
of  such  an  abrupt  dissolution  of  the  engagement;  and  then, 
much  to  his  horror,  heard  of  his  eldest  son’s  doings.  “ You 
would  not  have  me  marry  into  such  a family  ? ” said  the 
ex-bridegroom.  And  old  Cartouche,  an  honest  old  citizen, 
confessed,  with  a heavy  heart,  that  he  would  not.  What 
was  he  to  do  with  the  lad  ? He  did  not  like  to  ask  for  a 
lettre  de  cachet , and  shut  him  up  in  the  Bastile.  He  deter- 
mined to  give  him  a year’s  discipline  at  the  monastery  of 
St.  Lazare. 

But  how  to  catch  the  young  gentleman  ? Old  Cartouche 
knew  that,  were  he  to  tell  his  son  of  the  scheme,  the  latter 
would  never  obey,  and,  therefore,  he  determined  to  be  very 
cunning.  He  told  Dominic  that  he  was  about  to  make  a 
heavy  bargain  with  the  fathers,  and  should  require  a wit- 
ness ; so  they  stepped  into  a carriage  together,  and  drove 
unsuspectingly  to  the  Bue  St.  Denis.  But,  when  they 
arrived  near  the  convent,  Cartouche  saw  several  ominous 
figures  gathering  round  the  coach,  and  felt  that  his  doom 
was  sealed.  However,  he  made  as  if  he  knew  nothing 
of  the  conspiracy ; and  the  carriage  drew  up,  and  his 
father  descended,  and,  bidding  him  wait  for  a minute  in 
the  coach,  promised  to  return  to  him.  Cartouche  looked 
out ; on  the  other  side  of  the  way,  half  a dozen  men  were 
posted,  evidently  with  the  intention  of  arresting  him. 

Cartouche  now  performed  a great  and  celebrated  stroke 
of  genius,  which,  if  he  had  not  been  professionally  employed 
in  the  morning,  he  never  could  have  executed.  He  had  in 
his  pocket  a piece  of  linen,  which  he  had  laid  hold  of  at  the 
door  of  some  shop,  and  from  which  he  quickly  tore  three 
suitable  stripes.  One  he  tied  round  his  head,  after  the 
fashion  of  a nightcap ; a second  round  his  waist,  like  an 
apron  ; and  with  the  third  he  covered  his  hat,  a round  one, 
with  a large  brim.  His  coat  and  his  periwig  he  left  behind 
him  in  the  carriage ; and  when  he  stepped  out  from  it 
(which  he  did  without  asking  the  coachman  to  let  down 
the  steps),  he  bore  exactly  the  appearance  of  a cook’s  boy 
carrying  a dish;  and  with  this  he  slipped  through  the 


CARTOUCHE . 


83 


exempts  quite  unsuspected,  and  bade  adieu  to  the  Lazarists 
and  his  honest  father,  who  came  out  speedily  to  seek  him, 
and  was  not  a little  annoyed  to  find  only  his  coat  and  wig. 

With  that  coat  and  wig,  Cartouche  left  home,  father, 
friends,  conscience,  remorse,  society,  behind  him.  He  dis- 
covered (like  a great  number  of  other  philosophers  and 
poets,  when  they  have  committed  rascally  actions)  that  the 
world  was  all  going  wrong,  and  he  quarrelled  with  it  out- 
right. One  of  the  first  stories  told  of  the  illustrious 
Cartouche,  when  he  became  professionally  and  openly  a 
robber,  redounds  highly  to  his  credit,  and  shows  that  he 
knew  how  to  take  advantage  of  the  occasion,  and  how  much 
he  had  improved  in  the  course  of  a very  few  years’  experi- 
ence. His  courage  and  ingenuity  were  vastly  admired  by 
his  friends ; so  much  so,  that,  one  day,  the  captain  of  the 
band  thought  fit  to  compliment  him,  and  vowed  that  when 
he  (the  captain)  died,  Cartouche  should  infallibly  be  called 
to  the  commands n-chief.  This  conversation,  so  flattering 
to  Cartouche,  was  carried  on  between  the  two  gentlemen, 
as  they  were  walking,  one  night,  on  the  quays  by  the  side 
of  the  Seine.  Cartouche,  when  the  captain  made  the  last 
remark,  blushingly  protested  against  it,  and  pleaded  his 
extreme  youth  as  a reason  why  his  comrades  could  never 
put  entire  trust  in  him.  “ Psha,  man!”  said  the  captain, 
“ thy  youth  is  in  thy  favor ; thou  wilt  live  only  the  longer 
to  lead  thy  troops  to  victory.  As  for  strength,  bravery,  and 
cunning,  wert  thou  as  old  as  Methuselah,  thou  couldst  not 
be  better  provided  than  thou  art  now,  at  eighteen.”  What 
was  the  reply  of  Monsieur  Cartouche  ? He  answered,  not 
by  words,  but  by  actions.  Drawing  his  knife  from  his  gir- 
dle, he  instantly  dug  it  into  the  captain’s  left  side,  as  near 
his  heart  as  possible;  and  then,  seizing  that  imprudent 
commander,  precipitated  him  violently  into  the  waters  of 
the  Seine,  to  keep  company  with  the  gudgeons  and  river- 
gods.  When  he  returned  to  the  band,  and  recounted  how 
the  captain  had  basely  attempted  to  assassinate  him,  and 
how  he,  on  the  contrary,  had,  by  exertion  of  superior  skill, 
overcome  the  captain,  not  one  of  the  society  believed  a 
word  of  his  history  ; but  they  elected  him  captain  forth- 
with. I think  his  Excellency  Don  Eafael  Maroto,  the 
pacificator  of  Spain,  is  an  amiable  character,  for  whom  his- 
tory has  not  been  written  in  vain. 

Being  arrived  at  this  exalted  position,  there  is  no  end  of 
the  feats  which  Cartouche  performed  5 and  his  band  reached 


84 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK. 


to  such  a pitch  of  glory,  that  if  there  had  been  a hundred 
thousand,  instead  of  a hundred  of  them,  who  knows  but 
that  a new  and  popular  dynasty  might  not  have  been 
founded,  and  “ Louis  Dominic,  premier  Empereur  des  Fran- 
<jais,”  might  have  performed  innumerable  glorious  actions, 
and  fixed  himself  in  the  hearts  of  his  people,  just  as  other 
monarchs  have  done,  a hundred  years  after  Cartouche’s 
death. 

A story  similar  to  the  above,  and  equally  moral,  is  that 
of  Cartouche,  who,  in  company  with  two  other  gentlemen, 
robbed  the  coche , or  packet-boat,  from  Melun,  where  they 
took  a good  quantity  of  booty, — making  the  passengers  lie 
down  on  the  decks,  and  rifling  them  at  leisure.  “This 
money  will  be  but  very  little  among  three,”  whispered 
Cartouche  to  his  neighbor,  as  the  three  conquerors  were 
making  merry  over  their  gains;  “if  you  were  but  to  pull 
the  trigger  of  your  pistol  in  the  neighborhood  of  your  com- 
rade’s ear,  perhaps  it  might  go  off,  and  then  there  would  be 
but  two  of  us  to  share.”  Strangely  enough,  as  Cartouche 
said,  the  pistol  did  go  off,  and  No.  3 perished.  “Give  him 
another  ball,”  said  Cartouche  ; and  another  was  fired  into 
him.  But  no  sooner  had  Cartouche’s  comrade  discharged 
both  his  pistols,  than  Cartouche  himself,  seized  with  a furi- 
ous indignation,  drew  his : “ Learn,  monster,”  cried  he, 
“ not  to  be  so  greedy  of  gold,  and  perish,  the  victim  of  thy 
disloyalty  and  avarice  ! ” So  Cartouche  slew  the  second 
robber ; and  there  is  no  man  in  Europe  who  can  say  that 
the  latter  did  not  merit  well  his  punishment. 

I could  fill  volumes,  and  not  mere  sheets  of  paper,  with 
tales  of  the  triumphs  of  Cartouche  and  his  band ; how  he 

robbed  the  Countess  of  0 , going  to  Dijon,  in  her  coach, 

and  how  the  Countess  fell  in  love  with  him,  and  was 
faithful  to  him  ever  after  ; how,  when  the  lieutenant  of 
police  offered  a reward  of  a hundred  pistoles  to  any  man 
who  would  bring  Cartouche  before  him,  a noble  Marquess, 
in  a coach  and  six,  drove  up  to  the  hotel  of  the  police  ; and 
the  noble  Marquess,  desiring  to  see  Monsieur  de  la  Beynie, 
on  matters  of  the  highest  moment,  alone,  the  latter  intro- 
duced him  into  his  private  cabinet ; and  how,  when  there, 
the  Marquess  drew  from  his  pocket  a long,  curiously  shaped 
dagger : “Look  at  this,  Monsieur  de  la  Beynie,”  said 

he ; “ this  dagger  is  poisoned  ! ” 

“ Is  it  possible  ? ” said  M.  de  la  Beynie. 

“A  prick  of  it  would  do  for  any  man,”  said  the  Mar- 
quess. 


CARTOUCHE . 


85 


“ You  don’t  say  so  ! ” said  M.  de  la  Eeynie. 

“ I do,  though  ; and,  what  is  more/’  says  the  Marquess,  in 
a terrible  voice,  “ if  you  do  not  instantly  lay  yourself  flat 
on  the  ground,  with  your  face  towards  it,  and  your  hands 
crossed  over  your  back,  or  if  you  make  the  slightest  noise 
or  cry,  I will  stick  this  poisoned  dagger  between  your  ribs, 
as  sure  as  my  name  is  Cartouche  ? ” 

At  the  sound  of  this  dreadful  name,  M.  de  la  Eeynie  sunk 
incontinently  down  on  his  stomach,  and  submitted  to  be 
carefully  gagged  and  corded ; after  which  Monsieur  Car- 
touche laid  his  hands  upon  all  the  money  which  was  kept 
in  the  lieutenant’s  cabinet.  Alas  ! and  alas  ! many  a stout 
bailiff,  and  many  an  honest  fellow  of  a spy,  went,  for  that 
day,  without  his  pay  and  his  victuals. 

There  is  a story  that  Cartouche  once  took  the  diligence  to 
Lille,  and  found  in  it  a certain  Abbe  Potter,  who  was  full 
of  indignation  against  this  monster  of  a Cartouche,  and 
said  that  when  he  went  back  to  Paris,  which  he  proposed  to 
do  in  about  a fortnight,  he  should  give  the  lieutenant  of 
police  some  information,  which  would  infallibly  lead  to  the 
scoundrel’s  capture.  But  poor  Potter  was  disappointed  in 
his  designs ; for,  before  he  could  fulfil  them,  he  was  made 
the  victim  of  Cartouche’s  cruelty. 

A letter  came  to  the  lieutenant  of  police,  to  state  that 
Cartouche  had  travelled  to  Lille,  in  company  with  the 
Abbe  de  Potter,  of  that  town ; that,  on  the  reverend  gen- 
tleman’s return  towards  Paris,  Cartouche  had  waylaid  him, 
murdered  him,  taken  his  papers,  and  would  come  to  Paris 
himself,  bearing  the  name  and  clothes  of  the  unfortunate 
Abbe,  by  the  Lille  coach,  on  such  a day.  The  Lille  coach 
arrived,  was  surrounded  by  police  agents ; the  monster 
Cartouche  was  there,  sure  enough,  in  the  Abbe’s  guise.  He 
was  seized,  bound,  flung  into  prison,  brought  out  to  be 
examined,  and,  on  examination,  found  to  be  no  other  than 
the  Abbe  Potter  himself ! It  is  pleasant  to  read  thus  of  the 
relaxations  of  great  men,  and  find  them  condescending  to 
joke  like  the  meanest  of  us. 

Another  diligence  adventure  is  recounted  of  the  famous 
Cartouche.  It  happened  that  he  met,  in  the  coach,  a young 
and  lovely  lady,  clad  in  widow’s  weeds,  and  bound  to  Paris, 
with  a couple  of  servants.  The  poor  thing  was  a widow 
of  a rich  old  gentleman  of  Marseilles,  and  was  going 
to  the  capital  to  arrange  with  her  lawyers,  and  to  settle 
her  husband’s  will.  The  Count  de  Grinche  (for  so  her 


86 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK 


fellow-passenger  was  called ) was  quite  as  candid  as  the 
pretty  widow  had  been,  and  stated  that  he  was  a captain  in 
the  regiment  of  Nivernois;  that  he  was  going  to  Paris  to 
buy  a colonelcy,  which  his  relatives,  the  Duke  de  Bouillon, 
the  Prince  de  Montmorency,  the  Commandeur  de  la  Tre- 
moille,  with  all  their  interest  at  court,  could  not  fail  to 
procure  for  him.  To  be  short,  in  the  course  of  the  four 
days’  journey,  the  Count  Louis  Dominic  de  Grinche  played 
his  cards  so  well,  that  the  poor  little  widow  half  forgot  her 
late  husband ; and  her  eyes  glistened  with  tears  as  the 
Count  kissed  her  hand  at  parting  — at  parting,  he  hoped 
only  for  a few  hours. 

Day  and  night  the  insinuating  Count  followed  her  ; and 
when,  at  the  end  of  a fortnight,  and  in  the  midst  of  a 
tete-ti-tete,  he  plunged,  one  morning,  suddenly  on  his  knees, 
and  said,  “ Leonora,  do  you  love  me  ? ” the  poor  thing 
heaved  the  gentlest,  tenderest,  sweetest  sigh  in  the  world ; 
and,  sinking  her  blushing  head  on  his  shoulder,  whispered, 
“ Oh,  Dominic,  je  t’aime  ! Ah  ! ” said  she,  “how  noble  is  it 
of  my  Dominic  to  take  me  with  the  little  I have,  and  he  so 
rich  a nobleman  ! ” The  fact  is,  the  old  Baron’s  titles  and 
estates  had  passed  away  to  his  nephews  ; his  dowager  was 
only  left  with  three  hundred  thousand  livres,  in  rentes  sur 
Vetat  — a handsome  sum,  but  nothing  to  compare  to  the 
rent-roll  of  Count  Dominic,  Count  de  la  Grinche,  Seigneur 
de  la  Haute  Pigre,  Baron  de  la  Bigorne ; he  had  estates 
and  wealth  which  might  authorize  him  to  aspire  to  the 
hand  of  a duchess,  at  least. 

The  unfortunate  widow  never  for  a moment  suspected 
the  cruel  trick  that  was  about  to  be  played  on  her ; and, 
at  the  request  of  her  affianced  husband,  sold  out  her  money, 
and  realized  it  in  gold,  to  be  made  over  to  him  on  the  day 
when  the  contract  was  to  be  signed.  The  day  arrived ; and, 
according  to  the  custom  in  France,  the  relations  of  both 
parties  attended.  The  widow’s  relatives,  though  respecta- 
ble, were  not  of  the  first  nobility,  being  chiefly  persons  of 
the  finance  or  the  robe : there  was  the  president  of  the 
court  of  Arras,  and  his  lady  ; a farmer-general ; a judge  of 
a court  of  Paris  ; and  other  such  grave  and  respectable 
people.  As  for  Monsieur  le  Comte  de  la  Grinche,  he  was 
not  bound  for  names ; and,  having  the  Avhole  peerage  to 
choose  from,  brought  a host  of  Montmorenoies,  Crequis,  De 
la  Tours,  and  Guises  at  his  back.  His  homme  d'affaires 
brought  his  papers  in  a sack,  and  displayed  the  plans  of 


CARTOUCHE . 


87 


his  estates,  and  the  titles  of  his  glorious  ancestry.  The 
widow’s  lawyers  had  her  money  in  sacks  ; and  between  the 


gold  on  the  one  side,  and  the  parchments  on  the  other,  lay 
the  contract  which  was  to  make  the  widow’s  three  hundred 
thousand  francs  the  property  of  the  Count  de  la  Grinche. 


88 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK 


The  Count  de  la  Grinche  was  just  about  to  sign;  when  the 
Marshal  de  Villars,  stepping  up  to  him,  said,  “Captain  do 
you  know  who  the  president  of  the  court  of  Arras,  yonder, 
is  ? It  is  old  Manasseh,  the  fence,  of  Brussels.  I pawned 
a gold  watch  to  him,  which  I stole  from  Cadogan,  when  I 
was  with  Malbrook’s  army  in  Flanders.” 

Here  the  Due  de  la  Boche  Guy  on  came  forward,  very 
much  alarmed.  “ Bun  me  through  the  body ! ” said  his 
Grace,  “but  the  comptroller-general’s  lady,  there,  is  no 

other  than  that  old  hag  of  a Margoton  who  keeps  the ” 

Here  the  Due  de  la  Boche  Guyon’s  voice  fell. 

Cartouche  smiled  graciously,  and  walked  up  to  the  table. 
He  took  up  one  of  the  widow’s  fifteen  thousand  gold  pieces  ; 
— it  was  as  pretty  a bit  of  copper  as  you  could  wish  to  see. 
“My  dear,”  said  he  politely,  “ there  is  some  mistake  here, 
and  this  business  had  better  stop.” 

“ Count ! ” gasped  the  poor  widow. 

“ Count  be  hanged  ! ” answered  the  bridegroom,  sternly ; 
“my  name  is  Cartouche!” 


ON  SOME  FRENCH 
FASHIONABLE  NOVELS. 

WITH  A PLEA  FOK  ROMANCES  IN  GENERAL. 


HERE  is  an  old  story  of  a 
Spanish  court  painter,  who, 
being  pressed  for  money,  and 
having  received  a piece  of 
damask,  which  he  was  to  wear 
in  a state  procession,  pawned 
the  damask,  and  appeared,  at 
the  show,  dressed  out  in  some 
very  fine  sheets  of  paper, 
which  he  had  painted  so  as 
exactly  to  resemble  silk.  Nay, 
his  coat  looked  so  much  rich- 
er than  the  doublets  of  all 
the  rest,  that  the  Emperor 
Charles,  in  whose  honor  the  procession  was  given,  remarked 
the  painter,  and  so  his  deceit  was  found  out. 

I have  often  thought  that,  in  respect  of  sham  and  real 
histories,  a similar  fact  may  be  noticed  ; the  sham  story 
appearing  a great  deal  more  agreeable,  life-like,  and  natural 
than  the  true  one : and  all  who,  from  laziness  as  well  as 
principle,  are  inclined  to  follow  the  easy  and  comfortable 
study  of  novels,  may  console  themselves  with  the  notion 
that  they  are  studying  matters  quite  as  important  as  his- 
tory, and  that  their  favorite  duodecimos  are  as  instructive 
as  the  biggest  quartos  in  the  world. 

If  then,  ladies,  the  big-wigs  begin  to  sneer  at  the  course 
of  our  studies,  calling  our  darling  romances  foolish,  trivial, 

89 


90 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK. 


noxious  to  the  mind,  enervators  of  intellect,  fathers  of 
idleness,  and  what  not,  let  us  at  once  take  a high  ground, 
and  say,  — Go  you  to  your  own  employments,  and  to  such 
dull  studies  as  you  fancy  ; go  and  bob  for  triangles,  from 
the  Pons  Asinorum  ; go  enjoy  your  dull  black  draughts 
of  metaphysics ; go  fumble  over  history  books,  and  dissert 
upon  Herodotus  and  Livy;  our  histories  are,  perhaps,  as 
true  as  yours ; our  drink  is  the  brisk  sparkling  champagne 
drink,  from  the  presses  of  Colburn,  Bentley  and  Co. ; our 
walks  are  over  such  sunshiny  pleasure-grounds  as  Scott  and 
Shakspeare  have  laid  out  for  us  ; and  if  our  dwellings  are 
castles  in  the  air,  we  find  them  excessively  splendid  and 
commodious;  — be  not  you  envious  because  you  have  no 
wings  to  fly  thither.  Let  the  big-wigs  despise  us ; such 
contempt  of  their  neighbors  is  the  custom  of  all  barbar- 
ous tribes  — witness,  the  learned  Chinese  : Tippoo  Sultaun 
declared  that  there  were  not  in  all  Europe  ten  thousand 
men : the  Sklavonic  hordes,  it  is  said,  so  entitled  them- 
selves from  a word  in  their  jargon,  which  signifies  “to 
speak ;”  the  ruffians  imagining  that  they  had  a monopoly 
of  this  agreeable  faculty,  and  that  all  other  nations  were 
dumb. 

Not  so : others  may  be  deaf ; but  the  novelist  has  a loud, 
eloquent,  instructive  language,  though  his  enemies  may 
despise  or  deny  it  ever  so  much.  What  is  more,  one  could, 
perhaps,  meet  the  stoutest  historian  on  his  own  ground, 
and  argue  with  him ; showing  that  sham  histories  were 
much  truer  than  real  histories ; which  are,  in  fact,  mere 
contemptible  catalogues  of  names  and  places,  that  can  have 
no  moral  effect  upon  the  reader. 

As  thus : — 

Julius  Caesar  beat  Pompey,  at  Pharsalia. 

The  Duke  of  Marlborough  beat  Marshal  Tallard  at  Blenheim. 

The  Constable  of  Bourbon  beat  Francis  the  First,  at  Pavia. 

And  what  have  we  here  ? — so  many  names,  simply.  Sup- 
pose Pharsalia  had  been,  at  that  mysterious  period  when 
names  were  given,  called  Pavia;  and  that  Julius  Caesar’s 
family  name  had  been  John  Churchill ; the  fact  would  have 
stood  in  history,  thus  : — 

“ Pompey  ran  away  from  the  Duke  of  Marlborough  at  Pavia.” 

And  why  not?  — we  should  have  been  just  as  wise.  Or  it 
might  be  stated  that  — 


SOME  FRENCH  FASHIONABLE  NOVELS. 


91 


“The  tenth  legion  charged  the  French  infantry  at  Blenheim  ; and 
Caesar,  writing  home  to  his  mamma,  said,  i Madame,  tout  est  perdu  fors 
Vhonneur ” 

What  a contemptible  science  this  is,  then,  about  which 
quartos  are  written,  ancl  sixty-volumed  Biographies  Uni- 
verselles,  and  Lardner’s  Cabinet  Cyclopaedias,  and  the  like ! 
the  facts  are  nothing  in  it,  the  names  everything ; and  a 
gentleman  might  as  well  improve  his  mind  by  learning 
Walker’s  “ Gazetteer,”  or  getting  by  heart  a fifty-years-old 
edition  of  the  “ Court  Guide.” 

Having  thus  disposed  of  the  historians,  let  us  come  to 
the  point  in  question  — the  novelists. 


On  the  title-page  of  these  volumes  the  reader  has,  doubt- 
less, remarked,  that  among  the  pieces  introduced,  some 
are  announced  as  “ copies  ” and  “ compositions.”  Many  of 
the  histories  have,  accordingly,  been  neatly  stolen  from  the 
collections  of  French  authors  (and  mutilated,  according  to 
the  old  saying,  so  that  their  owners  should  not  know 
them)  and,  for  compositions,  we  intend  to  favor  the  public 
with  some  studies  of  French  modern  works,  that  have  not 
as  yet,  we  believe,  attracted  the  notice  of  the  English 
public. 

Of  such  works  there  appear  many  hundreds  yearly,  as 
may  be  seen  by  the  French  catalogues ; but  the  writer  has 
not  so  much  to  do  with  works  political,  philosophical,  his- 
torical, metaphysical,  scientifical,  theological,  as  with  those 
for  which  he  has  been  putting  forward  a plea — novels, 
namely;  on  which  he  has  expended  a great  deal  of  time 
and  study.  And  passing  from  novels  in  general  to  French 
novels,  let  us  confess,  with  much  humiliation,  that  we 
oorrow  from  these  stories  a great  deal  more  knowledge  of 
French  society  than  from  our  own  personal  observation  we 
ever  can  hope  to  gain  : for,  let  a gentleman  who  has  dwelt 
two,  four,  or  ten  years  in  Paris  (and  has  not  gone  thither 
for  the  purpose  of  making  a book,  when  three  weeks  are 
sufficient) — let  an  English  gentleman  say,  at  the  end  of 
any  given  period,  how  much  he  knows  of  French  society, 
how  many  French  houses  he  has  entered,  and  how  many 
French  friends  he  has  made  ? — He  has  enjoyed,  at  the  end 
of  the  year,  say  — 


92 


THE  PATHS  SKETCH  BOOK 


At  the  English  Ambassador’s,  so  many  soirees. 

At  houses  to  which  he  has  brought  letters,  so  many  tea-parties. 
At  Cafes,  so  many  dinners. 

At  French  private  houses,  say  three  dinners,  and  very  lucky  too. 


He  has,  we  say,  seen  an  immense  number  of  wax  candles, 
cups  of  tea,  glasses  of  orgeat,  and  French  people,  in  best 
clothes,  enjoying  the  same ; but  intimacy  there  is  none ; we 


SOME  FRENCH  FASHIONABLE  NOVELS. 


93 


see  but  the  outsides  of  the  people.  Year  by  year  we  live 
in  France,  and  grow  gray,  and  see  no  more.  We  play 
ecarte  with  Monsieur  de  Trefle  every  night ; but  what  know 
we  of  the  heart  of  the  man  — of  the  inward  ways,  thoughts, 
and  customs  of  Trefle  ? If  we  have  good  legs,  and  love 
the  amusement,  we  dance  with  Countess  Flicflac,  Tuesdays 
and  Thursdays,  ever  since  the  Peace ; and  how  far  are  we 
advanced  in  acquaintance  with  her  since  we  first  twirled 
her  round  a room  ? We  know  her  velvet  gown,  and  her 
diamonds  (about  three-fourths  of  them  are  sham,  by  the 
way) ; we  know  her  smiles,  and  her  simpers,  and  her  rouge 
— but  no  more:  she  may  turn  into  a kitchen  wench  at 
twelve  on  Thursday  night,  for  aught  we  know  ; her  voiture , 
a pumpkin ; and  her  gens , so  many  rats : but  the  real 
rougeless,  intime  Flicflac,  we  know  not.  This  privilege  is 
granted  to  no  Englishman : we  may  understand  the  French 
language  as  well  as  Monsieur  de  Levizac,  but  never  can 
penetrate  into  Flicflac’s  confidence : our  ways  are  not  her 
ways ; our  manners  of  thinking,  not  hers : when  we  say  a 
good  thing,  in  the  course  of  the  night,  we  are  wondrous 
lucky  and  pleased ; Flicflac  will  trill  you  off  fifty  in  ten 
minutes,  and  wonder  at  the  betise  of  the  Briton,  who  has 
never  a word  to  say.  We  are  married,  and  have  fourteen 
children,  and  would  just  as  soon  make  love  to  the  Pope  of 
Borne  as  to  any  one  but  our  own  wife.  If  you  do  not  make 
love  to  Flicflac,  from  the  day  after  her  marriage  to  the  day 
she  reaches  sixty,  she  thinks  you  a fool.  We  won’t  play  at 
ecarte  with  Trefle  on  Sunday  nights  ; and  are  seen  walking, 
about  one  o’clock  (accompanied  by  fourteen  red-haired  chil- 
dren, with  fourteen  gleaming  prayer-books),  away  from  the 
church.  “ Grand  Dieu  ! ” cries  Trefle,  “ is  that  man  mad  ? 
He  won’t  play  at  cards  on  a Sunday  ; he  goes  to  church  on 
a Sunday  : he  has  fourteen  children ! ” 

Was  ever  Frenchman  known  to  do  likewise  ? Pass  we  on 
to  our  argument,  which  is,  that  with  our  English  notions 
and  moral  and  physical  constitution,  it  is  quite  impossible 
that  we  should  become  intimate  with  our  brisk  neighbors  ; 
and  when  such  authors  as  Lady  Morgan  and  Mrs.  Trollope, 
having  frequented  a certain  number  of  tea-parties  in  the 
French  capital,  begin  to  prattle  about  French  manners  and 
men,  — with  all  respect  for  the  talents  of  those  ladies,  we 
do  believe  their  information  not  to  be  worth  a sixpence ; 
they  speak  to  us  not  of  men  but  of  tea-parties.  Tea-parties 
are  the  same  all  the  world  over ; with  the  exception  that, 


94 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK 


with  the  French,  there  are  more  lights  and  prettier  dresses ; 
and  with  us,  a mighty  deal  more  tea  in  the  pot. 

There  is,  however,  a cheap  and  delightful  way  of  trav- 
elling, that  a man  may  perform  in  his  easy-chair,  without 
expense  of  passports  or  post-boys.  On  the  wings  of  a 
novel,  from  the  next  circulating  library,  he  sends  his  im- 
agination a-gadding,  and  gains  acquaintance  with  people 
and  manners  whom  he  could  not  hope  otherwise  to  know. 
Twopence  a volume  bears  us  whithersoever  we  will ; — 
back  to  Ivanhoe  and  Coeur  de  Lion,  or  to  Waverley  and  the 
Young  Pretender,  along  with  Walter  Scott ; up  the  heights 
of  fashion  with  the  charming  enchanters  of  the  silver-fork 
school;  or,  better  still,  to  the  snug  inn-parlor,  or  the  jovial 
tap-room,  with  Mr.  Pickwick  and  his  faithful  Sancho 
Weller.  I am  sure  that  a man  who,  a hundred  years  hence 
should  sit  down  to  write  the  history  of  our  time,  would  do 
wrong  to  put  that  great  contemporary  history  of  “ Pick- 
wick ; ” aside  as  a frivolous  work.  It  contains  true  character 
under  false  names  ; and,  like  “ Roderick  Random,”  an  infe- 
rior work,  and  “Tom  Jones ” (one  that  is  immeasurably 
superior  ),  gives  us  a better  idea  of  the  state  and  ways  of 
the  people  than  one  could  gather  from  any  more  pompous 
or  authentic  histories. 

We  have,  therefore,  introduced  into  these  volumes  one  or 
two  short  reviews  of  French  fiction  writers,  of  particular 
classes,  whose  Paris  sketches  may  give  the  reader  some 
notion  of  manners  in  that  capital.  If  not  original,  at  least 
the  drawings  are  accurate ; for,  as  a Frenchman  might  have 
lived  a thousand  years  in  England,  and  never  could  have 
written  “ Pickwick,  ” an  Englishman  cannot  hope  to  give  a 
good  description  of  the  inward  thoughts  and  ways  of  his 
neighbors. 

To  a person  inclined  to  study  these,  in  that  light  and 
amusing  fashion  in  which  the  novelist  treats  them,  let 
us  recommend  the  works  of  a new  writer,  Monsieur  de 
Bernard,  who  has  painted  actual  manners,  without  those 
monstrous  and  terrible  exaggerations  in  which  late  French 
writers  have  indulged;  and  who,  if  he  occasionally  wounds 
the  English  sense  of  propriety  ( as  what  French  man  or 
woman  alive  will  not)?  does  so  more  by  slighting  than  by 
outraging  it,  as,  with  their  labored  descriptions  of  all  sorts 
of  imaginable  wickedness,  some  of  his  brethren  of  the 
press  have  done.  M.  de  Bernard’s  characters  are  men  and 
women  of  genteel  society  — rascals  enough,  but  living  in 


SOME  FRENCH  FASHIONABLE  NOVELS . 


95 


no  state  of  convulsive  crimes  ; and  we  follow  him  in  his 
lively,  malicious  account  of  tlieir  manners,  without  risk  of 
lighting  upon  any  such  horrors  as  Balzac  or  Dumas  has 
provided  for  us. 

Let  us  give  an  instance : it  is  from  the  amusing  novel 
called  “Les  Ailes  d’Icare,  ” and  contains  what  is  to  us 
quite  a new  picture  of  a French  fashionable  rogue.  The 
fashions  will  change  in  a few  years  and  the  rogue,  of 
course,  with  them.  Let  us  catch  this  delightful  fellow  ere 
he  flies.  It  is  impossible  to  sketch  the  character  in  a more 
sparkling,  gentlemanlike  way  than  M.  de  Bernard’s;  but 
such  light  things  are  very  difficult  of  translation,  and  the 
sparkle  sadly  evaporates  during  the  process  of  decanting. 

A FRENCH  FASHIONABLE  LETTER. 

“My  bear  Victor — It  is  six  in  the  morning:  I have 
just  come  from  the  English  Ambassador’s  ball,  and  as  my 
plans  for  the  day  do  not  admit  of  my  sleeping,  I write  you 
a line  ; for,  at  this  moment,  saturated  as  I am  with  the 
enchantments  of  a fairy  night,  all  other  pleasures  would  be 
too  wearisome  to  keep  me  awake,  except  that  of  conversing 
with  you.  Indeed  were  I not  to  write  to  you  now,  when 
should  I find  the  possibility  of  doing  so  ? Time  flies 
here  with  such  a frightful  rapidity,  my  pleasures  and  my 
affairs  whirl  onwards  together  in  such  a torrentuous  galop- 
ade,  that  I am  compelled  to  seize  occasion  by  the  forelock ; 
for  each  moment  has  its  imperious  employ.  Do  not  then 
accuse  me  of  negligence  : if  my  correspondence  has  not 
always  that  regularity  which  I would  fain  give  it,  attribute 
the  fault  solely  to  the  whirlwind  in  which  I live,  and  which 
carries  me  hither  and  thither  at  its  will. 

“However,  you  are  not  the  only  person  with  whom  I am 
behindhand : I assure  you,  on  the  contrary,  that  you  are  one 
of  a very  numerous  and  fashionable  company,  to  whom, 
towards  the  discharge  of  my  debts,  I propose  to  consecrate 
four  hours  to-day.  I give  you  the  preference  to  all  the 
world,  even  to  the  lovely  Duchess  of  San  Severino,  a deli- 
cious Italian,  whom,  for  my  special  happiness,  I met  last 
summer  at  the  Waters  of  Aix.  I have  also  a most  impor- 
tant negotiation  to  conclude  with  one  of  our  Princes  of 
Finance  : but  n’importe,  I commence  with  thee  : friendship 
before  love  or  money  — friendship  before  everything.  My 
despatches  concluded,  I •am  engaged  to  ride  with  the 
Marquis  de  Grigneure,  the  Comte  de  Castijars,  and  Lord 


90 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK. 


Gobham,  in  order  that  we  may  recover,  for  a breakfast  at 
the  Roche  r de  Cancale  that  Grigneure  has  lost,  the  appetite 
which  we  all  of  us  so  cruelly  abused  last  night  at  the  Am- 
bassador’s gala.  On  my  honor,  my  dear  fellow,  everybody 
was  of  a caprice  prestigieux  and  a comfortable  mirobolant . 
Fancy,  for  a banquet-hall,  a royal  orangery  hung  with 
white  damask;  the  boxes  of  the  shrubs  transformed  into 
so  many  sideboards ; lights  gleaming  through  the  foliage ; 
and,  for  guests,  the  loveliest  women  and  most  brilliant 
cavaliers  of  Paris.  Orleans  and  Nemours  were  there, 
dancing  and  eating  like  simple  mortals.  In  a word,  Albion 
did  the  thing  very  handsomely,  and  I accord  it  my  esteem. 

“ Here  I pause,  to  call  for  my  valet-de-charnbre,  and  call 
for  tea ; for  my  head  is  heavy,  and  I’ve  no  time  for  a 
headache.  In  serving  me,  this  rascal  of  a Frederic  has 
broken  a cup,  true  Japan,  upon  my  honor  — the  rogue 
does  nothing  else.  Yesterday,  for  instance,  did  he  not 
thump  me  prodigiously,  by  letting  fall  a goblet,  after 
Cellini,  of  which  the  carving  alone  cost  me  three  hundred 
francs  ? I must  positively  put  the  wretch  out  of  doors,  to 
ensure  the  safety  of  my  furniture ; and  in  consequence  of 
this,  Eneas,  an  audacious  young  negro,  in  whom  wisdom 
hath  not  waited  for  years  — Eneas,  my  groom,  I say,  will 
probably  be  elevated  to  the  post  of  valet-de-chambre.  But 
where  was  I ? I think  I was  speaking  to  you  of  an  oyster 
breakfast,  to  which,  on  our  return  from  the  Park  (du 
Bois),  a company  of  pleasant  rakes  are  invited.  After 
quitting  Borel’s  we  propose  to  adjourn  to  the  Bafriere  du 
Combat,  where  Lord  Cobham  proposes  to  try  some  bull- 
dogs, which  he  has  brought  over  from  England  — one  of 
these,  O’Connell  (Lord  Cobham  is  a Tory),  has  a face  in 
which  I place  much  confidence : I have  a bet  of  ten  louis 
with  Castijars  on  the  strength  of  it.  After  the  fight,  we 
shall  make  our  accustomed  appearance  at  the  ‘Cafe  de 
Paris,’  ( the  only  place,  by  the  way,  where  a man  who 
respects  himself  may  be  seen),  and  then  away  with  frocks 
and  spurs,  and  on  with  our  dress-coats  for  the  rest  of  the 
evening.  In  the  first  place,  I shall  go  doze  for  a couple  of 
hours  at  the  Opera,  where  my  presence  is  indispensable ; 
for  Coralie,  a charming  creature,  passes  this  evening  from 
the  rank  of  the  rats  to  that  of  the  tigers , in  a pas-de-trois , 
and  our  box  patronizes  her.  After  the  Opera,  I must  show 
my  face  at  two  or  three  salons  in  the  Faubourg  St.  Honore ; 
and  having  thus  performed  my  duties  to  the  world  of 


SOME  FRENCH  FASHIONABLE  NOVELS. 


97 


fashion,  I return  to  the  exercise  of  my  riglitfs  as  a member 
of  the  Carnival.  At  two  o’clock  all  the  world  meets  at  the 
Theatre  Ventadour  : lions  and  tigers  — the  whole  of  our 
menagerie  will  be  present.  Evoe  ! off  we  go  ! roaring  and 
bounding  Bacchanal  and  Saturnal ; ’ tis  agreed  that  we 
shall  be  everything  that  is  low.  To  conclude,  we  sup  with 
Castijars,  the  most  furiously  dishevelled  ’ orgy  that  ever 
was  known.  ” 

The  rest  of  the  letter  is  on  matters  of  finance,  equally 
curious  and  instructive.  But  pause  we  for  the  present,  to 
consider  the  fashionable  part : and  caricature  as  it  is,  we 
have  an  accurate  picture  of  the  actual  French  dandy.  Bets, 
breakfasts,  riding,  dinners  at  the  “ Cafe  de  Paris,  ” and 
delirious  Carnival  balls : the  animal  goes  through  all  such 
frantic  pleasures  at  the  season  that  precedes  Lent.  He  has 
a wondrous  respect  for  English  “ gentlemen-sportsmen  ; ” 
he  imitates  their  clubs  — their  love  of  horse-flesh  : he  calls 
his  palefrenier  a groom,  wears  blue  bird’s-eye  neck-cloths, 
sports  his  pink  out  hunting,  rides  steeple-chases,  and  has 
his  Jockey  Club.  The  “ tigers  and  lions”  alluded  to  in  the 
report  have  been  borrowed  from  our  own  country,  and  a 
great  compliment  is  it  to  Monsieur  de  Bernard,  the  writer 
of  the  above  amusing  sketch,  that  he  has  such  a knowledge 
of  English  names  and  things,  as  to  give  a Tory  lord  the 
decent  title  of  Lord  Cobham,  and  to  call  his  dog  O’Connell. 
Paul  de  Kock  calls  an  English  nobleman,  in  one  of  his  last 
novels,  Lord  Boulingrog , and  appears  vastly  delighted  at 
the  verisimilitude  of  the  title. 

For  the  “ rugissements  et  bondissements , bacchanale  et 
saturnale , galop  infernal , ronde  du  sabbat  tout  le  tr emble- 
ment, ” these  words  give  a most  clear,  untranslatable  idea 
of  the  Carnival  ball.  A sight  more  hideous  can  hardly 
strike  a man’s  eye.  I was  present  at  one  where  the  four 
thousand  guests  whirled  screaming,  reeling,  roaring,  out  of 
the  ball-room  in  the  Bue  St.  Honore,  and  tore  down  to 
the  column  in  the  Place  Vendome,  round  which  they  went 
shrieking  their  own  music,  twenty  miles  an  hour,  and  so 
tore  madly  back  again.  Let  a man  go  alone  to  such  a 
place  of  amusement,  and  the  sight  for  him  is  perfectly 
terrible  ; the  horrid  frantic  gayety  of  the  place  puts  him  in 
mind  more  of  the  merriment  of  demons  than  of  men : 
bang,  bang,  drums,  trumpets,  chairs,  pistol-shots,  pour  out 
of  the  orchestra,  which  seems  as  mad  as  the  dancers ; whiz, 
7 


98 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK. 


a whirlwind  of  paint  and  patches,  all  the  costumes  under 
the  sun,  all  the  ranks  in  the  empire,  all  the  he  and  she 
scoundrels  of  the  capital,  writhed  and  twisted  together, 
rush  by  you  ; if  a man  falls,  woe  be  to  him  : two  thousand 
screaming  menads  go  trampling  over  his  carcass : they  have 
neither  power  nor  will  to  stop. 

A set  of  Malays  drunk  with  bhang  and  running  amuck, 
a company  of  howling  dervishes,  may  possibly,  in  our  own 
day,  go  through  similar  frantic  vagaries : but  I doubt  if 
any  civilized  European  people  but  the  French  would  permit 
and  enjoy  such  scenes.  Yet  our  neighbors  see  little  shame 
in  them  ; and  it  is  very  true  that  men  of  all  classes,  high  and 
low,  here  congregate  and  give  themselves  up  to  the  disgust- 
ing worship  of  the  genius  of  the  place.  — From  the  dandy 
of  the  Boulevard  and  the  “ Cafe  Anglais,”  let  us  turn  to  the 
dandy  of  “ Flicoteau’s  ” and  the  Pays  Latin  — the  Paris 
student,  whose  exploits  among  the  grisettes  are  so  cele- 
brated, and  whose  tierce  republicanism  keeps  gendarmes 
forever  on  the  alert.  The  following  is  M.  de  Bernard’s 
description  of  him  : — 

“ I became  acquainted  with  Dambergeac  when  we  were 
students  at  the  Ecole  de  Droit ; we  lived  in  the  same  Hotel 
on  the  Place  du  Pantheon.  ISTo  doubt,  madam,  you  have 
occasionally  met  little  children  dedicated  to  the  Virgin, 
and,  to  this  end,  clothed  in  white  raiment  from  head  to 
foot : my  friend,  Dambergeac,  had  received  a different  con- 
secration. His  father,  a great  patriot  of  the  Be  volution, 
had  determined  that  his  son  should  bear  into  the  world  a 
sign  of  indelible  republicanism ; so,  to  the  great  displeas- 
ure of  his  godmother  and  the  parish  curate,  Dambergeac 
was  christened  by  the  pagan  name  of  Hannodius.  It  was 
a kind  of  moral  tricolor-cockade,  which  the  child  was  to 
bear  through  the  vicissitudes  of  all  the  revolutions  to 
come.  -Under  such  influences,  my  friend’s  character  began 
to  develop  itself,  and,  fired  by  the  example  of  his  father, 
and  by  the  warm  atmosphere  of  his  native  place,  Mar- 
seilles, he  grew  up  to  have  an  independent  spirit,  and  a 
grand  liberality  of  politics,  which  were  at  their  height 
when  first  I made  his  acquaintance. 

“ He  was  then  a young  man  of  eighteen,  with  a tall,  slim 
figure,  a broad  chest,  and  a flaming  black  eye,  out  of  all 
which  personal  charms  he  knew  how  to  draw  the  most 
advantage;  and  though  his  costume  was  such  as  Staub 


SOME  FBENCH  FASHIONABLE  NOVELS. 


99 


might  probably  have  criticised,  he  had,  nevertheless,  a style 
peculiar  to  himself  — to  himself  and  the  students,  among 
whom  he  was  the  leader  of  the  fashion.  A tight  black 
coat,  buttoned  up  to  the  chin,  across  the  chest,  set  off  that 
part  of  his  person ; a low-crowned  hat,  with  a voluminous 
rim,  cast  solemn  shadows  over  a countenance  bronzed  by  a 
southern  sun : he  wore,  at  one  time,  enormous  flowing 
black  locks,  which  he  sacrificed  pitilessly,  however,  and 
adopted  a Brutus,  as  being  more  revolutionary  : finally,  he 
carried  an  enormous  club,  that  was  his  code  and  digest : in 
like  manner,  De  Betz  used  to  carry  a stiletto  in  his  pocket 
by  way  of  a breviary. 

“ Although  of  different  ways  of  thinking  in  politics, 
certain  sympathies  of  character  and  conduct  united  Dam- 
bergeac  and  myself,  and  we  speedily  became  close  friends. 
I don’t  think,  in  the  whole  course  of  his  three  years’  resi- 
dence, Dambergeac  ever  went  through  a single  course  of 
lectures.  For  the  examinations,  he  trusted  to  luck,  and  to 
his  own  facility,  which  was  prodigious : as  for  honors,  he 
never  aimed  at  them,  but  was  content  to  do  exactly  as 
little  as  was  necessary,  for  him  to  gain  his  degree.  In  like 
manner  he  sedulously  avoided  those  horrible  circulating 
libraries,  where  daily  are  seen  to  congregate  the  ‘ reading 
men  ’ of  our  schools.  But,  in  revenge,  there  was  not  a 
milliner’s  shop,  or  a ling&re’s,  in  all  our  quartier  Latin, 
which  he  did  not  industriously  frequent,  and  of  which  he 
was  not  the  oracle.  Nay,  it  was  said  that  his  victories 
were  not  confined  to  the  left  bank  of  the  Seine ; reports 
did  occasionally  come  to  us  of  fabulous  adventures  by  him 
accomplished  in  the  far  regions  of  the  Bue  de  la  Paix  and 
the  Boulevard  Poissonniere.  Such  recitals  were,  for  us 
less  favored  mortals,  like  tales  of  Bacchus  conquering  in 
the  East ; they  excited  our  ambition,  but  not  our  jealousy  ; 
for  the  superiority  of  Harmodius  was  acknowledged  by  us 
all,  and  we  never  thought  of  a rivalry  with  him.  No  man 
ever  cantered  a hack  through  the  Champs  Elysees  with 
such  elegant  assurance ; no  man  ever  made  such  a massa- 
cre of  dolls  at  the  shooting-gallery,  or  won  you  a rubber  at 
billiards  with  more  easy  grace  ; or  thundered  out  a couplet 
out  of  Beranger  with  such  a roaring  melodious  bass.  He 
was  the  monarch  of  the  Prado  in  winter  : in  summer  of 
the  Chaumiere  and  Mont  Parnasse.  Not  a frequenter  of 
those  fashionable  places  of  entertainment  showed  a more 
amiable  laisser-aller  in  the  dance  — that-  peculiar  dance 


100 


THE  PABIS  SKETCH  BOOK. 


at  which  gendarmes  think  proper  to  blush,  and  which 
squeamish  society  has  banished  from  her  salons.  In  a 
word,  Harmodius  was  the  prince  of  mauvais  sujets , a 
youth  with  all  the  accomplishments  of  Gottingen  and 
Jena,  and  all  the  eminent  graces  of  his  own  country. 

“ Besides  dissipation  and  gallantry,  our  friend  had  one 
other  vast  and  absorbing  occupation  — politics,  namely;  in 
which  he  was  as  turbulent  and  enthusiastic  as  in  pleasure. 
La  Patrie  was  his  idol,  his  heaven,  his  nightmare  ; by  day 
he  spouted,  by  night  he  dreamed,  of  his  country.  I have 
spoken  to  you  of  his  coiffure  a la  Sylla ; need  I mention 
his  pipe,  his  meerschaum  pipe,  of  which  General  Foy’s 
head  was  the  bowl;  his  handkerchief  with  the  Charte 
printed  thereon ; and  his  celebrated  tri-color  braces,  which 
kept  the  rallying  sign  of  his  country  ever  close  to  his 
heart  ? Besides  these  outward  and  visible  signs  of  sedition, 
he  had  inward  and  secret  plans  of  revolution : he  belonged 
to  clubs,  frequented  associations,  read  the  Constitutionnel 
(Liberals,  in  those  days,  swore  by  the  Constitutionnel ), 
harangued  peers  and  deputies  who  had  deserved  well  of 
their  country ; and  if  death  happened  to  fall  on  such,  and 
the  Constitutionnel  declared  their  merit,  Harmodius  was 
the  very  first  to  attend  their  obsequies,  or  to  set  his 
shoulder  to  their  coffins. 

“ Such  were  his  tastes  and  passions : his  antipathies 
were  not  less  lively.  He  detested  three  things : a Jesuit, 
a gendarme,  and  a claqueur  at  a theatre.  At  this  period, 
missionaries  were  rife  about  Paris,  and  endeavored  to  re- 
illume the  zeal  of  the  faithful  by  public  preachings  in  the 
churches.  ‘ Infdmes  jesuites  ! ’ would  Harmodius  exclaim, 
who,  in  the  excess  of  his  toleration,  tolerated  nothing; 
and  at  the  head  of  a band  of  philosophers  like  himself, 
would  attend  with  scrupulous  exactitude  the  meetings  of 
the  reverend  gentlemen.  But,  instead  of  a contrite  heart, 
Harmodius  only  brought  the  abomination  of  desolation 
into  their  sanctuary.  A perpetual  fire  of  fulminating  balls 
would  bang  from  under  the  feet  of  the  faithful ; odors  of 
impure  assafoetida  would  mingle  with  the  fumes  of  the 
incense ; and  wicked  drinking  choruses  would  rise  up 
along  with  the  holy  canticles,  in  hideous  dissonance,  re- 
minding one  of  the  old  orgies  under  the  reign  of  the  Abbot 
of  Unreason. 

“ His  hatred  of  the  gendarmes  was  equally  ferocious : 
and  as  for  the  claqueurs,  woe  be  to  them  when  Harmodius 


SOME  FRENCH  FASHIONABLE  NOVELS . 101 


was  in  the  pit ! They  knew  him,  and  trembled  before  him, 
like  the  earth  before  Alexander ; and  his  famous  war-cry, 

‘ La  Carte  au  chapeau ! ’ was  so  much  dreaded,  that  the 
‘ entrepreneurs  de  succ&s  dramatiques  9 demanded  twice  as 
much  to  do  the  Odeon  Theatre  (which  we  students  and 
Harmodius  frequented ),  as  to  applaud  at  any  other  place 
of  amusement:  and,  indeed,  their  double  pay  was  hardly 
gained ; Harmodius  taking  care  that  they  should  earn  the 
most  of  it  under  the  benches.  ” 

This  passage,  with  which  we  have  taken  some  liberties, 
will  give  the  reader  a more  lively  idea  of  the  reckless, 
jovial,  turbulent  Paris  student,  than  any  with  which  a 
foreigner  could  furnish  him  : the  grisette  is  his  heroine ; 
and  dear  old  Beranger,  the  cynic-epicurean,  has  celebrated 
him  and  her  in  the  most  delightful  verses  in  the  world. 
Of  these  we  may  have  occasion  to  say  a word  or  two  anon. 
Meanwhile  let  us  follow  Monsieur  de  Bernard  in  his  amus- 
ing descriptions  of  his  countrymen  somewhat  farther  ; and, 
having  seen  how  Dambergeac  was  a ferocious  republican, 
being  a bachelor,  let  us  see  how  age,  sense,  and  a little 
government  pay  — the  great  agent  of  conversions  in  France 
— nay,  in  England — has  reduced  him  to  be  a pompous, 
quiet,  loyal  supporter  of  the  juste  milieu : his  former  por- 
trait was  that  of  the  student,  the  present  will  stand  for  an 
admirable  lively  likeness  of 

THE  SOUS-PREFET. 

“ Saying  that  I would  wait  for  Dambergeac  in  his  own 
study,  I was  introduced  into  that  apartment,  and  saw 
around  me  the  usual  furniture  of  a man  in  his  station. 
There  was,  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  a large  bureau, 
surrounded  by  orthodox  arm-chairs ; and  there  were  many 
shelves  with  boxes  duly  ticketed ; there  were  a number  of 
maps,  and  among  them  a great  one  of  the  department  over 
which  Dambergeac  ruled ; and  facing  the  windows,  on  a 
wooden  pedestal,  stood  a plaster-cast  of  the  ‘ Roi  des 
Frangais. 9 Recollecting  my  friend’s  former  republicanism, 
I smiled  at  this  piece  of  furniture  ; but  before  I had  time 
to  carry  my  observations  any  farther,  a heavy  rolling 
sound  of  carriage-wheels,  that  caused  the  windows  to  rattle 
and  seemed  to  shake  the  whole  edifice  of  the  sub-prefecture, 
called  my  attention  to  the  court  without.  Its  iron  gates 


102 


TEE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK. 


were  flung  open,  and  in  rolled,  with  a great  deal  of  din,  a 
chariot  escorted  by  a brace  of  gendarmes,  sword  in  hand. 
A tall  gentleman,  with  a cocked-hat  and  feathers,  wearing 
a blue  and  silver  uniform  coat,  descended  from  the  vehicle ; 
and  having,  with  much  grave  condescension,  saluted  his 
escort,  mounted  the  stair.  A moment  afterwards  the  door 
of  the  study  was  opened,  and  I embraced  my  friend. 

“ After  the  first  warmth  and  salutations,  we  began  to 
examine  each  other  with  an  equal  curiosity,  for  eight  years 
had  elapsed  since  we  had  last  met. 


“ ‘You  are  grown  very  thin  and  pale,’  said  Harmodius, 
after  a moment. 

“ ‘ In  revenge  I find  you  fat  and  rosy  : if  I am  a walking 
satire  on  celibacy,  — you,  at  least,  are  a living  panegyric 
on  marriage.’ 

“ In  fact  a great  change,  and  such  an  one  as  many  people 
would  call  a change  for  the  better,  had  taken  place  in  my 
friend : he  had  grown  fat,  and  announced  a decided  disposi- 
tion to  become  what  French  people  call  a bel  homme  : that 


SOME  FRENCH  FASHIONABLE  NOVELS.  103 


is,  a very  fat  one.  His  complexion,  bronzed  before,  was 
now  clear  white  and  red : there  were  no  more  political  allu- 
sions in  his  hair,  which  was,  on  the  contrary,  neatly  frizzed, 
and  brushed  over  the  forehead,  shell  shape.  This  head- 
dress, joined  to  a thin  pair  of  whiskers,  cut  crescent-wise 
from  the  ear  to  the  nose,  gave  my  friend  a regular  bour- 
geois physiognomy,  wax-doll-like : he  looked  a great  deal 
too  well ; and,  added  to  this,  the  solemnity  of  his  prefec- 
tural  costume,  gave  his  whole  appearance  a pompous  well- 
fed  look  that  by  no  means  pleased. 

“‘I  surprise  you/  said  I,  ‘in  the  midst  of  your  splendor: 
do  you  know  that  this  costume  and  yonder  attendants  have 
a look  excessively  awful  and  splendid  ? You  entered  your 
palace  just  now  with  the  air  of  a pasha.’ 

“‘You  see  me  in  uniform  in  honor  of  Monseigneur  the 
Bishop,  who  has  just  made  his  diocesan  visit,  and  whom  I 
have  just  conducted  to  the  limit  of  the  arrondissementl 
“ ‘ What ! ’ said  I,  ‘ you  have  gendarmes  for  guards,  and 
dance  attendance  on  bishops  ? there  are  no  more  janissa- 
ries and  J esuits,  I suppose  ? ’ The  sub-prefect  smiled. 

“ ‘ I assure  you  that  my  gendarmes  are  very  worthy  fel- 
lows ; and  that  among  the  gentlemen  who  compose  our 
clergy  there  are  some  of  the  very  best  rank  and  talent : 
besides,  my  wife  is  niece  to  one  of  the  vicars-general.’ 
“‘What  have  you  done  with  that  great  Tasso  beard  that 
poor  Armandine  used  to  love  so  ? ’ 

“ ‘ My  wife  does  not  like  a beard ; and  you  know  that 
what  is  permitted  to  a student  is  not  very  becoming  to  a 
magistrate/ 

“ I began  to  laugh.  ‘ Harmodius  and  a magistrate  ! — 
how  shall  I ever  couple  the  two  words  together  ? But  tell 
me,  in  your  correspondences,  your  audiences,  your  sittings 
with  village  mayors  and  petty  councils,  how  do  you  manage 
to  remain  awake  ? ’ 

“‘In  the  commencement/  said  Harmodius,  gravely ‘it 
was  very  difficult ; and,  in  order  to  keep  my  eyes  open,  I 
used  to  stick  pins  in  my  legs : now,  however,  I am  used  to 
it ; and  I?m  sure  I don’t  take  more  than  fifty  pinches  of 
snuff  at  a sitting.’ 

“ ‘ Ah  apropos  of  snuff  : you  are  near  Spain  here,  and 
were  always  a famous  smoker.  Give  me  a cigar,  — it  will 
take  away  the  musty  odor  of  these  piles  of  papers.’ 

“ ‘ Impossible,  my  dear ; I don’t  smoke  ; my  wife  cannot 
bear  a cigar.’ 


104 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK . 


“ His  wife  ! thought  I ; always  his  wife  : and  I remember 
Juliette,  who  really  grew  sick  at  the  smell  of  a pipe,  and 
Harmodius  would  smoke,  until,  at  last,  the  poor  thing 
grew  to  smoke  herself,  like  a trooper.  To  compensate, 
however,  as  much  as  possible  for  the  loss  of  my  cigar, 
Dambergeac  drew  from  his  pocket  an  enormous  gold  snuff- 
box, on  which  figured  the  selfsame  head  that  I had  before 
remarked  in  plaster,  but  this  time  surrounded  with  a ring  of 
pretty  princes  and  princesses,  all  nicely  painted  in  minia- 
ture. As  for  the  statue  of  Louis  Philippe,  that,  in  the 
cabinet  of  an  official,  is  a thing  of  course ; but  the  snuff- 
box seemed  to  indicate  a degree  of  sentimental  and 
personal  devotion,  such  as  the  old  Loyalists  were  only 
supposed  to  be  guilty  of. 

“ ‘ What ! you  are  turned  decided  juste  milieu  ? ’ said  I. 

“ ‘ I am  a sous-prefet,’  answered  Harmodius. 

“ I had  nothing  to  say,  but  held  my  tongue,  wondering, 
not  at  the  change  which  had  taken  place  in  the  habits, 
manners,  and  opinions  of  my  friend,  but  at  my  own  folly, 
which  led  me  to  fancy  that  I should  find  the  student  of  ’26 
in  the  functionary  of  ’34.  At  this  moment  a domestic 
appeared. 

“‘  Madame  is  waiting  for  Monsieur,’  said  he;  ‘the  last 
bell  has  gone,  and  mass  beginning.’ 

“‘Mass!’  said  I,  bounding  from  my  chair.  ‘You  at 
mass  like  a decent  serious  Christian,  without  crackers  in 
your  pocket,  and  bored  keys  to  whistle  through  ? ’ — The 
sous-prefet  rose,  his  countenance  was  calm,  and  an  indul- 
gent smile  played  upon  his  lips,  as  he  said,  ‘ My  arrondisse- 
ment  is  very  devout ; and  not  to  interfere  with  the  belief 
of  the  population  is  the  maxim  of  every  wise  politician : I 
have  precise  orders  from  Government  on  the  point,  too, 
and  go  to  eleven  o’clock  mass  every  Sunday.’  ” 

There  is  a great  deal  of  curious  matter  for  speculation 
in  the  accounts  here  so  wittily  given  by  M.  de  Bernard : 
but,  perhaps,  it  is  still  more  curious  to  think  of  what  he 
has  not  written,  and  to  judge  of  his  characters,  not  so  much 
by  the  words  in  which  he  describes  them,  as  by  the  uncon- 
scious testimony  that  the  words  all  together  convey.  In 
the  first  place,  our  author  describes  a swindler  imitating 
the  manners  of  a dandy ; and  many  swindlers  and  dandies 
be  there,  doubtless,  in  London  as  well  as  in  Paris.  But 
there  is  about  the  present  swindler,  and  about  Monsieur 


SOME  FRENCH  FASHIONABLE  NOVELS. 


105 


Dambergeac  the  student,  the  sous-prefet,andhis  friend, a rich 
store  of  calm  internal  debauch , which  does  not,  let  us  hope 
and  pray,  exist  in  England.  Hearken  to  M.  de  Gustan,  and 
his  smirking  whispers,  about  the  Duchess  of  San  Severino, 
who  'pour  son  bonheur  particuliev , &c.,  &c.  Listen  to 
Monsieur  Dambergeac’s  friend’s  remonstrances  concerning 
pauvre  Juliette  who  grew  sick  at  the  smell  of  a pipe ; to  his 
naive  admiration  at  the  fact  that  the  sous-prefet  goes  to 
church : and  we  may  set  down,  as  axioms,  that  religion  is 
so  uncommon  among  the  Parisians,  as  to  awaken  the  sur- 
prise of  all  candid  observers  ; that  gallantry  is  so  common 
as  to  create  no  remark,  and  to  be  considered  as  a matter  of 
course.  With  us,  at  least,  the  converse  of  the  proposition 
prevails : it  is  the  man  professing  ^religion  who  would  be 
remarked  and  reprehended  in  England  ; and  if  the  second- 
named  vice  exists,  at  any  rate,  it  adopts  the  decency  of 
secrecy  and  is  not  made  patent  and  notorious  to  all  the 
world.  A French  gentleman  thinks  no  more  of  proclaim- 
ing that  he  has  a mistress  than  that  he  has  a tailor;  and  one 
lives  the  time  of  Boccaccio  over  again,  in  the  thousand  and 
one  French  novels  which  depict  society  in  that  country. 

For  instance,  here  are  before  us  a few  specimens  (do  not, 
madam,  be  alarmed,  you  can  skip  the  sentence  if  you  like), 
to  be  found  in  as  many  admirable  witty  tales,  by  the  before- 
lauded  Monsieur  de  Bernard.  He  is  more  remarkable  than 
any  other  French  author,  to  our  notion,  for  writing  like 
a gentleman : there  is  ease,  grace  and  ton , in  his  style 
which,  if  we  judge  aright,  cannot  be  discovered  in  Balzac, 
or  Soulie,  or  Dumas.  We  have  then  — “ Gerfaut,  ” a 
novel : a lovely  creature  is  married  to  a brave,  haughty, 
Alsacian  nobleman,  who  allows  her  to  spend  her  winters  at 
Paris,  he  remaining  on  his  terres , cultivating,  carousing, 
and  hunting  the  boar.  The  lovely  creature  meets  the 
fascinating  Gerfaut  at  Paris ; instantly  the  latter  makes 
love  to  her ; a duel  takes  place  : baron  killed ; wife  throws 
herself  out  of  a window ; Gerfaut  plunges  into  dissipation ; 
and  so  the  tale  ends. 

Next : “ La  Femme  de  Quarante  Ans,”  a capital  tale,  full 
of  exquisite  fun  and  sparkling  satire : La  femme  de  quar- 
ante ans  has  a husband  and  three  lovers  ; all  of  whom  find 
out  their  mutual  connection  one  starry  night ; for  the  lady 
of  forty  is  of  a romantic  poetical  turn,  and  has  given  her 
three  admirers  a star  apiece  ; saying  to  one  and  the  other, 
“ Alphonse,  when  yon  pale  orb  rises  in  heaven,  think  of 


106 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK. 


me  ; 77  “ Isadore,  when  that  bright  planet  sparkles  in  the 
sky,  remember  your  Caroline/7  &c. 

“Un  Acte  de  Vertu,77  from  which  we  have  taken  Dam- 
bergeac?s  history,  contains  him,  the  husband  — a wife  — 
and  a brace  of  lovers  ; and  a great  deal  of  fun  takes  place 
in  the  manner  in  which  one  lover  supplants  the  other. — 
Pretty  morals  truly ! 

If  we  examine  an  author  who  rejoices  in  the  aristocratic 
name  of  le  Comte  Horace  de  Viel-Castel,  we  find,  though 
with  infinitely  less  wit,  exactly  the  same  intrigues  going 
on.  A noble  Count  lives  in  the  Faubourg  St.  Honore,  and 
has  a noble  Duchess  for  a mistress  : he  introduces  her 
Grace  to  the  Countess  his  wife.  The  Countess  his  wife,  in 
order  to  ramener  her  lord  to  his  conjugal  duties,  is  coun- 
selled, by  a friend,  to  pretend  to  take  a lover : one  is  found, 
who,  poor  fellow!  takes  the  affair  in  earnest:  climax  — 
duel,  death,  despair,  and  what  not  ? In  the  “ Faubourg 
St.  Germain,77  another  novel  by  the  same  writer,  which  pro- 
fesses to  describe  the  very  pink  of  that  society  which 
Napoleon  dreaded  more  than  Russia,  Prussia,  and  Austria, 
there  is  an  old  husband,  of  course ; a sentimental  young 
German  nobleman,  who  falls  in  love  with  his  wife ; and  the 
moral  of  the  piece  lies  in  the  showing  up  of  the  conduct  of 
the  lady,  who  is  reprehended  — not  for  deceiving  her  hus- 
band (poor  devil)  ! — but  for  being  a flirt,  and  taking  a sec- 
ond lover , to  the  utter  despair,  confusion,  and  annihilation 
of  the  first. 

Why,  ye  gods,  do  Frenchmen  marry  at  all  ? Had  Pere 
Enfantin  (who,  it  is  said,  has  shaved  his  ambrosial  beard, 
and  is  now  a clerk  in  a banking-house)  been  allowed  to 
carry  out  his  chaste,  just,  dignified  social  scheme,  what  a 
deal  of  marital  discomfort  might  have  been  avoided: — - 
would  it  not  be  advisable  that  a great  reformer  and  law- 
giver of  our  own,  Mr.  Robert  Owen,  should  be  presented 
at  the  Tuileries,  and  there  propound  his  scheme  for  the 
regeneration  of  France  ? 

He  might,  perhaps,  be  spared,  for  our  country  is  not  yet 
sufficiently  advanced  to  give  such  a philosopher  fair  play. 
In  London,  as  yet,  there  are  no  blessed  Bureaux  de 
Mariage , where  an  old  bachelor  may  have  a charming 
young  maiden  — for  his  money ; or  a widow  of  seventy 
may  buy  a gay  young  fellow  of  twenty,  for  a certain  num- 
ber of  bank-billets.  If  mariages  de  convenance  take  place 
here  (as  they  will  wherever  avarice,  and  poverty,  and 


SOME  FRENCH  FASHIONABLE  NOVELS. 


107 


desire,  and  yearning  after  riches  are  to  be  found),  at  least, 
thank  God,  such  unions  are  not  arranged  upon  a regular 
organized  system : there  is  a fiction  of  attachment  with  us, 
and  there  is  a consolation  in  the  deceit  (“the  homage/’  ac- 
cording to  the  old  mot  of  Rochefoucauld,  “ which  vice  pays 
to  virtue  ” ; for  the  very  falsehood  shows  that  the  virtue 
exists  somewhere.  We  once  heard  a furious  old  French 
colonel  inveighing  against  the  chastity  of  English  de- 
moiselles : “ Figurez-vous,  sir,”  said  he  (he  had  been  a pris- 
oner in  England),  “ that  these  women  come  down  to  dinner 
in  low  dresses,  and  walk  out  alone  with  the  men  ! ” — and, 
pray  heaven,  so  may  they  walk,  fancy-free  in  all  sorts  of 
maiden  meditations,  and  suffer  no  more  molestation  than 
that  young  lady  of  whom  Moore  sings,  and  who  (there 
must  have  been  a famous  lord-lieutenant  in  those  days) 
walked  through  all  Ireland,  with  rich  and  rare  gems, 
beauty,  and  a gold  ring  on  her  stick,  without  meeting  or 
thinking  of  harm. 

Now,  whether  Monsieur  de  Yiel-Castel  has  given  a true 
picture  of  the  Faubourg  St.  Germain,  it  is  impossible  for 
most  foreigners  to  say ; but  some  of  his  descriptions  will 
not  fail  to  astonish  the  English  reader ; and  all  are  filled 
with  that  remarkable  naif  contempt  of  the  institution 
called  marriage,  which  we  have  seen  in  M.  de  Bernard. 
The  romantic  young  nobleman  of  Westphalia  arrives  at 
Paris,  and  is  admitted  into  what  a celebrated  female  author 
calls  la  creme  de  la  cr&me  de  la  haute  volee  of  Parisian  soci- 
ety. He  is  a youth  of  about  twenty  years  of  age.  “No 
passion  had  as  yet  come  to  move  his  heart,  and  give  life  to 
his  faculties ; he  was  awaiting  and  fearing  the  moment  of 
love ; calling  for  it,  and  yet  trembling  at  its  approach  ; 
feeling  in  the  depths  of  his  soul,  that  that  moment  would 
create  a mighty  change  in  his  being,  and  decide,  perhaps, 
by  its  influence,  the  whole  of  his  future  life.” 

Is  it  not  remarkable,  that  a young  nobleman,  with  these 
ideas,  should  not  pitch  upon  a demoiselle , or  a widow,  at 
least  ? but  no,  the  rogue  must  have  a married  woman,  bad 
luck  to  him ; and  what  his  fate  is  to  be,  is  thus  recounted 
by  our  author,  in  the  shape  of 

A FRENCH  FASHIONABLE  CONVERSATION. 

“ A lady,  with  a great  deal  of  esprit , to  whom  forty  years’ 
experience  of  the  great  world  had  given  a prodigious  per- 
spicacity of  judgment,  the  Duchess  of  Clialux,  arbitress  of 


108 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK. 


the  opinion  to  be  held  on  all  new  comers  to  the  Faubourg 
Saint  Germain,  and  of  their  destiny  and  reception  in  it ; — 
one  of  those  women,  in  a word,  who  make  or  ruin  a man, — 
said,  in  speaking  of  Gerard  de  Stolberg,  whom  she  received 
at  her  own  house,  and  met  everywhere,  ‘This  young  Ger- 
man will  never  gain  for  himself  the  title  of  an  exquisite, 
or  a man  of  bonnes  fortunes,  among  us.  In  spite  of  his 
calm  and  politeness,  I think  I can  see  in  his  character  some 
rude  and  insurmountable  difficulties,  which  time  will  only 
increase,  and  which  will  prevent  him  for  ever  from  bending 
to  the  exigencies  of  either  profession ; but,  unless  I very 
much  deceive  myself,  he  will,  one  day,  be  the  hero  of  a 
veritable  romance.’ 

“‘He,  madame?’  answered  a young  man,  of  fair  com- 
plexion and  fair  hair,  one  of  the  most  devoted  slaves  of  the 
fashion  : — ‘ He,  Madame  la  Duchesse  ? why,  the  man  is,  at 
best,  but  an  original,  lished  out  of  the  Rhine : a dull,  heavy 
creature,  as  much  capable  of  understanding  a woman’s 
heart  as  I am  of  speaking  bas-Breton.’ 

“ ‘Well,  Monsieur  de  Belport,  you  will  speak  bas-Breton. 
Monsieur  de  Stolberg  has  not  your  admirable  ease  of  man- 
ner, nor  your  facility  of  telling  pretty  nothings,  nor  your 
— in  a word,  that  particular  something  which  makes  you 
the  most  recherche  man  of  the  Faubourg  Saint  Germain  ; 
and  even  I avow  to  you  that,  were  I still  young,  and  a 
coquette,  and  that  I took  it  into  my  head  to  have  a lover , 
I would  prefer  you.’ 

“ All  this  was  said  by  the  Duchess,  with  a certain  air  of 
raillery  and  such  a mixture  of  earnest  and  malice,  that 
Monsieur  de  Belport,  piqued  not  a little,  could  not  help 
saying,  as  he  bowed  profoundly  before  the  Duchess’s  chair, 
‘ And  might  I,  madam,  be  permitted  to  ask  the  reason  of 
this  preference  ? ’ 

“ ‘ 0 mon  Dieu,  oui,  ’ said  the  Duchess,  always  in  the 
same  tone  ; ‘ because  a lover  like  you  would  never  think  of 
carrying  his  attachment  to  the  height  of  passion ; and 
these  passions,  do  you  know,  have  frightened  me  all  my 
life.  One  cannot  retreat  at  will  from  the  grasp  of  a 
passionate  lover ; one  leaves  behind  one  some  fragment  of 
one’s  moral  self \ or  the  best  part  of  one’s  physical  life.  A 
passion,  if  it  does  not  kill  you,  adds  cruelly  to  your  years ; 
in  a word,  it  is  the  very  lowest  possible  taste.  And  now 
you  understand  why  I should  prefer  you,  M.  de  Belport  — 
you  who  are  reputed  to  be  the  leader  of  the  fashion.  ’ 


SOME  FRENCH  FASHIONABLE  NOVELS . 109 


“ ‘ Perfectly, ’ murmured  the  gentleman,  piqued  more  and 
more. 

“ ‘ Gerard  de  Stolberg  will  be  passionate.  I don’t  know 
what  woman  will  please  him,  or  will  be  pleased  by  him  ’ 
( here  the  Duchess  of  Chalux  spoke  more  gravely ) ; ‘ but 
his  love  will  be  no  play,  I repeat  it  to  you  once  more.  All 
this  astonishes  you,  because  you,  great  leaders  of  the  ton 
that  you  are,  never  fancy  that  a hero  of  romance  should  be 
found  among  your  number.  Gerard  de  Stolberg  — but, 
look,  here  he  comes  ! ’ 

“M.  de  Belport  rose,  and  quitted  the  Duchess,  without 
believing  in  her  prophecy  ; but  he  could  not  avoid  smiling 
as  he  passed  near  the  hero  of  romance . 

“It  was  because  M.  de  Stolberg  had  never,  in  all  his 
life,  been  a hero  of  romance,  or  even  an  apprentice-hero  of 
romance. 

“ Gerard  de  Stolberg  was  not,  as  yet,  initiated  into  the 
thousand  secrets  in  the  chronicle  of  the  great  world  : he 
knew  but  superficially  the  society  in  which  he  lived ; and, 
therefore,  he  devoted  his  evening  to  the  gathering  of  all 
the  information  which  he  could  acquire  from  the  indiscreet 
conversations  of  the  people  about  him.  His  whole  man 
became  ear  and  memory  ; so  much  was  Stolberg  convinced 
of  the  necessity  of  becoming  a diligent  student  in  this 
new  school,  where  was  taught  the  art  of  knowing  and 
advancing  in  the  great  world.  In  the  recess  of  a window 
he  learned  more  on  this  one  night  than  months  of  investi- 
gation would  have  taught  him.  The  talk  of  a ball  is  more 
indiscreet  than  the  confidential  chatter  of  a company  of 
idle  women.  No  man  present  at  a ball,  whether  listener  or 
speaker,  thinks  he  has  a right  to  affect  any  indulgence  for 
his  companions,  and  the  most  learned  in  malice  will  always 
pass  for  the  most  witty. 

“‘How!’  said  the  Viscount  de  Mondrage:  ‘the  Duchess 
of  Rivesalte  arrives  alone  to-night,  without  her  inevitable 
Dorm  illy ! ’ — And  the  Viscount,  as  he  spoke,  pointed 
towards  a tall  and  slender  young  woman,  who,  gliding 
rather  than  walking,  met  the  ladies  by  whom  she  passed, 
with  a graceful  and  modest  salute,  and  replied  to  the  looks 
of  the  men  by  brilliant  veiled  glances  full  of  coquetry  and 
attach. 

“ ‘ Parbleu  ! ’ said  an  elegant  personage  standing  near 
the  Viscount  de  Mondrage,  ‘ don’t  you  see  Dormilly  ranged 


110 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK 


behind  the  Duchess,  in  quality  of  train-bearer,  and  hiding, 
under  his  long  locks  and  his  great  screen  of  moustaches, 
the  blushing  consciousness  of  his  good  luck?  — They  call 
him  the  fourth  chapter  of  the  Duchess’s  memoirs.  The 
little  Marquise  d’Alberas  is  ready  to  die  out  of  spite;  but 
the  best  of  the  joke  is,  that  she  has  only  taken  poor  de 
Vendre  for  a lover  in  order  to  vent  her  spleen  on  him. 
Look  at  him  against  the  chimney  yonder ; if  the  Marchion- 
ess do  not  break  at  once  with  him  by  quitting  him  for 
somebody  else,  the  poor  fellow  will  turn  an  idiot. ’ 

•“‘Is  he  jealous  ?’  asked  a young  man,  looking  as  if  he 
did  not  know  what  jealousy  was  and  as  if  he  had  no  time 
to  be  jealous. 

“‘Jealous  ! the  very  incarnation  of  jealousy;  the  second 
edition,  revised,  corrected,  and  considerably  enlarged;  as 
jealous  as  poor  Gressigny,  who  is  dying  of  it.  ’ 

“‘What!  Gressigny  too  ? why  ?tis  growing  quite  into 
fashion : egad ! I must  try  and  be  jealous,  ’ said  Monsieur 
de  Beauval.  ‘ But  see  ! here  comes  the  delicious  Duchess 
of  Bellefiore,  ’ ” &c.,  &c.,  &c. 

Enough,  enough : this  kind  of  fashionable  Parisian  con- 
versation, which  is,  says  our  author,  “ a prodigious  labor  of 
improvising,  ” a “ chef-d’oeuvre,  ” a “ strange  and  singular 
thing,  in  which  monotony  is  unknown,  ” seems  to  be,  if 
correctly  reported,  a “ strange  and  singular  thing”  indeed; 
but  somewhat  monotonous  at  least  to  an  English  reader, 
and  “ prodigious  ” only,  if  we  may  take  leave  to  say  so,  for 
the  wonderful  rascality  which  all  the  conversationists 
betray.  Miss  Neverout  and  the  Colonel,  in  Swift’s  famous 
dialogue,  are  a thousand  times  more  entertaining  and 
moral ; and,  besides,  we  can  laugh  at  those  worthies  as 
well  as  with  them  ; whereas  the  “prodigious”  French  wits 
are  to  us  quite  incomprehensible.  Fancy  a duchess  as  old 

as  Lady herself,  and  who  should  begin  to  tell  us  “ of 

what  she  would  do  if  ever  she  had  a mind  to  take  a lover ; ” 
and  another  duchess,  with  a fourth  lover,  tripping  modestly 
among  the  ladies,  and  returning  the  gaze  of  the  men  by 
veiled  glances,  full  of  coquetry  and  attack!  — Parbleu,  if 
Monsieur  de  Yiel-Castel  should  find  himself  among  a 
society  of  French  duchesses,  and  they  should  tear  his  eyes 
out,  and  send  the  fashionable  Orpheus  floating  by  the 
Seine,  his  slaughter  might  almost  be  considered  as  justifi- 
able Count  wide. 


A GAMBLER’S  DEATH. 


WBODY  who  was  at  C 

school  some  twelve  years  since, 
must  recollect  Jack  Attwood; 
he  was  the  most  clashing  lad  in 
the  place,  with  more  money  in 
his  pocket  than  belonged  to  the 
whole  fifth  form  in  which  we 
were  companions. 

When  he  was  about  fifteen, 
Jack  suddenly  retreated  from 

C , and  presently  we  heard 

that  he  had  a commission  in  a 
cavalry  regiment,  and  was  to  have  a great  fortune  from  his 
father,  when  that  old  gentleman  should  die.  Jack  himself 
came  to  confirm  these  stories  a few  months  after,  and  paid 
a visit  to  his  old  school  chums.  He  had  laid  aside  his  little 
school -jacket  and  inky  corduroys,  and  now  appeared  in 
such  a splendid  military  suit  as  won  the  respect  of  all  of 
us.  His  hair  was  dripping  with  oil,  his  hands  were  covered 
with  rings,  he  had  a dusky  down  over  his  upper  lip  which 
looked  not  unlike  a moustache,  and  a multiplicity  of  frogs 
and  braiding  on  his  surtout  which  would  have  sufficed  to 
lace  a field-marshal.  When  old  Swishtail,  the  usher,  passed 
in  his  seedy  black  coat  and  gaiters,  Jack  gave  him  such  a 
look  of  contempt  as  set  us  all  a-laughing : in  fact  it  was 
his  turn  to  laugh  now;  for  he  used  to  roar  very  stoutly 
some  months  before,  when  Swishtail  was  in  the  custom  of 
belaboring  him  with  his  great  cane.  * 

Jack’s  talk  was  all  about  the  regiment  and  the  fine 
fellows  in  it : how  he  had  ridden  a steeple-chase  with  Cap- 
tain Boldero,  and  licked  him  at  the  last  hedge ; and  how  he 
had  very  nearly  fought  a duel  with  Sir  George  Grig,  about 

111 


112 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK . 


dancing  with  Lady  Mary  Slamken  at  a ball.  “ I soon  made 
the  baronet  know  what  it  was  to  deal  with  a man  of  the 
n — th,”  said  Jack.  “Dammee,  sir,  when  I lugged  out  my 
barkers,  and  talked  of  fighting  across  the  mess-room  table, 
Grig  turned  as  pale  as  a sheet,  or  as  — ” 

“ Or  as  you  used  to  do,  Attwood,  when  Swishtail  hauled 
you  up,”  piped  out  little  Hicks,  the  foundation-boy. 

It  was  beneath  Jack’s  dignity  to  thrash  anybody,  now, 
but  a grown-up  baronet ; so  he  let  off  little  Hicks,  and 
passed  over  the  general  titter  which  was  raised  at  his 
expense.  However,  he  entertained  us  with  his  histories 
about  lords  and  ladies,  and  so-and-so  “ of  ours,”  until  we 
thought  him  one  of  the  greatest  men  in  his  Majesty’s 
service,  and  until  the  school-bell  rung ; when,  with  a heavy 
heart,  we  got  our  books  together,  and  marched  in  to  be 
whacked  by  old  Swishtail.  I promise  you  he  revenged 
himself  on  us  for  Jack’s  contempt  of  him.  I got  that  day 
at  least  twenty  cuts  to  my  share,  which  ought  to  have 
belonged  to  Cornet  Attwood,  of  the  n — tli  dragoons. 

When  we  came  to  think  more  coolly  over  our  quondam 
schoolfellow’s  swaggering  talk  and  manner,  we  were  not 
quite  so  impressed  by  his  merits  as  at  his  first  appearance 
among  us.  We  recollected  how  he  used,  in  former  times, 
to  tell  us  great  stories,  which  were  so  monstrously  improb- 
able that  the  smallest  boy  in  the  school  would  scout  them  ; 
how  often  we  caught  him  tripping  in  facts,  and  how 
unblushingly  he  admitted  his  little  errors  in  the  score  of 
veracity.  He  and  I,  though  never  great  friends,  had  been 
close  companions  : I was  Jack’s  form-fellow  (we  fought  with 
amazing  emulation  for  the  last  place  in  the  class)  ; but  still 
I was  rather  hurt  at  the  coolness  of  my  old  comrade,  who 
had  forgotten  all  our  former  intimacy,  in  his  steeple-chases 
with  Captain  Boldero  and  his  duel  with  Sir  George  Grig. 

Nothing  more  was  heard  of  Attwood  for  some  years ; a 

tailor  one  day  came  down  to  C , who  had  made  clothes 

for  Jack  in  his  school-days,  and  furnished  him  with  reg- 
imentals : he  produced  a long  bill  for  one  hundred  and 
twenty  pounds  and  upwards,  and  asked  where  news  might 
be  had  of  his  customer.  Jack  was  in  India,  with  his  regi- 
ment, shooting  tigers  and  jackals,  no  doubt.  Occasionally, 
from  that  distant  country,  some  magnificent  rumor  would 
reach  us  of  his  proceedings.  Once  I heard  that  he  had  been 
called  to  a court-martial  for  unbecoming  conduct ; another 
time,  that  he  kept  twenty  horses,  and  won  the  gold  plate  at 


A GAMBLER'S  DEATH. 


113 


the  Calcutta  races.  Presently,  however,  as  the  recollections 
of  the  fifth  form  wore  away,  Jack’s  image  disappeared 
likewise,  and  I ceased  to  ask  or  think  about  my  college 
chum. 

A year  since,  as  I was  smoking  my  cigar  in  the  “ Esta- 
minet  du  Grand  Balcon,”  an  excellent  smoking-shop,  where 
the  tobacco  is  unexceptionable,  and  the  Hollands  of  singu- 
lar merit,  a dark-looking,  thick-set  man,  in  a greasy  well-cut 
coat,  with  a shabby  hat,  cocked  on  one  side  of  his  dirty 
face,  took  the  place  opposite  me,  at  the  little  marble  table, 


and  called  for  brandy.  I did  not  much  admire  the  impu- 
dence or  the  appearance  of  my  friend,  nor  the  fixed  stare 
with  which  he  chose  to  examine  me.  At  last,  he  thrust  a 
great  greasy  hand  across  the  table,  and  said,  “ Titmarsh,  do 
you  forget  your  old  friend  Attwood  ? ” 

I confess  my  recognition  of  him  was  not  so  joyful  as  on 
the  day  ten  years  earlier,  when  he  had  come,  bedizened 

with  lace  and  gold  rings,  to  see  us  at  C school : a man 

in  the  tenth  part  of  a century  learns  a deal  of  worldly 
wisdom,  and  his  hand,  which  goes  naturally  forward  to 
seize  the  gloved  finger  of  a millionnaire,  or  a milor,  draws 
8 


114 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK 


instinctively  back  from  a dirty  fist,  encompassed  by  a 
ragged  wristband  and  a tattered  cuff.  But  Attwood  was  in 
nowise  so  backward ; and  the  iron  squeeze  with  which  he 
shook  my  passive  paw,  proved  that  he  was  either  very 
affectionate  or  very  poor.  You,  my  dear  sir,  who  arc 
reading  this  history,  know  very  well  the  great  art  of 
shaking  hands : recollect  how  you  shook  Lord  Dash’s  hand 
the  other  day,  and  how  you  shook  off  poor  Blank,  when  he 
came  to  borrow  five  pounds  of  you. 

However,  the  genial  influence  of  the  Hollands  speedily 
dissipated  anything  like  coolness  between  us ; and,  in 
the  course  of  an  hour’s  conversation,  we  became  almost  as 
intimate  as  when  we  were  suffering  together  under  the 
ferule  of  old  Swishtail.  Jack  told  me  that  h*e  had  quitted 
the  army  in  disgust;  and  that  his  father,  who  was  to  leave 
him  a fortune,  had  died  ten  thousand  pounds,  in  debt : he 
did  not  touch  upon  his  own  circumstances ; but  I could  read 
them  in  his  elbows,  which  were  peeping  through  his  old 
frock.  He  talked  a great  deal,  however,  of  runs  of  luck, 
good  and  bad  ; and  related  to  me  an  infallible  plan  for 
breaking  all  the  play-banks  in  Europe  — a great  number  of 
old  tricks; — and  a vast  quantity  of  gin-punch  was  con- 
sumed on  the  occasion ; so  long,  in  fact,  did  our  conversa- 
tion continue,  that,  I confess  it  with  shame,  the  sentiment, 
or  something  stronger,  quite  got  the  better  of  me,  and  I 
have,  to  this  day,  no  sort  of  notion  how  our  palaver  con- 
cluded. — Only,  on  the  next  morning,  I did  not  possess  a 
certain  five  pound  note  which  on  the  previous  evening  was 
in  my  sketch-book  (by  far  the  prettiest  drawing  by  the  way 
in  the  collection) ; but  there,  instead,  was  a strip  of  paper, 
thus  inscribed : — 

IOU 

Five  Pounds.  John  Attwood, 

Late  of  the  N — th  Dragoons 

I suppose  Attwood  borrowed  the  money,  from  this  remark- 
able and  ceremonious  acknowledgment  on  his  part : had  I 
been  sober  I would  just  as  soon  have  lent  him  the  nose  on 
my  face ; for,  in  my  then  circumstances,  the  note  was  of 
much  more  consequence  to  me. 

As  I lay,  cursing  my  ill  fortune,  and  thinking  how  on 
earth  I should  manage  to  subsist  for  the  next  two 
months,  Attwood  burst  into  my  little  garret  — his  face 
strangely  flushed  — singing  and  shouting  as  if  it  had  been 
the  night  before.  “ Titmarsh,”  cried  he,  “ you  are  my 


A GAMBLER'S  DEATH. 


115 


preserver  ! — my  best  friend  ! Look  here,  and  here,  and 
here ! ” And  at  every  word  Mr.  Attwood  produced  a 
handful  of  gold,  or  a glittering  heap  of  five-franc  pieces,  or 
a bundle  of  greasy,  dusky  bank-notes,  more  beautiful  than 
either  silver  or  gold ; — he  had  won  thirteen  thousand 
francs  after  leaving  me  at  midnight  in  my  garret.  He 
separated  my  poor  little  all,  of  six  pieces,  from  this  shin- 
ing and  imposing  collection ; and  the  passion  of  envy 
entered  my  soul : I felt  far  more  anxious  now  than  before, 
although  starvation  was  then  staring  me  in  the  face  ; I 
hated  Attwood  for  cheating  me  out  of  all  this  wealth. 
Poor  fellow  ! it  had  been  better  for  him  had  he  never  seen 
a shilling  of  it. 

However,  a grand  breakfast  at  the  Cafe  Anglais  dissi- 
pated my  chagrin  ; and  I will  do  my  friend  the  justice  to 
say,  that  he  nobly  shared  some  portion  of  his  good  fortune 
with  me.  As  far  as  the  creature  comforts  were  concerned 
I feasted  as  well  as  he,  and  never  was  particular  as  to 
settling  my  share  of  the  reckoning. 

J ack  now  changed  his  lodgings ; had  cards,  with  Captain 
Attwood  engraved  on  them,  and  drove  about  a prancing 
cab-horse,  as  tall  as  the  giraffe  at  the  Jardin  des  Plantes  ; 
he  had  as  many  frogs  on  his  coat  as  in  the  old  days,  and 
frequented  all  the  flash  restaurateurs’  and  boarding-houses 
of  the  capital.  Madame  de  Saint  Laurent,  and  Madame  la 
Baronne  de  Vaudrey,  and  Madame  la  Comtesse  de  Jonville, 
ladies  of  the  highest  rank,  who  keep  societe  choisie  and 
condescend  to  give  dinners  at  flve-francs  a head,  vied  with 
each  other  in  their  attentions  to  Jack.  His  was  the  wing 
of  the  fowl,  and  the  largest  portion  of  the  Charlotte-Pusse ; 
his  was  the  place  at  the  ecarte  table,  where  the  Countess 
would  ease  him  nightly  of  a few  pieces,  declaring  that  he 
was  the  most  charming  cavalier,  la  fleur  d’ Albion.  Jack’s 
society,  it  may  be  seen,  was  not  very  select;  nor,  in  truth, 
were  his  inclinations : he  was  a careless,  dare-devil,  Mac- 
heath  kind  of  fellow,  who  might  be  seen  daily  with  a wife 
on  each  arm. 

It  may  be  supposed  that,  with  the  life  he  led,  his  five 
hundred  pounds  of  winnings  would  not  last  him  long ; nor 
did  they ; but,  for  some  time,  his  luck  never  deserted  him  ; 
and  his  cash,  instead  of  growing  lower,  seemed  always  to 
maintain  a certain  level : he  played  every  night. 

Of  course,  such  a humble  fellow  as  I,  could  not  hope  for 
a continued  acquaintance  and  intimacy  with  Attwood.  He 


116 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK. 


grew  overbearing  and  cool,  I thought ; at  any  rate  I did  not 
admire  my  situation  as  his  follower  and  dependant,  and 
left  his  grand  dinner  for  a certain  ordinary,  where  I could 
partake  of  live  capital  dishes  for  ninepence.  Occasionally, 
however,  Atwood  favored  me  with  a visit,  or  gave  me  a 
drive  behind  his  great  cab-horse.  He  had  formed  a whole 
host  of  friends  besides.  There  was  Fips,  the  barrister ; 
heaven  knows  what  he  was  doing  at  Paris ; and  Gortz,  the 
West  Indian,  who  was  there  on  the  same  business,  and 
Flapper,  a medical  student,  — all  these  three  I met  one 
night  at  Flapper’s  rooms,  where  Jack  was  invited,  and  a 
great  “ spread  ” was  laid  in  honor  of  him. 

Jack  arrived  rather  late — he  looked  pale  and  agitated; 
and,  though  he  ate  no  supper,  he  drank  raw  brandy  in  such 
a manner  as  made  Flapper’s  eyes  wink  : the  poor  fellow 
had  but  three  bottles,  and  Jack  bade  fair  to  swallow  them 
all.  However,  the  West  Indian  generously  remedied  the 
evil,  and  producing  a napoleon,  we  speedily  got  the  change 
for  it  in  shape  of  four  bottles  of  champagne. 

Our  supper  was  uproariously  harmonious ; Fips  sung  the 
good  “ Old  English  Gentleman  ; ” J ack  the  “ British  Gren- 
adiers ; ” and  your  humble  servant,  when  called  upon,  sang 
that  beautiful  ditty,  “ When  the  Bloom  is  on  the  Bye,  ” in 
a manner  that  drew  tears  from  every  eye,  except  Flapper’s, 
who  was  asleep,  and  Jack’s  who  was  singing  the  “Bay  of 
Biscay  0,  ” at  the  same  time.  Gortz  and  Fips  were  all  the 
time  lunging  at  each  other  with  a pair  of  single-sticks,  the 
barrister  having  a very  strong  notion  that  he  was  Bichard 
the  Third.  At  last  Fips  hit  the  West  Indian  such  a blow 
across  his  sconce,  that  the  other  grew  furious ; he  seized  a 
champagne-botfcle,  which  was,  providentially,  empty,  and 
hurled  it  across  the  room  at  Fips  : had  that  celebrated 
barrister  not  bowed  his  head  at  the  moment,  the  Queen’s 
Bench  would  have  lost  one  of  its  most  eloquent  prac- 
titioners. 

Fips  stood  as  straight  as  he  could ; his  cheek  was  pale 
with  wrath.  “ M-m-ister  Go-gortz,  ” he  said,  “ I always 
heard  you  were  a blackguard ; now  I can  pr-pr-peperove  it. 
Flapper,  your  pistols  ! every  ge-ge-genlmn  knows  what  I 
mean.” 

Young  Mr.  Flapper  had  a small  pair  of  pocket-pistols, 
which  the  tipsy  barrister  had  suddenly  remembered,  and 
with  which  he  proposed  to  sacrifice  the  West  Indian. 
Gortz  was  nothing  loth,  but  was  quite  as  valorous  as  the 
lawyer. 


A GAMBLER'S  DEATH . 


117 


Attwood,  who,  in  spite  of  his  potations,  seemed  the 
soberest  man  of  the  party,  had  much  enjoyed  the  scene, 
until  this  sudden  demand  for  the  weapons.  “ Pshaw  ! ” 
said  he,  eagerly,  “ don’t  give  these  men  the  means  of  mur- 
dering each  other  ; sit  down  and  let  us  have  another  song.  ” 
But  they  would  not  be  still ; and  Flapper  forthwith  pro- 
duced his  pistol-case  and  opened  it,  in  order  that  the  duel 
might  take  place  on  the  spot.  There  were  no  pistols  there ! 
“ I beg  your  pardon,”  said  Attwood,  looking  much  con- 
fused ; “ I — I took  the  pistols  home  with  me  to  clean 
them ! ” 

I don’t  know  what  there  was  in  his  tone,  or  in  the  words, 
but  we  were  sobered  all  of  a sudden.  Attwood  was  con- 
scious of  the  singular  effect  produced  by  him,  for  he 
blushed,  and  endeavored  to  speak  of  other  things,  but  we 
could  not  bring  our  spirits  back  to  the  mark  again,  and 
soon  separated  for  the  night.  As  we  issued  into  the  street 
Jack  took  me  aside,  and  whispered,  “have  you  a napoleon, 
Titmarsh,  in  your  purse  ? ” Alas  ! I was  not  so  rich.  My 
reply  was,  that  I was  coming  to  Jack,  only  in  the  morning, 
to  borrow  a similar  sum. 

He  did  not  make  any  reply,  but  turned  away  homeward : 
I never  heard  him  speak  another  word. 

Two  mornings  after  (for  none  of  our  party  met  on  the 
day  succeeding  the  supper  ),  I was  awakened  by  my  porter, 
who  brought  a pressing  letter  from  Mr  Gortz : — 

“ Dear  T., — I wish  you  would  come  over  here  to  breakfast.  There’s 
a row  about  Attwood. — Yours  truly, 

“ Solomon  Gortz.” 

I immediately  set  forward  to  Gortz’s ; he  lived  in  the 
Bue  du  Helder,  a few  doors  from  Attwood’s  new  lodging. 
If  the  reader  is  curious  to  know  the  house  in  which  the 
catastrophe  of  this  history  took  place,  he  has  but  to  march 
some  twenty  doors  down  from  the  Boulevard  des  Italiens, 
when  he  will  see  a fine  door,  with  a naked  Cupid  shooting 
at  him  from  the  hall,  and  a Venus  beckoning  him  up  the 
stairs.  On  arriving  at  the  West  Indian’s,  at  about  mid-day 
(it  was  a Sunday  morning),  I found  that  gentleman  in  his 
dressing-gown,  discussing,  in  the  company  of  Mr.  Fips,  a 
large  plate  of  bifteck  aux  povtmes. 

“ Here’s  a pretty  row ! ” said  Gortz,  quoting  from  his  let- 
ter ; — “ Attwood’s  off  — have  a bit  of  beefsteak  ? ” 


118 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK . 


“ What  do  you  mean  ? ” exclaimed  I,  adopting  the  famil- 
iar phraseology  of  my  acquaintances  : — “ Attwood  off  ? — 
has  he  cut  his  stick  ? ” 

“Not  bad,  ” said  the  feeling  and  elegant  Fips — “not 
such  a bad  guess,  my  boy ; but  he  has  not  exactly  cut  his 
stick ” 

“What  then?” 

“ Why,  his  throat .”  The  man’s  mouth  was  full  of  bleed- 
ing beef  as  he  uttered  this  gentlemanly  witticism. 

I wish  I could  say  that  I was  myself  in  the  least  affected 
by  the  news.  I did  not  joke  about  it  like  my  friend  Fips ; 
this  was  more  for  propriety’s  sake  than  for  feeling’s : but 
for  my  old  school  acquaintance,  the  friend  of  my  early 
days,  the  merry  associate  of  the  last  few  months,  I own, 
with  shame,  that  I had  not  a tear  or  a pang.  In  some  Ger- 
man tale  there  is  an  account  of  a creature  most  beautiful 
and  bewitching,  whom  all  men  admire  and  follow ; but  this 
charming  and  fantastic  spirit  only  leads  them,  one  by  one, 
into  ruin  and  then  leaves  them.  The  novelist,  who  de- 
scribes her  beauty,  says  that  his  heroine  is  a fairy,  and  has 
no  heart . I think  the  intimacy  which  is  begotten  over  the 
wine-bottle,  is  a spirit  of  this  nature ; I never  knew  a good 
feeling  come  from  it,  or  an  honest  friendship  made  by  it ; 
it  only  entices  men  and  ruins  them  ; it  is  only  a phantom 
of  friendship  and  feeling,  called  up  by  the  delirious  blood, 
and  the  wicked  spells  of  the  wine. 

But  to  drop  this  strain  of  moralizing  (in  which  the 
writer  is  not  too  anxious  to  proceed,  for  he  cuts  in  it  a 
most  pitiful  figure),  we  passed  sundry  criticisms  upon  poor 
Attwood’s  character,  expressed  our  horror  at  his  death  — 
which  sentiment  was  fully  proved  by  Mr.  Fips,  who  de- 
clared that  the  notion  of  it  made  him  feel  quite  faint,  and 
was  obliged  to  drink  a large  glass  of  brandy ; and,  finally, 
we  agreed  that  we  would  go  and  see  the  poor  fellow’s 
corpse,  and  witness,  if  necessary,  his  burial. 

Flapper,  who  had  joined  us,  was  the  first  to  propose  this 
visit : he  said  he  did  not  mind  the  fifteen  francs  which 
Jack  owed  him  for  billiards,  but  he  was  anxious  to  get  back 
his  pistol.  Accordingly,  we  sallied  forth,  and  speedily  ar- 
rived at  the  hotel  which  xVttwood  inhabited  still.  He  had 
occupied,  for  a time,  very  fine  apartments  in  this  house  : 
and  it  was  only  on  arriving  there  that  day  that  we  found 
he  had  been  gradually  driven  from  his  magnificent  suite  of 
rooms  an  premier,  to  a little  chamber  in  the  fifth  story  : — 


A GAMBLER'S  DEATH . 


119 


we.  mounted,  and  found  him.  It  was  a little  shabby  room, 
with  a few  articles  of  rickety  furniture,  and  a bed  in  an 
alcove  ; the  light  from  the  one  window  was  falling  full 
upon  the  bed  and  the  body.  Jack  was  dressed  in  a fine 
lawn  shirt ; he  had  kept  it,  poor  fellow,  to  die  in  ; for  in  all 
liis  drawers  and  cupboards  there  was  not  a single  article 
of  clothing ; he  had  pawned  everything  by  which  he  could 
raise  a penny  — desk,  books,  dressing-case,  and  clothes ; 
and  not  a single  halfpenny  was  found  in  his  possession.* 
He  was  lying  as  I have  drawn  him,  one  hand  on  his 
breast,  the  other  falling  towards  the  ground.  There  was 
an  expression  of  perfect  calm  on  the  face,  and  no  mark  of 
blood  to  stain  the  side  towards  the  light.  On  the  other 
side,  however,  there  was  a great  pool  of  black  blood,  and 
in  it  the  pistol ; it  looked  more  like  a toy  than  a weapon 
to  take  away  the  life  of  this  vigorous  young  man.  In  his 


forehead,  at  the  side,  was  a small  black  wound ; Jack’s  life 
had  passed  through  it ; it  was  little  bigger  than  a mole. 

“ Eegardez  un  peu,”  said  the  landlady,  “ messieurs,  il 
m’a  gate  trois  matelas,  et  il  me  doit  quarante  quatre 
francs.” 

This  was  all  his  epitaph;  he  had  spoiled  three  mattresses, 
and  owed  the  landlady  four-and-forty  francs.  In  the  whole 
world  there  was  not  a soul  to  love  him  or  lament  him. 
We,  his  friends,  were  looking  at  his  body  more  as  an  object 
of  curiosity,  watching  it  with  a kind  of  interest  with  which 

* In  order  to  account  for  these  trivial  details,  the  reader  must  be 
told  that  the  story  is,  for  the  chief  part,  a fact;  and  that  the  little 
sketch  in  this  page  was  taken  from  nature.  The  letter  was  likewise  a 
copy  from  one  found  in  the  manner  described. 


120 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK. 


one  follows  the  fifth  act  of  a tragedy,  and  leaving  it  with 
the  same  feeling  with  which  one  leaves  the  theatre  when 
the  play  is  over  and  the  curtain  is  down. 

Beside  Jack’s  bed,  on  his  little  “ table  de  nuit,”  lay  the 
remains  of  his  last  meal,  and  an  open  letter,  which  we  read. 
It  was  from  one  of  his  suspicious  acquaintances  of  former 
days,  and  ran  thus  : — 

“ Ou  es  tu,  cher  Jack ! why  you  not  come  and  see  me  — tu  me  dois  de 
l’argent,  entends  tu  ? — un  chapeau,  une  cachemire,  a box  of  the  Play. 
Viens  demain  soir,  je  t’attendrai  at  eight  o'clock , Passage  des  Panoramas. 
My  Sir  is  at  his  country. 

“ Adieu  a demain. 

“Fifine. 

“ Samedi.” 

I shuddered  as  I walked  through  this  very  Passage  des 
Panoramas,  in  the  evening.  The  girl  was  there,  pacing  to 
and  fro,  and  looking  in  the  countenance  of  every  passer-by, 
to  recognize  Attwood.  “ Adieu  a demain  ! ” — there  was 
a dreadful  meaning  in  the  words,  which  the  writer  of  them 
little  knew.  “ Adieu  a demain  ! ” — the  morrow  was  come, 
and  the  soul  of  the  poor  suicide  was  now  in  the  presence  of 
God.  I dare  not  think  of  his  fate ; for,  except  in  the  fact 
of  his  poverty  and  desperation,  was  he  worse  than  any  of 
us,  his  companions,  who  had  shared  his  debauches,  and 
marched  with  him  up  to  the  very  brink  of  the  grave  ? 

There  is  but  one  more  circumstance  to  relate  regarding 
poor  Jack  — his  burial ; it  was  of  a piece  with  his  death. 

He  was  nailed  into  a paltry  coffin  and  buried,  at  the 
expense  of  the  arrondissement,  in  a nook  of  the  burial-place 
beyond  the  Barriere  de  l’Etoile.  They  buried  him  at  six 
o’clock,  of  a bitter  winter’s  morning,  and  it  was  with 
difficulty  that  an  English  clergyman  could  be  found  to  read 
a service  over  his  grave.  The  three  men  who  have  figured 
in  this  history  acted  as  Jack’s  mourners;  and  as  the  cere- 
mony was  to  take  place  so  early  in  the  morning,  these  men 
sat  up  the  night  through,  and  were  almost  drunk  as  they 
followed  his  coffin  to  its  resting-place. 

MORAL. 

“When  we  turned  out  in  our  great  coats, said  one  of 
them,  afterwards,  “ reeking  of  cigars  and  brandy-and-water, 
d e,  sir,  we  quite  frightened  the  old  buck  of  a parson  ; 


A GAMBLER'S  DEATH. 


121 


he  did  not  much  like  our  company.  ” After  the  ceremony 
was  concluded,  these  gentlemen  were  very  happy  to  get 
home  to  a warm  and  comfortable  breakfast,  and  finished 
the  day  royally  at  Frascati’s. 


NAPOLEON  AND  HIS 
SYSTEM. 

ON  PRINCE  LOUIS  NAPOLEON^  WORK. 


sT Y person  who  recollects  the 
history  of  the  absurd  out- 
break of  Strasburg,  in  which 
Prince  Louis  Napoleon  Bo- 
naparte figured,  three  years 
ago,  must  remember  that, 
however  silly  the  revolt 
was,  however  foolish  its  pre- 
text, however  doubtful  its 
aim,  and  inexperienced  its 
leader,  there  was,  neverthe- 
less, a party,  and  a consid- 
erable one  in  France,  that 
were  not  unwilling  to  lend  the  new  projectors  their  aid. 
The  troops  who  declared  against  the  Prince,  were,  it  was 
said,  all  but  willing  to  declare  for  him  ; and  it  was  certain 
that,  in  many  of  the  regiments  of  the  army,  there  existed  a 
strong  spirit  of  disaffection,  and  an  eager  wish  for  the 
return  of  the  imperial  system  and  family. 

As  to  the  good  that  was  to  be  derived  from  the  change, 
that  is  another  question.  Why  the  Emperor  of  the  French 
should  be  better  than  the  King  of  the  French,  or  the  King 
of  the  French  better  than  the  King  of  France  and  Navarre, 
it  is  not  our  business  to  inquire ; but  all  the  three  mon- 
archs  have  no  lack  of  supporters;  republicanism  has  no  lack 
of  supporters ; St.  Simonianism  was  followed  by  a respecta- 
ble body  of  admirers  ; Robespierrism  has  a select  party 
of  friends.  If,  in  a country  where  so  many  quacks  have 

122 


NAPOLEON  AND  HIS  SYSTEM. 


123 


had  their  day,  Prince  Louis  Napoleon  thought  he  might 
renew  the  imperial  quackery,  why  should  he  not  ? It  has 
recollections  with  it  that  must  always  be  dear  to  a gallant 
nation ; it  has  certain  claptraps  in  its  vocabulary  that  can 
never  fail  to  inflame  a vain,  restless,  grasping  disappointed 
one. 

In  the  first  place,  and  don’t  let  us  endeavor  to  disguise  it, 
they  hate  us.  Not  all  the  protestations  of  friendship,  not 
all  the  wisdom  of  Lord  Palmerston,  not  all  the  diplomacy 
of  our  distinguished  plenipotentiary,  Mr.  Henry  Lytton 
Bulwer  — and  let  us  add,  not  all  the  benefit  which  both 
countries  would  derive  from  the  alliance  — can  make  it,  in 
our  times  at  least,  permanent  and  cordial.  They  hate  us. 
The  Carlist  organs  revile  us  with  a querulous  fury  that 
never  sleeps ; the  moderate  party,  if  they  admit  the  utility 
of  our  alliance,  are  continually  pointing  out  our  treachery, 
our  insolence,  and  our  monstrous  infractions  of  it ; and  for 
the  Republicans,  as  sure  as  the  morning  comes,  the  columns 
of  their  journals  thunder  out  volleys  of  fierce  denunciations 
against  our  unfortunate  country.  They  live  by  feeding  the 
natural  hatred  against  England,  by  keeping  old  wounds 
open,  by  recurring  ceaselessly  to  the  history  of  old  quarrels, 
and  as  in  these  we,  by  God’s  help,  by  land  and  by  sea,  in 
old  times  and  late,  have  had  the  uppermost,  they  perpetuate 
the  shame  and  mortification  of  the  losing  party,  the  bit- 
terness of  past  defeats,  and  the  eager  desire  to  avenge 
them.  A party  which  knows  how  to  exploiter  this  hatred 
will  always  be  popular  to  a certain  extent;  and  the  impe- 
rial scheme  has  this,  at  least,  among  its  conditions. 

Then  there  is  the  favorite  claptrap  of  the  “ natural  fron- 
tier. ” The  Erenchman  yearns  to  be  bounded  by  the  Rhine 
and  the  Alps;  and  next  follows  the  cry,  “Let  France  take 
her  place  among  nations,  and  direct,  as  she  ought  to  do,  the 
affairs  of  Europe.  ” These  are  the  two  chief  articles  con- 
tained in  the  new  imperial  programme,  if  we  may  credit 
the  journal  which  has  been  established  to  advocate  the 
cause.  A natural  boundary  — stand  among  the  nations  — - 
popular  development  — Russian  Alliance,  and  a reduction 
of  la  per  fide  Albion  to  its  proper  insignificance.  As  yet  we 
know  little  more  of  the  plan : and  yet  such  foundations  are 
sufficient  to  build  a party  upon,  and  with  such  windy 
weapons  a substantial  Government  is  to  be  overthrown  ? 

In  order  to  give  these  doctrines,  such  as  they  are,  a 
chance  of  finding  favor  with  his  countrymen,  Prince  Louis 


124 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK. 


has  the  advantage  of  being  able  to  refer  to  a former  great 
professor  of  them — his  uncle  Napoleon.  His  attempt  is  at 
once  pious  and  prudent ; it  exalts  the  memory  of  the  uncle, 
and  furthers  the  interests  of  the  nephew,  who  attempts  to 
show  what  Napoleon’s  ideas  really  were  ; what  good  had 
already  resulted  from  the  practice  of  them;  how  cruelly 
they  had  been  thwarted  by  foreign  wars  and  difficulties ; 
and  wliat  vast  benefits  would  have  resulted  from  them ; ay, 
and  (it  is  reasonable  to  conclude)  might  still,  if  the  French 
nation  would  be  wise  enough  to  pitch  upon  a governor  that 
would  continue  the  interrupted  scheme.  It  is,  however,  to 
be  borne  in  mind  that  the  Emperor  Napoleon  had  certain 
arguments  in  favor  of  his  opinions  for  the  time  being, 
which  his  nephew  has  not  employed.  On  the  13th  Vende- 
miaire,  when  General  Bonaparte  believed  in  the  excellence 
of  a Directory,  it  may  be  remembered  that  he  aided  his 
opinions  by  forty  pieces  of  artillery,  and  by  Colonel  Murat 
at  the  head  of  his  dragoons.  There  was  no  resisting  such 
a philosopher ; the  Directory  was  established  forthwith, 
and  the  sacred  cause  of  the  minority  triumphed.  In  like 
manner,  when  the  General  was  convinced  of  the  weakness 
of  the  Directory,  and  saw  fully  the  necessity  of  establish- 
ing a Consulate,  what  were  his  arguments  ? Moreau, 
Lannes,  Murat,  Berthier,  Leclerc,  Lefebvre  — gentle  apos- 
tles of  the  truth  ! — marched  to  St.  Cloud,  and  there,  with 
fixed  bayonets,  caused  it  to  prevail.  Error  vanished  in  an 
instant.  At  once  five  hundred  of  its  high-priests  tumbled 
out  of  windows,  and  lo ! three  Consuls  appeared  to  guide 
the  destinies  of  France  ! How  much  more  expeditious, 
reasonable,  and  clinching  was  this  argument  of  the  18th 
Brumaire,  than  any  one  that  can  be  found  in  any  pamphlet ! 
A fig  for  your  duodecimos  and  for  your  octavos  ! Talk 
about  points,  there  are  none  like  those  at  the  end  of  a bayo- 
net; and  the  most  powerful  of  styles  is  a good  rattling 
“ article  ” from  a nine-pounder. 

At  least  this  is  our  interpretation  of  the  manner  in  which 
were  always  propagated  the  Idees  Najpoleoniennes.  Not 
such,  however,  is  Prince  Louis’s  belief ; and,  if  you  wish  to 
go  along  with  him  in  opinion,  you  will  discover  that  a 
more  liberal,  peaceable,  prudent  Prince  never  existed  : you 
will  read  that  “ the  mission  of  Napoleon  ” was  to  be  the 
“ testamentary  executor  of  the  revolution  ; ” and  the  Prince 
should  have  added  the  legatee  ; or,  more  justly  still,  as 
well  as  the  executor , he  should  be  called  the  executioner , and 


NAPOLEON  AND  HIS  SYSTEM. 


125 


then  his  title  would  be  complete.  In  Vendemiaire,  the 
military  Tartuffe,  he  threw  aside  the  Revolution’s  natural 
heirs,  and  made  her,  as  it  were,  alter  her  will ; on  the  18th 
of  Brumaire  he  strangled  her,  and  on  the  19th  seized  on 
her  property,  and  kept  it  until  force  deprived  him  of  it. 
Illustrations,  to  be  sure,  are  no  arguments,  but  the  exam- 
ple is  the  Prince’s,  not  ours. 

In  the  Prince’s  eyes,  then,  his  uncle  is  a god;  of  all 
monarchs,  the  most  wise,  upright,  and  merciful.  Thirty 
years  ago  the  opinion  had  millions  of  supporters  ; while 
millions  again  were  ready  to  avouch  the  exact  contrary. 
It  is  curious  to  think  of  the  former  difference  of  opinion 
concerning  Napoleon ; and,  in  reading  his  nephew’s  raptur- 
ous encomiums  of  him,  one  goes  back  to  the  days  when  we 
ourselves  were  as  loud  and  mad  in  his  dispraise.  Who 
does  not  remember  his  own  personal  hatred  and  horror, 
twenty-five  years  ago,  for  the  man  whom  we  used  to  call 
the  “ bloody  Corsican  upstart  and  assassin  ? ” What  stories 
did  we  not  believe  of  him  ? — what  murders,  rapes,  robber- 
ies, not  lay  to  his  charge  ? — we  who  were  living  within  a 
few  miles  of  his  territory,  and  might,  by  books  and  news- 
papers, be  made  as  well  acquainted  with  his  merits  or 
demerits  as  any  of  his  own  countrymen. 

Then  was  the  age  when  the  Idees  Napoleoniennes  might 
have  passed  through  many  editions  ; for  while  we  were 
thus  outrageously  bitter,  our  neighbors  were  as  extrava- 
gantly attached  to  him  by  a strange  infatuation' — adored 
him  like  a god,  whom  we  chose  to  consider  as  a fiend ; and 
vowed  that,  under  his  government,  their  nation  had  attained 
its  highest  pitch  of  grandeur  and  glory.  In  revenge  there 
existed  in  England  ( as  is  proved  by  a thousand  authentic 
documents  ) a monster  so  hideous,  a tyrant  so  ruthless  and 
bloody,  that  the  world’s  history  cannot  show  his  parallel. 
This  ruffian’s  name  was,  during  the  early  part  of  the 
Erench  revolution,  Pittetcobourg.  Pittetcobourg’  emis- 
saries were  in  every  corner  of  France  ; Pittetcobourg’s  gold 
chinked  in  the  pockets  of  every  traitor  in  Europe ; it 
menaced  the  life  of  the  godlike  Robespierre ; it  drove  into 
cellars  and  fits  of  delirium  even  the  gentle  philanthropist 
Marat;  it  fourteen  times  caused  the  dagger  to  be  lifted 
against  the  bosom  of  the  First  Consul,  Emperor,  and  King, 
— that  first,  great,  glorious,  irresistible,  cowardly,  contempt- 
ible, bloody  hero  and  fiend,  Bonaparte,  before  mentioned. 

On  our  side  of  the  Channel  we  have  had  leisure,  long 


126 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK 


since,  to  re-consider  our  verdict  against  Napoleon  ; though, 
to  be  sure,  we  have  not  changed  our  opinion  about  Pittetco- 
bourg.  After  five-and-thirty  years  all  parties  bear  witness 
to  his  honesty,  and  speak  with  affectionate  reverence  of 
his  patriotism,  his  genius,  and  his  private  virtue.  In 
France,  however,  or,  at  least  among  certain  parties  in 
France,  there  has  been  no  such  modification  of  opinion. 
With  the  Republicans,  Pittetcobourg  is  Pittetcobourg  still, 
— crafty,  bloody,  seeking  whom  he  may  devour ; and 
perfide  Albion  more  perfidious  than  ever.  This  hatred  is 
the  point  of  union  between  the  Republic  and  the  Empire ; 
it  has  been  fostered  ever  since,  and  must  be  continued  by 
Prince  Louis,  if  he  would  hope  to  conciliate  both  parties. 

With  regard  to  the  Emperor,  then,  Prince  Louis  erects 
to  his  memory  as  fine  a monument  as  his  wits  can  raise. 
One  need  not  say  that  the  imperial  apologist’s  opinion 
should  be  received  with  the  utmost  caution  ; for  a man 
who  has  such  a hero  for  an  uncle  may  naturally  be  proud 
of  and  partial  to  him  ; and  when  this  nephew  of  the  great 
man  would  be  his  heir  likewise,  and,  bearing  his  name, 
step  also  into  his  imperial  shoes,  one  may  reasonably  look 
for  much  affectionate  panegyric.  “The  empire  was  the 
best  of  empires,  ” cries  the  Prince  ; and  possibly  it  was  ; 
undoubtedly,  the  Prince  thinks  it  was  ; but  he  is  the  very 
last  person  who  would  convince  a man  with  the  proper 
suspicious  impartiality.  One  remembers  a certain  consul- 
tation of  politicians  which  is  recorded  in  the  Spelling-book ; 
and  the  opinion  of  that  patriotic  sage  who  avowed  that,  for 
a real  blameless  constitution,  an  impenetrable  shield  for 
liberty,  and  cheap  defence  of  nations,  there  was  nothing 
like  leather. 

Let  us  examine  some  of  the  Prince’s  article.  If  we  may 
be  allowed  humbly  to  express  an  opinion,  his  leather  is  not 
only  quite  insufficient  for  those  vast  public  purposes  for 
which  he  destines  it,  but  is,  moreover,  and  in  itself,  very 
bad  leather . The  hides  are  poor,  small,  unsound  slips  of 
skin;  or,  to  drop  this  cobbling  metaphor,  the  style  is  not 
particularly  brilliant,  the  facts  not  very  startling,  and  as 
for  the  conclusions,  one  may  differ  with  almost  every  one 
of  them.  Here  is  an  extract  from  his  first  chapter,  “ on 
governments  in  general : ” — 

“ I speak  it  with  regret,  I can  see  but  two  governments, 
at  this  day,  which  fulfil  the  mission  that  Providence  has 
confided  to  them ; they  are  the  two  colossi  at  the  end  of 


NAPOLEON  AND  HIS  SYSTEM. 


127 


128 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK 


the  world  ; one  at  the  extremity  of  the  old  world,  the  other 
at  the  extremity  of  the  new.  Whilst  our  old  European 
centre  is  a volcano,  consuming  itself  in  its  crater,  the  two 
nations  of  the  East  and  the  West,  march  without  hesita- 
tion, towards  perfection;  the  one  under  the  will  of  a 
single  individual,  the  other  under  liberty. 

“ Providence  has  confided  to  the  United  States  of  North 
America  the  task  of  peopling  and  civilizing  that  immense 
territory  which  stretches  from  the  Atlantic  to  the  South 
Sea,  and  from  the  North  Pole  to  the  Equator.  The  Govern- 
ment, which  is  only  a simple  administration,  has  only  hith- 
erto been  called  upon  to  put  in  practice  the  old  adage, 
Laissez  faire,  laissez  passer,  in  order  to  favor  that  irresist- 
ible instinct  which  pushes  the  people  of  America  to  the 
West. 

“ In  Bussia  it  is  to  the  imperial  dynasty  that  Is  owing  all 
the  vast  progress  which,  in  a century  and  a half,  has  rescued 
that  empire  from  barbarism.  The  imperial  power  must 
contend  against  all  the  ancient  prejudices  of  our  old 
Europe : it  must  centralize,  as  far  as  possible,  all  the 
powers  of  the  state  in  the  hands  of  one  person,  in  order 
to  destroy  the  abuses  which  the  feudal  and  communal 
franchises  have  served  to  perpetuate.  The  last  alone  can 
hope  to  receive  from  it  the  improvements  which  it  expects. 

“ But  thou,  France  of  Henry  IV.,  of  Louis  XIV.,  of 
Carnot,  of  Napoleon  — thou,  who  wert  always  for  the  west 
of  Europe  the  source  of  progress,  who  possessesfc  in  thyself 
the  two  great  pillars  of  empire,  the  genius  for  the  arts  of 
peace  and  the  genius  of  war  — hast  thou  no  further  mission 
to  fulfil  ? Wilt  thou  never  cease  to  waste  thy  force  and 
energies  in  intestine  struggles  ? No;  such  cannot  be  thy 
destiny : the  day  will  soon  come,  when,  to  govern  thee, 
it  will  be  necessary  to  understand  that  thy  part  is  to  place 
in  all  treaties  thy  sword  of  Brennus  on  the  side  of  civiliza- 
tion.” 

These  are  the  conclusions  of  the  Prince’s  remarks  upon 
governments  in  general ; and  it  must  be  supposed  that  the 
reader  is  very  little  wiser  at  the  end  than  at  the  beginning. 
But  two  governments  in  the  world  fulfil  their  mission : the 
one  government,  which  is  no  government ; the  other,  which 
is  a despotism.  The  duty  of  France  is  in  all  treaties  to 
place  her  sword  of  Brennus  in  the  scale  of  civilization. 
Without  quarrelling  with  the  somewhat  confused  language 
of  the  latter  proposition,  may  we  ask  what,  in  heaven’s 


NAPOLEON  AND  HIS  SYSTEM. 


129 


name,  is  the  meaning  of  all  the  three  ? What  is  this  epee 
de  Brennus  ? and  how  is  France  to  use  it  ? Where  is 
the  great  source  of  political  truth,  from  which,  flowing 
pure,  we  trace  American  republicanism  in  one  stream, 
Russian  despotism  in  another  ? Vastly  prosperous  is  the 
great  republic,  if  you  will : if  dollars  and  cents  constitute 
happiness,  there  is  plenty  for  all : but  can  any  one,  who  has 
read  of  the  American  doings  in  the  late  frontier  troubles, 
and  the  daily  disputes  on  the  slave  question,  praise  the 
Government  of  the  States  ? a Government  which  dares  not 
punish  homicide  or  arson  performed  before  its  very  eyes, 
and  which  the  pirates  of  Texas  and  the  pirates  of  Canada 
can  brave  at  their  will  ? There  is  no  government,  but  a 
prosperous  anarchy ; as  the  Prince’s  other  favorite  govern- 
ment is  a prosperous  slavery.  What,  then,  is  to  be  the  epee 
de  Brennus  government  ? Is  it  to  be  a mixture  of  the  two  ? 
“ Society,”  writes  the  Prince,  axiom atically,  “ contains  in 
itself  two  principles  — the  one  of  progress  and  immor- 
tality, the  other  of  disease  and  disorganization.”  No  doubt ; 
and  as  the  one  tends  towards  liberty,  so  the  other  is  only 
to  be  cured  by  order : and  then,  with  a singular  felicity, 
Prince  Louis  picks  us  out  a couple  of  governments,  in  one 
of  which  the  common  regulating  power  is  as  notoriously 
too  weak,  as  it  is  in  the  other  too  strong,  and  talks  in  rap- 
turous terms  of  the  manner  in  which  they  fulfil  their 
“ providential  mission  ! ” 

From  these  considerations  on  things  in  general,  the 
Prince  conducts  us  to  Napoleon  in  particular,  and  enters 
largely  into  a discussion  of  the  merits  of  the  imperial  sys- 
tem. Our  author  speaks  of  the  Emperor’s  advent  in  the 
following  grandiose  way  : — 

“ Napoleon,  on  arriving  at  the  public  stage,  saw  that  his 
part  was  to  be  the  testamentary  executor  of  the  Revolution. 
The  destructive  fire  of  parties  was  extinct;  and  when  the 
Revolution,  dying,  but  not  vanquished,  delegated  to  Napo- 
leon the  accomplishment  of  her  last  will,  she  said  to  him, 
Establish  upon  solid  bases  the  principal  result  of  my 
efforts.  Unite  divided  Frenchmen.  Defeat  feudal  Europe 
that  is  leagued  against  me.  Cicatrize  my  wounds.  En- 
lighten the  nations.  Execute  that  in  width,  which  I have 
had  to  perform  in  depth.  Be  for  Europe  what  I have  been 
for  France.  And,  even  if  you  must  water  the  tree  of  civili- 
zation with  your  blood  — if  you  must  see  your  projects 
misunderstood,  and  your  sons  without  a country,  wandering 
9 


130 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK. 


over  the  face  of  the  earth,  never  abandon  the  sacred  cause 
of  the  French  people.  Insure  its  triumph  by  all  the  means 
which  genius  can  discover  and  humanity  approve.’ 

“ This  grand  mission  Napoleon  performed  to  the  end. 
His  task  was  difficult.  He  had  to  place  upon  new  princi- 
ples a society  still  boiling  with  hatred  and  wrong;  and  to 
use,  for  a building  up,  the  same  instruments  which  had  been 
employed  for  pulling  down. 

“The  common  lot  of  every  new  truth  that  arises,  is  to 
wound  rather  than  to  convince  — rather  than  to  gain  prose- 
lytes, to  awaken  fear.  For,  oppressed  as  it  long  has  been, 
it  rushes  forward  with  additional  force ; having  to  encounter 
obstacles,  it  is  compelled  to  combat  them,  and  overthrow 
them ; until,  at  length,  comprehended  and  adopted  by  the 
generality,  it  becomes  the  basis  of  new  social  order. 

“ Liberty  will  follow  the  same  march  as  the  Christian 
religion.  Armed  with  death  from  the  ancient  society  of 
Rome,  it  for  a long  while  excited  the  hatred  and  fear  of  the 
people.  At  last,  by  force  of  martyrdoms  and  persecutions, 
the  religion  of  Christ  penetrated  into  the  conscience  and 
the  soul ; it  soon  had  kings  and  armies  at  its  orders,  and 
Constantine  and  Charlemagne  bore  it  triumphant  through- 
out Europe.  Religion  then  laid  down  her  arms  of  war. 
It  laid  open  to  all  the  principles  of  peace  and  order 
which  it  contained ; it  became  the  prop  of  Government,  as 
it  was  the  organizing  element  of  society.  Thus  will  it  be 
with  liberty.  In  1793  it  frightened  people  and  sovereigns 
alike ; then,  having  clothed  itself  in  a milder  garb,  it  insin- 
uated itself  everywhere  in  the  train  of  our  battalions.  In 
1815  all  parties  adopted  its  flag,  and  armed  themselves  with 
its  moral  force  — covered  themselves  with  its  colors.  The 
adoption  was  not  sincere,  and  liberty  was  soon  obliged  to 
re-assume  its  warlike  accoutrements.  With  the  contest 
their  fears  returned.  Let  us  hope  that  they  will  soon 
cease,  and  that  liberty' will  soon  resume  her  peaceful  stand- 
ards, to  quit  them  no  more. 

“ The  Emperor  Napoleon  contributed  more  than  any  one 
else  towards  accelerating  the  reign  of  liberty,  by  saving 
the  moral  influence  of  the  revolution,  and  diminishing  the 
fears  which  it  imposed.  Without  the  Consulate  and  the 
Empire,  the  revolution  would  have  been  only  a grand 
drama,  leaving  grand  revolutions  but  no  traces : the  revolu- 
tion would  have  been  drowned  in  the  counter-revolution. 
The  contrary,  however,  was  the  case.  Napoleon  rooted  the 


NAPOLEON  AND  ILLS  SYSTEM. 


131 


revolution  in  France,  and  introduced,  throughout  Europe, 
the  principal  benefits  of  the  crisis  of  1789.  To  use  his 
own  words,  ‘ He  purified  the  revolution,  he  confirmed  kings, 
and  ennobled  people/  He  purified  the  revolution,  in  sepa- 
rating the  truths  which  it  contained  from  the  passions  that, 
during  its  delirium,  disfigured  it.  He  ennobled  the  people 
in  giving  them  the  consciousness  of  their  force,  and  those 
institutions  which  raise  men  in  their  own  eyes.  The  Em- 
peror may  be  considered  as  the  Messiah  of  the  new  ideas  ; 
for  — and  we  must  confess  it  — in  the  moments  mmedi- 
ately  succeeding  a social  revolution,  it  is  not  so  essential  to 
put  rigidly  into  practice  all  the  propositions  resulting  from 
the  new  theory,  but  to  become  master  of  the  regenerative 
genius,  to  identify  one’s  self  with  the  sentiments  of  the 
people,  and  boldly  to  direct  them  towards  the  desired 
point.  To  accomplish  such  a task  your  fibre  should  respond 
to  that  of  the  people,  as  the  Emperor  said;  you  should  feel 
like  it,  your  interests  should  be  so  intimately  raised  with 
its  own,  that  you  should  vanquish  or  fall  together.” 

Let  us  take  breath  after  these  big  phrases, — grand  round 
figures  of  speech, — which,  when  put  together,  amount  like 
certain  other  combinations  of  round  figures  to  exactly  0. 
We  shall  not  stop  to  argue  the  merits  and  demerits  of 
Prince  Louis’s  notable  comparison  between  the  Christian 
religion  and  the  Imperial-revolutionary  system.  There  are 
many  blunders  in  the  above  extract  as  we  read  it ; blunder- 
ing metaphors,  blundering  arguments  and  blundering  as- 
sertions ; but  this  is  surely  the  grandest  blunder  of  all ; 
and  one  wonders  at  the  blindness  of  the  legislator  and 
historian  who  can  advance  such  a parallel.  And  what  are 
we  to  say  of  the  legacy  of  the  dying  revolution  to  Napo- 
leon ? Revolutions  do  not  die,  and,  on  their  deathbeds, 
making  fine  speeches,  hand  over  their  property  to  young 
officers  of  artillery.  We  have  all  read  the  history  of  his 
rise.  The  constitution  of  the  year  III.  was  carried.  Old 
men  of  the  Montagne,  disguised  royalists,  Paris  sections, 
Pittetcobourg , above  all,  with  his  money-bags,  thought  that 
here  was  a fine  opportunity  for  a revolt,  and  opposed  the 
new  constitution  in  arms  : the  new  constitution  had  knowl- 
edge of  a young  officer  who  would  not  hesitate  to  defend 
its  cause,  and  who  effectually  beat  the  majority.  The  tale 
may  be  found  in  every  account  of  the  revolution,  and  the 
rest  of  his  story  need  not  be  told.  We  know  every  step 
that  he  took:  we  know  how,  by  doses  of  cannon-balls 


132 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK. 


promptly  administered,  he  cured  the  fever  of  the  sections 
- — that  fever  which  another  camp-physician  (Menou) 
declined  to  prescribe  for ; we  know  how  he  abolished  the 
Directory ; and  how  the  Consulship  came ; and  then  the 
Empire  ; and  then  the  disgrace,  exile,  and  lonely  death. 
Has  not  all  this  been  written  by  historians  in  all  tongues  ? 
— by  memoir-writing  pages,  chamberlains,  marshals,  lack- 
eys, secretaries,  contemporaries,  and  ladies  of  honor  ? 
Not  a word  of  miracle  is  there  in  all  this  narration ; not  a 
word  of  celestial  missions,  or  political  Messiahs.  From 
Napoleon’s  rise  to  his  fall,  the  bayonet  marches  alongside 
of  him  : now  he  points  it  at  the  tails  of  the  scampering 
“five  hundred,” — now  he  charges  with  it  across  the  bloody 
planks  of  Areola  — now  he  flies  before  it  over  the  fatal 
plain  of  Waterloo. 

Unwilling,  however,  as  he  may  be  to  grant  that  there 
are  any  spots  in  the  character  of  his  hero’s  government, 
the  Prince  is,  nevertheless,  obliged  to  allow  that  such  ex- 
isted ; that  the  Emperor’s  manner  of  rule  was  a*  little  more 
abrupt  and  dictatorial  than  might  possibly  be  agreeable. 
For  this  the  Prince  has  always  an  answer  ready  — it  is  the 
same  poor  one  that  Napoleon  uttered  a million  of  times  to 
his  companions  in  exile  — the  excuse  of  necessity.  He 
ivould  have  been  very  liberal,  but  that  the  people  were  not 
fit  for  it;  or  that  the  cursed  war  prevented  him — or  any 
other  reason  why.  His  first  duty,  however,  says  his  apol- 
ogist, was  to  form  a general  union  of  Frenchmen,  and  he 
set  about  his  plan  in  this  wise : — 

“ Let  us  not  forget,  that  all  which  Napoleon  undertook, 
in  order  to  create  a general  fusion,  he  performed  without 
renouncing  the  principles  of  the  revolution.  He  recalled 
the  emigres , without  touching  upon  the  law  by  which  their 
goods  had  been  confiscated  and  sold  as  public  property. 
He  re-established  the  Catholic  religion  at  the  same  time 
that  he  proclaimed  the  liberty  of  conscience,  and  endowed 
equally  the  ministers  of  all  sects.  He  caused  himself  to 
be  consecrated  by  the  Sovereign  Pontiff,  without  conceding 
to  the  Pope’s  demand  any  of  the  liberties  of  the  Gallican 
church.  He  married  a daughter  of  the  Emperor  of  Aus- 
tria, without  abandoning  any  of  the  rights  of  France  to  the 
conquests  she  had  made.  He  re-established  noble  titles, 
without  attaching  to  them  any  privileges  or  prerogatives, 
and  these  titles  were  conferred  on  all  ranks,  on  all  services, 
on  all  professions.  Under  the  enrnire  all  idea  of  caste  was 


NAPOLEON  AND  BIS  SYSTEM . 


133 


destroyed ; no  man  ever  thought  of  vaunting  his  pedigree 
— no  man  ever  was  asked  how  he  was  born,  but  what  he 
had  done. 

“The  first  quality  of  a people  which  aspires  to  liberal 
government,  is  respect  to  the  law.  Now,  a law  has  no 
other  power  than  lies  in  the  interest  which  each  citizen  has 
to  defend  or  to  contravene  it.  In  order  to  make  a people 
respect  the  law,  it  was  necessary  that  it  should  be  executed 
in  the  interest  of  all,  and  should  consecrate  the  principle 
of  equality  in  all  its  extension.  It  was  necessary  to  re- 
store the  prestige  with  which  the  Government  had  been 
formerly  invested,  and  to  make  the  principles  of  the  revo- 
lution take  root  in  the  public  manners.  At  the  commence- 
ment of  a new  society,  it  is  the  legislator  who  makes  or 
corrects  the  manners  ; later,  it  is  manners  which  make  the 
law,  or  preserve  it  from  age  to  age  intact.” 

Some  of  these  fusions  are  amusing.  No  man  in  the 
empire  was  asked  how  he  was  born,  but  what  he  had  done ; 
and,  accordingly,  as  a man’s  actions  were  sufficient  to  illus- 
trate him,  the  Emperor  took  care  to  make  a host  of  new 
title-bearers,  princes,  dukes,  barons,  and  what  not,  whose 
rank  has  descended  to  their  children.  He  married  a 
princess  of  Austria ; but,  for  all  that,  did  not  abandon  his 
conquests  — perhaps  not  actually ; but  he  abandoned  his 
allies,  and,  eventually,  his  whole  kingdom.  Who  does  not 
recollect  his  answer  to  the  Poles,  at  the  commencement  of 
the  Russian  campaign  ? But  for  Napoleon’s  imperial 
father-in-law,  Poland  would  have  been  a kingdom,  and  his 
race,  perhaps,  imperial  still.  Why  was  he  to  fetch  this 
princess  out  of  Austria  to  make  heirs  for  his  throne  ? Why 
did  not  the  man  of  the  people  marry  a girl  of  the  people  ? 
Why  must  he  have  the  Pope  to  crown  him  — half  a dozen 
kings  for  brothers,  and  a bevy  of  aides-de-camp  dressed  out 
like  so  many  mountebanks  from  Astley’s  with  dukes’ 
coronets,  and  grand  blue  velvet  marshals’  batons  ? We 
have  repeatedly  his  words  for  it.  He  wanted  to  create  an 
aristocracy  — another  acknowledgment  on  his  part  of  the 
Republican  dilemma  — another  apology  for  the  revolution- 
ary blunder.  To  keep  the  republic  within  bounds,  a 
despotism  is  necessary ; to  rally  round  the  despotism,  an 
aristocracy  must  be  created;  and  for  what  have  we  been 
laboring  all  this  while  ? for  what  have  bastiles  been 
battered  down,  and  king’s  heads  hurled,  as  a gage  of  battle, 
in  the  face  of  armed  Europe  ? To  have  a Duke  of  Otranto 


134 


?HE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK. 


instead  of  a Duke  de  la  Tremouille,  and  Emperor  Stork  in 
place  of  King  Log.  0 lame  conclusion  ! Is  the  blessed 
revolution  which  is  prophesied  for  us  in  England  only  to 
end  in  establishing  a Prince  Fergus  O’Connor,  or  a Cardinal 
Wade,  or  a Duke  Daniel  Whittle  Harvey  ? Great  as  those 
patriots  are,  we  love  them  better  under  their  simple  family 
names,  and  scorn  titles  and  coronets. 

At  present,  in  France,  the  delicate  matter  of  titles  seems 
to  be  better  arranged,  any  gentleman,  since  the  Devolution, 
being  free  to  adopt  any  one  he  may  fix  upon;  and  it 
appears  that  the  Crown  no  longer  confers  any  patents  of 
nobility,  but  contents  itself  with  saying,  as  in  the  case  of 
M.  de  Pontois,  the  other  day,  “ Le  Hoi  trouve  convenable 
that  you  take  the  title  of,  ” &c. 

To  execute  the  legacy  of  the  revolution,  then ; to  fulfil 
his  providential  mission ; to  keep  his  place,  — in  other 
words,  for  the  simplest  are  always  the  best,  — to  keep  his 
place,  and  to  keep  his  Government  in  decent  order,  the 
Emperor  was  obliged  to  establish  a military  despotism,  to 
re-establish  honors  and  titles ; it  was  necessary,  as  the 
Prince  confesses,  to  restore  the  old  'prestige  of  the  Govern- 
ment, in  order  to  make  the  people  respect  it ; and  he  adds 
— a truth  which  one  hardly  would  expect  from  him,  — 
“ At  the  commencement  of  a new  society,  it  is  the  legislator 
who  makes  and  corrects  the  manners ; later,  it  is  the 
manners  which  preserve  the  laws.  ” Of  course,  and  here 
is  the  great  risk  that  all  revolutionizing  people  run  — they 
must  tend  to  despotism  ; “ must  personify  themselves  in  a 
man,  ” is  the  Prince’s  phrase ; and,  according  as  is  his  tem- 
perament or  disposition  — according  as  he  is  a Cromwell 
a Washington,  or  a Napoleon  — the  revolution  becomes 
tyranny  or  freedom,  prospers  or  falls. 

Somewhere  in  the  St.  Helena  memorials,  Napoleon 
reports  a message  of  his  to  the  Pope.  “ Tell  the  Pope,  ” 
he  says  to  an  archbishop,  “to  remember  that  I have  six 
hundred  thousand  armed  Frenchmen,  qui  marcheront  avee 
moi , pour  moi , et  comme  moi.”  And  this  is  the  legacy  of 
the  revolution,  the  advancement  of  freedom  ! A hundred 
volumes  of  imperial  special  pleading  will  not  avail  against 
such  a speech  as  this  — one  so  insolent,  and  at  the  same 
time  so  humiliating,  which  gives  unwittingly  the  whole  of 
the  Emperor’s  progress,  strength,  and  weakness.  The  six 
hundred  thousand  armed  Frenchmen  were  used  up,  and 
the  whole  fabric  falls ; the  six  hundred  thousand  are 


NAPOLEON  AND  HIS  SYSTEM. 


135 


reduced  to  sixty  thousand,  and  straightway  all  the  rest  of 
the  fine  imperial  scheme  vanishes : the  miserable  senate,  so 
crawling  and  abject  but  now,  becomes  of  a sudden  endowed 
with  a wondrous  independence  ; the  miserable  sham  nobles, 
sham  empress,  sham  kings,  dukes,  princes,  chamberlains, 
pack  up  their  plumes  and  embroideries,  pounce  upon  what 
money  and  plate  they  can  lay  their  hands  on,  and  when 
the  allies  appear  before  Paris,  when  for  courage  and  manli- 
ness there  is  yet  hope,  when  with  fierce  marches  hastening 
to  the  relief  of  his  capital,  bursting  through  ranks  upon 
ranks  of  the  enemy,  and  crushing  or  scattering  them  from 
the  path  of  his  swift  and  victorious  despair,  the  Emperor 
at  last  is  at  home,  — where  are  the  great  dignitaries  and  the 
lieutenant-generals  of  the  empire  ? Where  is  Maria  Louisa, 
the  Empress  Eagle,  with  her  little  callow  king  of  Eome  ? 
Is  she  going  to  defend  her  nest  and  her  eaglet  ? Not  she. 
Empress-queen,  lieutenant-general,  and  court  dignitaries, 
are  off  on  the  wings  of  all  the  winds  — jprojiigati  sunt , they 
are  away  with  the  money-bags,  and  Louis  Stanislas  Xavier 
rolls  into  the  palace  of  his  fathers. 

With  regard  to  Napoleon’s  excellences  as  an  adminis- 
trator, a legislator,  a constructor  of  public  works,  and  a 
skilful  financier,  his  nephew  speaks  with  much  diffuse 
praise,  and  few  persons,  we  suppose,  will  be  disposed  to 
contradict  him.  Whether  the  Emperor  composed  his  fa- 
mous code,  or  borrowed  it,  is  of  little  importance ; but  he 
established  it,  and  made  the  law  equal  for  every  man  in 
France  except  one.  His  vast  public  works  and  vaster 
wars  were  carried  on  without  new  loans  or  exorbitant 
taxes  ; it  was  only  the  blood  and  liberty  of  the  people  that 
were  taxed,  and  we  shall  want  a better  advocate  than 
Prince  Louis  to  show  us  that  these  were  not  most  unneces- 
sarily and  lavishly  thrown  away.  As  for  the  former  and 
material  improvements,  it  is  not  necessary  to  confess  here 
that  a despotic  energy  can  effect  such  far  more  readily  than 
a Government  of  which  the  strength  is  diffused  in  many 
conflicting  parties.  No  doubt,  if  we  could  create  a despot- 
ical  governing  machine,  a steam  autocrat,  — passionless, 
untiring,  and  supreme,  — we  should  advance  further,  and 
live  more  at  ease  than  under  any  other  form  of  govern- 
ment. Ministers  might  enjoy  their  pensions  and  follow 
their  own  devices ; Lord  John  might  compose  histories  or 
tragedies  at  his  leisure,  and  Lord  Palmerston,  instead  of 
racking  his  brains  to  write  leading  articles  for  Cupid, 


136 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK 


might  crown  his  locks  with  flowers,  and  sing  cpura  jjlovvov, 
his  natural  Anacreontics ; but  alas ! not  so  : if  the  despotic 
Government  has  its  good  side,  Prince  Louis  Napoleon  must 
acknowledge  that  it  has  its  bad,  and  it  is  for  this  that  the 
civilized  world  is  compelled  to  substitute  for  it  something 
more  orderly  and  less  capricious.  Good  as  the  Imperial 
Government  might  have  been,  it  must  be  recollected,  too, 
that  since  its  first  fall,  both  the  emperor  and  his  admirer 
and  would-be  successor  have  had  their  chance  of  re-estab- 
lishing it.  “ Fly  from  steeple  to  steeple  ” the  eagles  of 
the  former  did  actually,  and  according  to  promise  perch 
for  a while  on  the  towers  of  Notre  Dame.  We  know  the 
event : if  the  fate  of  war  declared  against  the  Emperor,  the 
country  declared  against  him  too ; and,  with  old  Lafayette 
for  a mouthpiece,  the  representatives  of  the  nation  did,  in 
a neat  speech,  pronounce  themselves  in  permanence,  but 
spoke  no  more  of  the  Emperor  than  if  he  had  never  been. 
Thereupon  the  Emperor  proclaimed  his  son  the  Emperor 
Napoleon  II.  “L’Empereur  est  mort,  vive  PEmpereur!” 
shouted  Prince  Lucien.  Psha!  not  a soul  echoed  the  words  : 
the  play  was  played,  and  as  for  old  Lafayette  and  his 
“ permanent  ” representatives,  a corporal  with  a hammer 
nailed  up  the  door  of  their  spouting-club,  and  once  more 
Louis  Stanislas  Xavier  rolled  back  to  the  bosom  of  his 
people. 

In  like  manner  Napoleon  III.  returned  from  exile,  and 
made  his  appearance  on  the  frontier.  His  eagle  appeared 
at  Strasburg,  and  from  Strasburg  advanced  to  the  cap- 
ital ; but  it  arrived  at  Paris  with  a keeper,  and  in  a post- 
chaise  ; whence,  by  the  orders  of  the  sovereign,  it  was 
removed  to  the  American  shores,  and  there  magnanimously 
let  loose.  Who  knows,  however,  how  soon  it  may  be  on 
the  wing  again,  and  what  a flight  it  will  take  ? 


THE 

STORY  OF  MARY  ANCEL. 


me,  I was  at  that  time  my  uncle’s  chorister,  clerk,  and 
sacristan  ; I swept  the  church,  chanted  the  prayers  with 
my  shrill  treble,  and  swung  the  great  copper  incense-pot 
on  Sundays  and  feasts ; and  I toiled  over  the  Fathers  for 
the  other  days  of  the  week. 

The  old  gentleman  said  that  my  progress  was  prodigious, 
and,  without  vanity,  I believe  he  was  right,  for  I then  verily 
considered  that  praying  was  my  vocation,  and  not  fighting, 
as  I have  found  since. 

You  would  hardly  conceive  (said  the  Captain,  swearing  a 
great  oath)  how  devout  and  how  learned  I was  in  those 
days ; I talked  Latin  faster  than  my  own  beautiful  patois 
of  Alsacian  French ; I could  utterly  overthrow  in  argument 
every  Protestant  ( heretics  we  called  them ) parson  in  the 
neighborhood,  and  there  was  a confounded  sprinkling  of 
these  unbelievers  in  our  part  of  the  country.  I prayed  half 
a dozen  times  a day ; I fasted  thrice  in  a week  ; and,  as  for 
penance,  I used  to  scourge  my  little  sides,  till  they  had  no 


O,  my  nephew,”  said  old  Father 
Jacob  to  me,  “and  complete  thy 
studies  at  Strasburg:  Heaven 

surely  hath  ordained  thee  for 
the  ministry  in  these  times  of 


y trouble,  and  my  excellent  friend 
Schneider  will  work  out  the 
divine  intention.” 


Schneider  was  an  old  college- 


friend  of  uncle  Jacob’s,  was  a 
Benedictine  monk,  and  a man 
famous  for  his  learning;  as  for 


137 


138 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK 


more  feeling  than  a peg-top  : such  was  the  godly  life  I led 
at  my  uncle  Jacob’s  in  the  village  of  Steinbach. 

Our  family  had  long  dwelt  in  this  place,  and  a large  farm 
and  a pleasant  house  were  then  in  possession  of  another 
uncle  — uncle  Edward.  He  was  the  youngest  of  the  three 
sons  of  my  grandfather;  but  Jacob,  the  elder,  had  shown  a 
decided  vocation  for  the  church,  from  I believe,  the  age  of 
three,  and  now  was  by  no  means  tired  of  it  at  sixty.  My 
father,  who  was  to  have  inherited  the  paternal  property 
was,  as  I hear,  a terrible  scamp  and  scapegrace,  quarrelled 
with  his  family,  and  disappeared  altogether,  living  and 
dying  at  Paris  ; so  far  we  knew  through  my  mother,  who 
came,  poor  woman,  with  me,  a child  of  six  months,  on  her 
bosom,  was  refused  all  shelter  by  my  grandfather,  but  was 
housed  and  kindly  cared  for  by  my  uncle  Jacob. 

Here  she  lived  for  about  seven  years,  and  the  old  gentle- 
man, when  she  died,  wept  over  her  grave  a great  deal  more 
than  I did,  who  was  then  too  young  to  mind  anything  but 
toys  or  sweetmeats. 

During  this  time  my  grandfather  was  likewise  carried 
off : he  left,  as  I said,  the  property  to  his  son  Edward,  with 
a small  proviso  in  his  will  that  something  should  be  done 
for  me,  his  grandson. 

Edward  was  himself  a widower,  with  one  daughter, 
Mary,  about  three  years  older  than  I,  and  certainly  she  was 
the  dearest  little  treasure  with  which  Providence  ever 
blessed  a miserly  father;  by  the  time  she  was  fifteen,  five 
farmers,  three  lawyers,  twelve  Protestant  parsons,  and  a 
lieutenant  of  Dragoons  had  made  her  offers  : it  must  not  be 
denied  that  she  was  an  heiress  as  well  as  a beauty,  which, 
perhaps,  had  something  to  do  with  the  love  of  these  gen- 
tlemen. However,  Mary  declared  that  she  intended  to  live 
single,  turned  away  her  lovers  one  after  another,  and 
devoted  herself  to  the  care  of  her  father. 

Uncle  Jacob  was  as  fond  of  her  as  he  was  of  any  saint  or 
martyr.  As  for  me,  at  the  mature  age  of  twelve  I had 
made  a kind  of  divinity  of  her,  and  when  we  sang  “Ave 
Maria  ” on  Sundays  I could  not  refrain  from  turning  to  her, 
where  she  knelt,  blushing  and  praying  and  looking  like  an 
angel,  as  she  was.  Besides  her  beauty,  Mary  had  a thou- 
sand good  qualities ; she  could  play  better  on  the  harpsi- 
chord, she  could  dance  more  lightly,  she  could  make  better 
pickles  and  puddings,  than  any  girl  in  Alsace  ; there  wras 
not  a want  or  a fancy  of  the  old  hunks  her  father,  or  a wish 


THE  STORY  OF  MARY  AN  CEL, 


139 


of  mine  or  my  uncle’s,  that  she  would  not  gratify  if  she 
could ; as  for  herself,  the  sweet  soul  had  neither  wants  nor 
wishes  except  to  see  us  happy. 

I could  talk  to  you  for  a year  of  all  the  pretty  kind- 
nesses that  she  would  do  for  me ; how,  when  she  found  me 
of  early  mornings  among  my  books,  her  presence  “ would 


cast  a light  upon  the  day  ; ” how  she  used  to  smooth  and 
fold  my  little  surplice,  and  embroider  me  caps  and  gowns 
for  high  feast-days ; how  she  used  to  bring  flowers  for  the 
altar,  and  who  could  deck  it  so  well  as  she  ? But  senti- 
ment does  not  come  glibly  from  under  a grizzled  moustache, 
so  I will  drop  it,  if  you  please. 


140 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK . 


Amongst  other  favors  she  showed  me,  Mary  used  to  be 
particularly  fond  of  kissing  me  : it  was  a thing  I did  not  so 
much  value  in  those  days,  but  I found  that  the  more  I grew 
alive  to  the  extent  of  the  benefit,  the  less  she  would  conde- 
scend to  confer  it  on  me ; till  at  last,  when  1 was  about 
fourteen,  she  discontinued  it  altogether,  of  her  own  wish  at 
least ; only  sometimes  I used  to  be  rude,  and  take  what  she 
had  now  become  so  mighty  unwilling  to  give. 

I was  engaged  in  a contest  of  this  sort  one  day  with 
Mary,  when,  just  as  I was  about  to  carry  off  a kiss  from  her 
cheek,  I was  saluted  with  a staggering  slap  on  my  own, 
which  was  bestowed  by  uncle  Edward,  and  sent  me  reeling 
some  yards  down  the  garden. 

The  old  gentleman,  whose  tongue  was  generally  as  close 
as  his  purse,  now  poured  forth  a flood  of  eloquence  which 
quite  astonished  me.  I did  not  think  that  so  much  was  to 
be  said  on  any  subject  as  he  managed  to  utter  on  one,  and 
that  was  abuse  of  me ; he  stamped,  he  swore,  he  screamed ; 
and  then,  from  complimenting  me,  he  turned  to  Mary,  and 
saluted  her  in  a manner  equally  forcible  and  significant ; 
she,  who  was  very  much  frightened  at  the  commencement 
of  the  scene,  grew  very  angry  at  the  coarse  words  he  used, 
and  the  wicked  motives  he  imputed  to  her. 

“ The  child  is  but  fourteen/5  she  said  ; “he  is  your  own 
nephew,  and  a candidate  for  holy  orders  : — father,  it  is  a 
shame  that  you  should  thus  speak  of  me,  your  daughter,  or 
of  one  of  his  holy  profession.5’ 

I did  not  particularly  admire  this  speech  myself,  but  it 
had  an  effect  on  my  uncle,  and  was  the  cause  of  the  words 
with  which  this  history  commences.  The  old  gentleman 
persuaded  his  brother  that  I must  be  sent  to  Strasburg,  and 
there  kept  until  my  studies  for  the  church  were  concluded. 
I was  furnished  with  a letter  to  my  uncle’s  old  college 
chum,  Professor  Schneider,  who  was  to  instruct  me  in  the- 
ology and  Greek. 

I was  not  sorry  to  see  Strasburg,  of  the  wonders  of 
which  I had  heard  so  much ; but  felt  very  loth  as  the  time 
drew  near  when  I must  quit  my  pretty  cousin,  and  my 
good  old  uncle.  Mary  and  I managed,  however,  a parting 
walk,  in  which  a number  of  tender  things  were  said  on  bath 
sides.  I am  told  that  you  Englishmen  consider  it  cowardly 
to  cry ; as  for  me,  I wept  and  roared  incessantly : when 
Mary  squeezed  me,  for  the  last  time,  the  tears  came  out  of 
me  as  if  I had  been  neither  more  nor  less  than  a great  wet 


THE  STORY  OF  MARY  ANCEL. 


141 


sponge.  My  cousin’s  eyes  were  stoically  dry  ; lier  ladyship 
had  a part  to  play,  and  it  would  have  been  wrong  for  her  to 
be  in  love  with  a young  chit  of  fourteen  — so  she  carried 
herself  with  perfect  coolness,  as  if  there  was  nothing  the 
matter.  I should  not  have  known  that  she  cared  for  me, 
had  it  not  been  for  a letter  which  she  wrote  me  a month 
afterwards  — then , nobody  was  by,  and  the  consequence 
was  that  the  letter  was  half  washed  away  with  her  weep- 
ing; if  she  had  used  a watering-pot  the  thing  could  not 
have  been  better  done. 

Well,  I arrived  at  Strasburg — a dismal,  old-fashioned, 
rickety  town  in  those  days  — and  straightway  presented 
myself  and  letter  at  Schneider’s  door ; over  it  was  writ- 
ten — 

COMITE  DE  SALUT  PUBLIC. 

Would  you  believe  it  ? I was  so  ignorant  a young 
fellow,  that  I had  no  idea  of  the  meaning  of  the  words  ; 
however,  I entered  the  citizen’s  room  without  fear,  and  sat 
down  in  his  ante-chamber  until  I could  be  admitted  to  see 
him. 

Here  I found  very  few  indications  of  his  reverence’s 
profession ; the  walls  were  hung  round  with  portraits  of 
Robespierre,  Marat,  and  the  like  ; a great  bust  of  Mirabeau, 
mutilated,  with  the  word  Traitre  underneath;  lists  and 
republican  proclamations,  tobacco-pipes  and  fire-arms.  At 
a deal-table,  stained  with  grease  and  wine,  sat  a gentleman, 
with  a huge  pig-tail  dangling  down  to  that  part  of  his 
person  which  immediately  succeeds  his  back,  and  a red 
nightcap,  containing  a tricolor  cockade  as  large  as  a pan- 
cake. He  was  smoking  a short  pipe,  reading  a little  book, 
and  sobbing  as  if  his  heart  would,  break.  Every  now  and 
then  he  would  make  brief  remarks  upon  the  personages  or 
the  incidents  of  his  book,  by  which  I could  judge  that 
he  was  a man  of  the  very  keenest  sensibilities  — “ Ah, 
brigand  ! ” “ 0 malheureuse  ! ” “ 0 Charlotte,  Charlotte  ! ” 
The  work  which  this  gentleman  was  perusing  is  called 
“The  Sorrows  of  Werter;”  it  was  all  the  rage  in  those 
days,  and  my  friend  was  only  following  the  fashion.  I 
asked  him  if  I could  see  Father  Schneider  ? he  turned 
towards  me  a hideous,  pimpled  face,  which  I dream  of  now 
at  forty  years’  distance. 

“Father  who  ? ” said  he.  “ Do  you  imagine  that  citizen 
Schneider  has  not  thrown  oft  the  absurd  mummery  of 


142 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  ROOK 


priesthood  ? If  you  were  a little  older  you  would  go  to 
prison  for  calling  him  Father  Schneider  — many  a man  lias 
died  for  less  ; ” and  he  pointed  to  a picture  of  a guillotine, 
which  was  hanging  in  the  room. 

I was  in  amazement. 

“ What  is  he  ? Is  he  not  a teacher  of  Greek,  an  abbe,  a 
monk,  until  monasteries  were  abolished,  the  learned  editor 
of  the  songs  of  ‘ Anacreon  ? ’ ” 

“ He  was  all  this,”  replied  my  grim  friend  ; “ he  is  now 
a Member  of  the  Committee  of  Public  Safety,  and  would 
think  no  more  of  ordering  your  head  off  than  of  drinking 
this  tumbler  of  beer.” 

He  swallowed,  himself,  the  frothy  liquid,  and  then  pro- 
ceeded to  give  me  the  history  of  the  man  to  whom  my 
uncle  had  sent  me  for  instruction. 

Schneider  was  born  in  1756 : was  a student  at  Wurzburg, 
and  afterwards  entered  a convent,  where  he  remained 
nine  years.  He  here  became  distinguished  for  his  learning 
and  his  talents  as  a preacher,  and  became  chaplain  to  Duke 
Charles  of  Wiirtemberg.  The  doctrines  of  the  Illuminati 
began  about  this  time  to  spread  in  Germany,  and  Schneider 
speedily  joined  the  sect.  He  had  been  a professor  of  Greek 
at  Cologne ; and  being  compelled,  on  account  of  his  irregu- 
larity, to  give  up  his  chair,  he  came  to  Strasburg  at  the  com- 
mencement of  the  French  Revolution,  and  acted  for  some 
time  a principal  part  as  a revolutionary  agent  at  Strasburg. 

[ “ Heaven  knows  what  would  have  happened  to  me  had 
I continued  long  under  his  tuition  ! ” said  the  Captain.  “ I 
owe  the  preservation  of  my  morals  entirely  to  my  entering 
the  army.  A man,  sir,  who  is  a soldier,  has  very  little 
time  to  be  wicked ; except  in  the  case  of  a siege  and  the 
sack  of  the  town,  when  a little  license  can  offend  nobody.”  ] 

By  the  time  that  my  friend  had  concluded  Schneider’s 
biography,  we  had  grown  tolerably  intimate,  and  I imparted 
to  him  (with  that  experience  so  remarkable  in  youth  ) my 
whole  history  — my  course  of  studies,  my  pleasant  country 
life,  the  names  and  qualities  of  my  dear  relations,  and  my 
occupations  in  the  vestry  before  religion  was  abolished  by 
order  of  the  Republic.  In  the  course  of  my  speech  I 
recurred  so  often  to  the  name  of  my  cousin  Mary,  that  the 
gentleman  could  not  fail  to  perceive  what  a tender  place 
she  had  in  my  heart. 

Then  we  reverted  to  “ The  Sorrows  of  Werter,”  and  dis- 
cussed the  merits  of  that  sublime  performance.  Although 


THE  STORY  OF  MARY  ANCEL. 


143 


I had  before  felt  some  misgivings  about  my  new  acquaint- 
ance, my  heart  now  quite  yearned  towards  him.  He  talked 
about  love  and  sentiment  in  a manner  which  made  me  rec- 
ollect that  I was  in  love  myself ; and  you  know  that  when 
a man  is  in  that  condition,  his  taste  is  not  very  refined,  any 
maudlin  trash  of  prose  or  verse  appearing  sublime  to  him, 
provided  it  correspond,  in  some  degree,  with  his  own  situa- 
tion. 

“ Candid  youth  ! ” cried  my  unknown,  “ I love  to  hear 
thy  innocent  story  and  look  on  thy  guileless  face.  There 
is,  alas  ! so  much  of  the  contrary  in  this  world,  so  much 
terror  and  crime  and  blood,  that  we  who  mingle  with  it  are 
only  too  glad  to  forget  it.  Would  that  we  could  shake  off 
our  cares  as  men,  and  be  boys,  as  thou  art,  again ! ” 

Here  my  friend  began  to  weep  once  more,  and  fondly 
shook  my  hand.  I blessed  my  stars  that  I had,  at  the  very 
outset  of  my  career,  met  with  one  who  was  so  likely  to  aid 
me.  What  a slanderous  world  it  is,  thought  I ; the  people 
in  our  village  call  these  Republicans  wicked  and  bloody- 
minded  ; a lamb  could  not  be  more  tender  than  this  senti- 
mental bottle-nosed  gentleman ! The  worthy  man  then 
gave  me  to  understand  that  he  held  a place  under  Govern- 
ment. I was  busy  in  endeavoring  to  discover  what  his 
situation  might  be,  when  the  door  of  the  next  apartment 
opened,  and  Schneider  made  his  appearance. 

At  first  he  did  not  notice  me,  but  he  advanced  to  my  new 
acquaintance,  and  gave  him,  to  my  astonishment,  some- 
thing very  like  a blow. 

“ You  drunken,  talking  fool,”  he  said,  “you  are  always 
after  your  time.  Fourteen  people  are  cooling  their  heels 
yonder,  waiting  until  you  have  finished  your  beer  and  your 
sentiment!  ” 

My  friend  slunk  muttering  out  of  the  room. 

“ That  fellow,”  said  Schneider,  turning  to  me,  “ is  our 
public  executioner  : a capital  hand  too  if  he  would  but 
keep  decent  time ; but  the  brute  is  always  drunk,  and 
blubbering  over  ‘ The  Sorrows  of  Werter  !I * * *  5 ” 

I know  not  whether  it  was  his  old  friendship  for  my 

uncle,  or  my  proper  merits,  which  won  the  heart  of  this  the 

sternest  ruffian  of  Robespierre’s  crew;  but  certain  it  is, 
that  he  became  strangely  attached  to  me,  and  kept  me  con- 

stantly about  his  person.  As  for  the  priesthood  and  the 

Greek,  they  were  of  course  very  soon  out  of  the  question. 


144 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK 


The  Austrians  were  on  our  frontier ; every  day  brought  us 
accounts  of  battles  won  ; and  the  youth  of  Strasburg,  and 
of  all  France,  indeed,  were  bursting  with  military  ardor. 
As  for  me,  I shared  the  general  mania,  and  speedily 
mounted  a cockade  as  large  as  that  of  my  friend,  the 
executioner. 

The  occupations  of  this  worthy  were  unremitting.  Saint 
Just,  who  had  come  down  from  Paris  to  preside  over  our 
town,  executed  the  laws  and  the  aristocrats  with  terrible 
punctuality ; and  Schneider  used  to  make  country  ex- 
cursions in  search  of  offenders  with  this  fellow,  as  a 
provost-marshal,  at  his  back.  In  the  meantime,  having 
entered  my  sixteenth  year,  and  being  a proper  lad  of  my 
age,  I had  joined  a regiment  of  cavalry,  and  was  scamper- 
ing now^after  the  Austrians  who  menaced  us,  and  now 
threatening  the  Emigres,  who  were  banded  at  Coblentz. 
My  love  for  my  dear  cousin  increased  as  my  whiskers 
grew ; and  when  I was  scarcely  seventeen,  I thought 
myself  man  enough  to  marry  her,  and  to  cut  the  throat  of 
any  one  who  should  venture  to  say  me  nay. 

I need  not  tell  you  that  during  my  absence  at  Strasburg, 
great  changes  had  occurred  in  our  little  village,  and  some- 
what of  the  revolutionary  rage  had  penetrated  even  to  that 
quiet  and  distant  place.  The  hideous  “ Fete  of  the  Supreme 
Being  ” had  been  celebrated  at  Paris ; the  practice  of  our 
ancient  religion  was  forbidden;  its  professors  were  most 
of  them  in  concealment,  or  in  exile,  or  had  expiated  on  the 
scaffold  their  crime  of  Christianity.  In  our  poor  village 
my  uncle’s  church  was  closed,  and  he,  himself,  an  inmate 
in  my  brother’s  house,  only  owing  his  safety  to  his  great 
popularity  among  his  former  flock,  and  the  influence  of 
Edward  Ancel. 

The  latter  had  taken  in  the  Revolution  a somewhat 
prominent  part ; that  is,  he  had  engaged  in  many  contracts 
for  the  army,  attended  the  clubs  regularly,  corresponded 
with  the  authorities  of  his  department,  and  was  loud  in  his 
denunciations  of  the  aristocrats  in  the  neighborhood.  But 
owing,  perhaps,  to  the  German  origin  of  the  peasantry,  and 
their  quiet  and  rustic  lives,  the  revolutionary  fury  which 
prevailed  in  the  cities  had  hardly  reached  the  country 
people.  The  occasional  visit  of  a commissary  from  Paris 
or  Strasburg  served  to  keep  the  flame  alive,  and  to  remind 
the  rural  swains  of  the  existence  of  a Republic  in  France. 

How  and  then,  when  I could  gain  a week’s  leave  of 


THE  STORY  OF  MARY  ANCEL. 


145 


absence,  I returned  to  the  village,  and  was  received  with 
tolerable  politeness  by  my  uncle,  and  with  a warmer  feeling 
by  his  daughter. 

I won’t  describe  to  you  the  progress  of  our  love,  or  the 
wrath  of  my  uncle  Edward,  when  he  discovered  that  it  still 
continued.  He  swore  and  he  stormed;  he  locked  Mary 
into  her  chamber,  and  vowed  that  he  would  withdraw  the 
allowance  he  made  me,  if  ever  I ventured  near  her.  His 
daughter,  he  said,  should  never  marry  a hopeless,  penniless 
subaltern ; and  Mary  declared  she  would  not  marry  with- 
out his  consent.  What  had  I to  do  ? — to  despair  and  to 
leave  her.  As  for  my  poor  uncle  Jacob,  he  had  no  counsel 
to  give  me,  and,  indeed,  no  spirit  left:  his  little  church 
was  turned  into  a stable,  his  surplice  torn  off  his  shoulders, 
and  he  was  only  too  lucky  in  keeping  his  head  on  them. 
A bright  thought  struck  him : suppose  you  were  to  ask  the 
advice  of  my  old  friend  Schneider  regarding  this  marriage  ? 
he  has  ever  been  your  friend,  and  may  help  you  now  as 
before. 

( Here  the  Captain  paused  a little.  ) You  may  fancy 
(continued  he)  that  it  was  droll  advice  of  a reverend 
gentleman  like  uncle  Jacob  to  counsel  me  in  this  manner, 
and  to  bid  me  make  friends  with  such  a murderous  cut- 
throat as  Schneider ; but  we  thought  nothing  of  it  in  those 
days ; guillotining  was  as  common  as  dancing,  and  a man 
was  only  thought  the  better  patriot  the  more  severe  he 
might  be.  I departed  forthwith  to  Strasburg,  and  requested 
the  vote  and  interest  of  the  Citizen  President  of  the  Com- 
mittee of  Public  Safety. 

He  heard  me  with  a great  deal  of  attention.  I described 
to  him  most  minutely  the  circumstance,  expatiated  upon 
the  charms  of  my  dear  Mary,  and  painted  her  to  him  from 
head  to  foot.  Her  golden  hair  and  her  bright  blushing 
cheeks,  her  slim  waist  and  her  tripping  tiny  feet ; and 
furthermore,  I added  that  she  possessed  a fortune  which 
ought,  by  rights,  to  be  mine,  but  for  the  miserly  old  father. 
“ Curse  him  for  an  aristocrat ! ” concluded  I,  in  my  wrath. 

As  I had  been  discoursing  about  Mary’s  charms  Schneider 
listened  with  much  complacency  and  attention:  when  I 
spoke  about  her  fortune,  his  interest  redoubled ; and  when 
I called  her  father  an  aristocrat,  the  worthy  ex-J esuit  gave 
a grin  of  satisfaction,  which  was  really  quite  terrible.  0 
fool  that  I was  to  trust  him  so  far ! 


10 


146 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK. 


The  very  same  evening  an  officer  waited  upon  me  with 
the  following  note  from  Saint  J ust : — 

“Strasburg,  Fifth  year  of  the  Kepublic,  one  and 
indivisible,  11  Ventose. 

“ The  citizen  Pierre  Ancel  is  to  leave  Strasburg  within  two  hours, 
and  to  carry  the  enclosed  despatches  to  the  President  of  the  Committee 
of  Public  Safety  at  Paris.  The  necessary  leave  of  absence  from  his 
military  duties  has  been  provided.  Instant  punishment  will  follow  the 
slightest  delay  on  the  road.  Salut  et  Fraternite,  ” 

There  was  no  choice  but  obedience,  and  off  I sped  on  my 
weary  way  to  the  capital. 

As  I was  riding  out  of  the  Paris  gate  I met  an  equipage 
which  I knew  to  be  that  of  Schneider.  The  ruffian  smiled 
at  me  as  I passed,  and  wished  me  a bon  voyage.  Behind 
his  chariot  came  a curious  machine,  or  cart ; a great  basket, 
three  stout  poles,  and  several  planks,  all  painted  red,  were 
lying  in  this  vehicle,  on  the  top  of  which  was  seated  my 
friend  with  the  big  cockade.  It  was  the  portable  guillotine 
which  Schneider  always  carried  with  him  on  his  travels. 
The  bourreau  was  reading  “ The  Sorrows  of  Werter,  ” and 
looked  as  sentimental  as  usual. 

I will  not  speak  of  my  voyage  in  order  to  relate  to  you 
Schneider’s.  My  story  had  awakened  the  wretch’s  curiosity 
and  avarice,  and  he  was  determined  that  such  a prize  as  I 
had  shown  my  cousin  to  be  should  fall  into  no  hands  but 
his  own.  No  sooner,  in  fact,  had  I quitted  his  room  than 
he  procured  the  order  for  my  absence,  and  was  on  the  way 
to  Steinbach  as  I met  him. 

The  journey  is  not  a very  long  one ; and  on  the  next  day 
my  uncle  Jacob  was  surprised  by  receiving  a message  that 
the  citizen  Schneider  was  in  the  village,  and  was  coming  to 
greet  his  old  friend.  Old  Jacob  was  in  an  ecstasy,  for  he 
longed  to  see  his  college  acquaintance,  and  he  hoped  also 
that  Schneider  had  come  into  that  part  of  the  country  upon 
the  marriage-business  of  your  humble  servant.  Of  course 
Mary  was  summoned  to  give  her  best  dinner,  and  wear  her 
best  frock  ; and  her  father  made  ready  to  receive  the  new 
State  dignitary. 

Schneider’s  carriage  speedily  rolled  into  the  court-yard, 
and  Schneider’s  cart  followed,  as  a matter  of  course.  The 
ex-priest  only  entered  the  house ; his  companion  remaining 
with  the  horses  to  dine  in  private.  Here  was  a most  touch- 
ing meeting  between  him  and  Jacob.  They  talked  over 
their  old  college  pranks  and  successes  ; they  capped  Greek 


THE  STORY  OF  MARY  ANCEL. 


147 


verses,  and  quoted  ancient  epigrams  upon  their  tutors,  who 
had  been  dead  since  the  Seven  Years’  War.  Mary  declared 
it  was  quite  touching  to  listen  to  the  merry  friendly  talk 
of  these  two  old  gentlemen. 

After  the  conversation  had  continued  for  a time  in  this 
strain,  Schneider  drew  up  all  of  a sudden,  and  said  quietly, 
that  he  had  come  on  particular  and  unpleasant  business  — 
hinting  about  troublesome  times,  spies,  evil  reports,  and  so 
forth.  Then  he  called  uncle  Edward  aside,  and  had  with 
him  a long  and  earnest  conversation  : so  Jacob  went  out 
and  talked  with  Schneider’s  friend ; they  speedily  became 
very  intimate,  for  the  ruffian  detailed  all  the  circumstances 
of  his  interview  with  me.  When  he  returned  into  the 
house,  some  time  after  this  pleasing  colloquy,  he  found  the 
tone  of  the  society  strangely  altered.  Edward  Ancel,  pale 
as  a sheet,  trembling,  and  crying  for  mercy ; poor  Mary 
weeping;  and  Schneider  pacing  energetically  about  the 
apartment,  raging  about  the  rights  of  man,  the  punishment 
of  traitors,  and  the  one  and  indivisible  Eepublic. 

“ Jacob,”  he  said,  as  my  uncle  entered  the  room,  “I  was 
willing,  for  the  sake  of  our  old  friendship,  to  forget  the 
crimes  of  your  brother.  He  is  a known  and  dangerous  aris- 
tocrat; he  holds  communications  with  the  enemy  on  the 
frontier ; he  is  a possessor  of  great  and  ill-gotten  wealth,  of 
which  he  has  plundered  the  Eepublic.  Do  you  know,”  said 
he  turning  to  Edward  Ancel,  “ where  the  least  of  these 
crimes,  or  the  mere  suspicion  of  them,  would  lead  you  ? ” 

Poor  Edward  sat  trembling  in  his  chair,  and  answered 
not  a word.  He  knew  full  well  how  quickly,  in  this  dread- 
ful time,  punishment  followed  suspicion;  and,  though 
guiltless  of  all  treason  with  the  enemy,  perhaps  he  was 
aware  that,  in  certain  contracts  with  the  Government,  he 
had  taken  to  himself  a more  than  patriotic  share  of  profit. 

“ Do  you  know,”  resumed  Schneider,  in  a voice  of 
thunder,  “ for  what  purpose  I came  hither,  and  by  whom  I 
am  accompanied  ? I am  the  administrator  of  the  justice  of 
the  Eepublic.  The  life  of  yourself  and  your  family  is  in 
my  hands  : yonder  man,  who  follows  me,  is  the  executor  of 
the  law;  he  has  rid  the  nation  of  hundreds  of  wretches 
like  yourself.  A single  word  from  me,  and  your  doom  is 
sealed  without  hope,  and  your  last  hour  is  come.  Ho  ! 
Gregoire  ! ” shouted  he  ; “ is  all  ready  ? ” 

Gregoire  replied  from  the  court,  “ I can  put  up  the 
machine  in  half  an  hour.  Shall  I go  down  to  the  village 
and  call  the  troops  and  the  law  people  ? ” 


148 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK. 


“Do  you  hear  him  ? ” said  Schneider.  “The  guillotine 
is  in  the  court-yard ; your  name  is  on  my  list,  and  I have 
witnesses  to  prove  your  crime.  Have  you  a word  in  your 
defence  ? ” 

Not  a word  came ; the  old  gentleman  was  dumb ; but  his 
daughter,  who  did  not  give  way  to  his  terror,  spoke  for 
him. 

“ You  cannot,  sir,”  said  she,  “ although  you  say  it,  feel 
that  my  father  is  guilty ; you  would  not  have  entered  our 
house  thus  alone  if  you  had  thought  it.  You  threaten  him 
in  this  manner  because  you  have  something  to  ask  and  to 
gain  from  us  : what  is  it,  citizen  ? — tell  us  how  much  you 
value  our  lives,  and  what  sum  we  are  to  pay  for  our 
ransom  ? ” 

“ Sum  ! ” said  uncle  Jacob;  “he  does  not  want  money  of 
us : my  old  friend,  my  college  chum,  does  not  come  hither 
to  drive  bargains  with  anybody  belonging  to  Jacob 
Ancel  ? ” 

“ Oh,  no,  sir,  no,  you  can’t  want  money  of  us,”  shrieked 
Edward ; “ we  are  the  poorest  people  of  the  village : ruined, 
Monsieur  Schneider,  ruined  in  the  cause  of  the  Republic.” 

“ Silence,  father,”  said  my  brave  Mary;  “this  man  wants 
a price : he  comes,  with  his  worthy  friend  yonder,  to 
frighten  us,  not  to  kill  us.  If  we  die,  he  cannot  touch  a 
sou  of  our  money;  it  is  confiscated  to  the  State.  Tell  us, 
sir,  what  is  the  price  of  our  safety  ? ” 

Schneider  smiled,  and  bowed  with  perfect  politeness. 

“Mademoiselle  Marie,”  he  said,  “is  perfectly  correct  in 
her  surmise.  I do  not  want  the  life  of  this  poor  drivelling 
old  man : my  intentions  are  much  more  peaceable,  be  as- 
sured. It  rests  entirely  with  this  accomplished  young 
lady  (whose  spirit  I like,  and  whose  ready  wit  I admire), 
whether  the  business  between  us  shall  be  a matter  of  love 
or  death.  I humbly  offer  myself,  citizen  Ancel,  as  a candi- 
date for  the  hand  of  your  charming  daughter.  Her  good- 
ness, her  beauty,  and  the  large  fortune  which  I know  you 
intend  to  give  her,  would  render  her  a desirable  match  for 
the  proudest  man  in  the  republic,  and,  I am  sure,  would 
make  me  the  happiest.” 

“ This  must  be  a jest,  Monsieur  Schneider,”  said  Mary 
trembling,  and  turning  deadly  pale:  “you  cannot  mean 
this ; you  do  not  know  me : you  never  heard  of  me  until 
to-day.” 

“ Pardon  me,  belle  dame,”  replied  he ; “ your  cousin 


THE  STORY  OF  MARY  AN  CEL. 


149 


Pierre  has  often  talked  to  me  of  your  virtues ; indeed,  it 
was  by  his  special  suggestion  that  I made  the  visit.” 

“ It  is  false  ! — it  is  a base  and  cowardly  lie  ! ” exclaimed 
she  (for  the  young  lady’s  courage  was  up),  — “ Pierre 
never  could  have  forgotten  himself  and  me  so  as  to  offer 
me  to  one  like  you.  You  come  here  with  a lie  on  your  lips 
— a lie  against  my  father,  to  swear  his  life  away,  against 
my  dear  cousin’s  honor  and  love.  It  is  useless  now  to 
deny  it:  father,  I love  Pierre  Ancel;  I will  marry  no  other 
but  him  — no,  though  our  last  penny  were  paid  to  this  man 
as  the  price  of  our  freedom.” 

Schneider’s  only  reply  to  this  was  a call  to  his  friend 
Gregoire. 

“Send  down  to  the  village  for  the  maire  and  some  gen- 
darmes; and  tell  your  people  to  make  ready.” 

“ Shall  I put  the  machine  up  ? ” shouted  he  of  the  sen- 
timental turn. 

“You  hear  him,”  said  Schneider;  “Marie  Ancel,  you 
may  decide  the  fate  of  your  father.  I shall  return  in  a 
few  hours,”  concluded  he,  “ and  will  then  beg  to  know  your 
decision.” 

The  advocate  of  the  rights  of  man  then  left  the  apart- 
ment, and  left  the  family,  as  you  may  imagine,  in  no  very 
pleasant  mood. 

Old  uncle  Jacob,  during  the  few  minutes  which  had 
elapsed  in  the  enactment  of  this  strange  scene,  sat  staring 
wildly  at  Schneider,  and  holding  Mary  on  his  knees : the 
poor  little  thing  had  fled  to  him  for  protection,  and  not  to 
her  father,  who  was  kneeling  almost  senseless  at  the  win- 
dow, gazing  at  the  executioner  and  his  hideous  prepara- 
tions. The  instinct  of  the  poor  girl  had  not  failed  her; 
she  knew  that  Jacob  was  her  only  protector,  if  not  of  her 
life — heaven  bless  him!  — of  her  honor.  “Indeed,”  the 
old  man  said,  in  a stout  voice,  “ this  must  never  be,  my 
dearest  child  — you  must  not  marry  this  man.  If  it  be 
the  will  of  Providence  that  we  fall,  we  shall  have  at  least 
the  thought  to  console  us  that  we  die  innocent.  Any  man 1 
in  France  at  a time  like  this,  would  be  a coward  and  traitor 
if  he  feared  to  meet  the  fate  of  the  thousand  brave  and 
good  who  have  preceded  us.” 

“Who  speaks  of  dying  ?”  said  Edward.  “You,  Brother 
Jacob?  — you  would  not  lay  that  poor  girl’s  head  on  the 
scaffold,  or  mine,  your  dear  brother’s.  You  will  not  let  us 
die,  Mary ; you  will  not,  for  a small  sacrifice,  bring  your 
poor  old  father  into  danger  ? ” 


150 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK. 


Mary  made  no  answer.  “ Perhaps,”  she  said,  “ there  is 
time  for  escape  : he  is  to  be  here  but  in  two  hours  ; in  two 
hours  we  may  be  safe,  in  concealment,  or  on  the  frontier.” 
And  she  rushed  to  the  door  of  the  chamber,  as  if  she  would 
have  instantly  made  the  attempt : two  gendarmes  were  at 
the  door.  “ We  have  orders,  Mademoiselle,”  they  said,  “to 
allow  no  one  to  leave  this  apartment  until  the  return  of  the 
citizen  Schneider.” 

Alas  ! all  hope  of  escape  was  impossible.  Mary  became 
quite  silent  for  a while;  she  would  not  speak  to  uncle 
J acob ; and,  in  reply  to  her  father’s  eager  questions,  she 
only  replied,  coldly,  that  she  would  answer  Schneider  when 
he  arrived. 

The  two  dreadful  hours  passed  away  only  too  quickly ; 
and,  punctual  to  his  appointment,  the  ex-monk  appeared. 
Directly  he  entered,  Mary  advanced  to  him,  and  said, 
calmly,  — 

“ Sir,  I could  not  deceive  you  if  I said  that  I freely 
accepted  the  offer  which  you  have  made  me.  I will  be 
your  wife ; but  I tell  you  that  I love  another ; and  that  it  is 
only  to  save  the  lives  of  those  two  old  men  that  I yield  my 
person  up  to  you.” 

Schneider  bowed,  and  said,  — 

“It  is  bravely  spoken.  I like  your  candor  — your 
beauty.  As  for  the  love,  excuse  me  for  saying  that  is  a 
matter  of  total  indifference.  I have  no  doubt,  however, 
that  it  will  come  as  soon  as  your  feelings  in  favor  of  the 
young  gentleman,  your  cousin,  have  lost  their  present  fer- 
vor. That  engaging  young  man  has  at  present,  another 
mistress  — Glory.  He  occupies,  I believe,  the  distinguished 
post  of  corporal  in  a regiment  which  is  about  to  march  to 
— Perpignan,  I believe.” 

It  was,  in  fact,  Monsieur  Schneider’s  polite  intention  to 
banish  me  as  far  as  possible  from  the  place  of  my  birth : 
and  he  had,  accordingly,  selected  the  Spanish  frontier 
as  the  spot  where  I was  to  display  my  future  military 
talent. 

Mary  gave  no  answer  to  this  sneer : she  seemed  perfectly 
resigned  and  calm  : she  only  said,  — 

“ I must  make,  however,  some  conditions  regarding  our 
proposed  marriage,  which  a gentleman  of  Monsieur  Schnei- 
der’s gallantry  cannot  refuse.” 

“Pray  command  me,”  replied  the  husband  elect.  “Fair 
lady,  you  know  I am  your  slave.” 


THE  STORY  OF  MARY  ANGEL . 


151 


“ You  occupy  a distinguished  political  rank,  citizen  rep- 
resentative/’ said  she ; “ and  we  in  our  village  are  likewise 
known  and  beloved.  I should  be  ashamed,  I confess,  to  wed 
you  here ; for  our  people  would  wonder  at  the  sudden  mar- 
riage, and  imply  that  it  was  only  by  compulsion  that  I gave 
you  my  hand.  Let  us,  then,  perform  this  ceremony  at 
Strasburg,  before  the  public  authorities  of  the  city,  with 
the  state  and  solemnity  which  befits  the  marriage  of  one  of 
the  chief  men  of  the  Republic.” 

“Be  it  so  madam,”  he  answered,  and  gallantly  proceeded 
to  embrace  his  bride. 

Mary  did  not  shrink  from  this  ruffian’s  kiss  ; nor  did  she 
reply  when  poor  old  Jacob,  who  sat  sobbing  in  a corner, 
burst  out,  and  said,  — 

“ 0 Mary,  Mary,  I did  not  think  this  of  thee  ! ” 

“ Silence  brother  ! ” hastily  said  Edward  ; “ my  good  son- 
in-law  will  pardon  your  ill-humor.” 

I believe  uncle  Edward  in  his  heart  was  pleased  at  the 
notion  of  the  marriage ; he  only  cared  for  money  and  rank, 
and  was  little  scrupulous  as  to  the  means  of  obtaining 
them. 

The  matter  then  was  finally  arranged;  and  presently, 
after  Schneider  had  transacted  the  affairs  which  brought 
him  into  that  part  of  the  country,  the  happy  bridal  party 
set  forward  for  Strasburg.  Uncles  Jacob  and  Edward  occu- 
pied the  back  seat  of  the  old  family  carriage,  and  the 
young  bride  and  bridegroom  (he  was  nearly  Jacob’s  age) 
were  seated  majestically  in  front.  Mary  has  often  since 
talked  to  me  of  this  dreadful  journey.  She  said  she 
wondered  at  the  scrupulous  politeness  of  Schneider  during 
the  route ; nay,  that  at  another  period  she  could  have  lis- 
tened to  and  admired  the  singular  talent  of  this  man,  his 
great  learning,  his  fancy,  and  wit ; but  her  mind  was  bent 
upon  other  things,  and  the  poor  girl  firmly  thought  that 
her  last  day  was  come. 

In  the  mean  time,  by  a blessed  chance,  I had  not  ridden 
three  leagues  from  Strasburg,  when  the  officer  of  a pass- 
ing troop  of  a cavalry  regiment,  looking  at  the  beast  on 
which  I was  mounted,  was  pleased  to  take  a fancy  to  it, 
and  ordered  me,  in  an  authoritative  tone,  to  descend,  and  to 
give  up  my  steed  for  the  benefit  of  the  Republic.  I repre- 
sented to  him,  in  vain,  that  I was  a soldier,  like  himself,  and 
the  bearer  of  despatches  to  Paris.  “ Fool ! ” he  said ; “ do 
you  think  they  would  send  despatches  by  a man  who  can 


152 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK 


ride  at  best  but  ten  leagues  a day  ? ” And  the  honest  soldier 
was  so  wroth  at  my  supposed  duplicity,  that  he  not  only  con- 
fiscated my  horse,  but  my  saddle,  and  the  little  portmanteau 
which  contained  the  chief  part  of  my  worldly  goods  and 
treasure.  I had  nothing  for  it  but  to  dismount,  and  take 
my  way  on  foot  back  again  to  Strasburg.  I arrived  there 
in  the  evening,  determining  the  next  morning  to  make  my 
case  known  to  the  citizen  St.  Just  5 and  though  I made  my 
entry  without  a sou,  I don’t  know  what  secret  exultation  I 
felt  at  again  being  able  to  return. 

The  ante-chamber  of  such  a great  man  as  St.  Just  was, 
in  those  days,  too  crowded  for  an  unprotected  boy  to  obtain 
an  early  audience ; two  days  passed  before.I  could  obtain  a 
sight  of  the  friend  of  Robespierre.  On  the  third  day,  as  I 
was  still  waiting  for  the  interview,  I heard  a great  bustle 
in  the  court-yard  of  the  house,  and  looked  out  with  many 
others  at  the  spectacle. 

A number  of  men  and  women,  singing  epithalamiums, 
and  dressed  in  some  absurd  imitation  of  Roman  costume,  a 
troop  of  soldiers  and  gendarmerie,  and  an  immense  crowd 
of  the  badauds  of  Strasburg,  were  surrounding  a carriage 
which  then  entered  the  court  of  the  mayoralty.  In  this 
carriage,  great  God  ! I saw  my  dear  Mary,  and  Schneider 
by  her  side.  The  truth  instantly  came  upon  me : the 
reason  for  Schneider’s  keen  inquiries  and  my  abrupt  dis- 
missal ; but  I could  not  believe  that  Mary  was  false  to  me. 
I had  only  to  look  in  her  face,  white  and  rigid  as  marble,  to 
see  that  this  proposed  marriage  was  not  with  her  consent. 

I fell  back  in  the  crowd  as  the  procession  entered  the 
great  room  in  which  I was,  and  hid  my  face  in  my  hands  : 
I could  not  look  upon  her  as  the  wife  of  another,  — upon 
her  so  long  loved  and  truly  — the  saint  of  my  childhood  — 
the  pride  and*  hope  of  my  youth  — torn  from  me  for  ever, 
and  delivered  over  to  the  unholy  arms  of  the  murderer 
who  stood  before  me. 

The  door  of  St.  Just’s  private  apartment  opened,  and  he 
took  his  seat  at  the  table  of  mayoralty  just  as  Schneider 
and  his  cortege  arrived  before  it. 

Schneider  then  said  that  he  came  in  before  the  authorities 
of  the  Republic  to  espouse  the  citoyenne  Marie  Ancel. 

“ Is  she  a minor  ? ” asked  St.  Just. 

“ She  is  a minor,  but  her  father  is  here  to  give  her  away.  ” 

“ I am  here,  ” said  uncle  Edward,  coming  eagerly  for- 
ward and  bowing.  “ Edward  Ancel,  so  please  you,  citizen 


THE  STORY  OF  MARY  AN  CEL. 


153 


representative.  The  worthy  citizen  Schneider  has  done 
me  the  honor  of  marrying  into  my  family.  ” 

“But  my  father  has  not  told  you  the  terms  of  the 
marriage,  ” said  Mary,  interrupting  him,  in  a loud,  clear 
voice. 

Here  Schneider  seized  her  hand,  and  endeavored  to  pre- 
vent her  from  speaking.  Her  father  turned  pale,  and  cried, 
“ Stop,  Mary,  stop  ! For  heaven’s  sake,  remember  your 
poor  old  father’s  danger ! ’’ 

“ Sir,  may  I speak  ? ’’ 


“Let  the  young  woman  speak,”  said  St.  Just,  “'if  she 
have  a desire  to  talk.  ” He  did  not  suspect  what  would  be 
the  purport  of  her  story. 

“Sir,”  she  said,  “two  days  since  the  citizen  Schneider 
entered  for  the  first  time  our  house  ; and  you  will  fancy  that 
it  must  be  a love  of  very  sudden  growth  which  has  brought 
either  him  or  me  before  you  to-day.  He  had  heard  from 
a person  who  is  now  unhappily  not  present,  of  my  name 
and  of  the  wealth  which  my  family  was  said  to  possess ; 


154 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK 


and  hence  arose  this  mad  design  concerning  me.  He  came 
into  our  village  with  supreme  power,  an  executioner  at  his 
heels,  and  the  soldiery  and  authorities  of  the  district 
entirely  under  his  orders.  He  threatened  my  father  with 
death  if  he  refused  to  give  up  his  daughter;  and  I,  who 
knew  that  there  was  no  chance  of  escape,  except  here 
before  you,  consented  to  become  his  wife.  My  father  I 
know  to  be  innocent,  for  all  his  transactions  with  the  State 
have  passed  through  my  hands.  Citizen  representative,  I 
demand  to  be  freed  from  this  marriage ; and  I charge 
Schneider  as  a traitor  to  the  Republic,  as  a man  who  would 
have  murdered  an  innocent  citizen  for  the  sake  of  private 
gain.  ” 

During  the  delivery  of  this  little  speech,  uncle  Jacob 
had  been  sobbing  and  panting  like  a broken-winded  horse  ; 
and  when  Mary  had  done,  he  rushed  up  to  her  and  kissed 
her,  and  held  her  tight  in  his  arms.  “ Bless  thee,  my 
child ! ” he  cried,  “ for  having  had  the  courage  to  speak 
the  truth,  and  shame  thy  old  father  and  me,  who  dared  not 
say  a word.  ” 

“The  girl  amazes  me,  ” said  Schneider,  with  a look  of 
astonishment.  “I  never  saw  her,  it  is  true,  till  yesterday; 
but  I used  no  force : her  father  gave  her  to  me  with  his 
free  consent,  and  she  yielded  as  gladly.  Speak,  Edward 
Ancel,  was  it  not  so  ? ” 

“ It  was,  indeed,  by  my  free  consent,  ” said  Edward, 
trembling. 

“ For  shame,  brother ! ” cried  old  Jacob.  “ Sir,  it  was  by 
Edward’s  free  consent  and  my  niece’s  ; but  the  guillotine 
was  in  the  court-yard ! Question  Schneider’s  famulus,  the 
man  Gregoire,  him  who  reads  ‘ The  Sorrows  of  Werter.  ’ ” 

Gregoire  stepped  forward,  and  looked  hesitatingly  at 
Schneider,  as  he  said,  “ I know  not  what  took  place  within 
doors  ; but  I was  ordered  to  put  up  the  scaffold  without ; 
and  I was  told  to  get  soldiers,  and  let  no  one  leave  the 
house.  ” 

“ Citizen  St.  Just,  ” cried  Schneider,  “you  will  not  allow 
the  testimony  of  a ruffian  like  this,  of  a foolish  girl,  and  a 
mad  ex-priest,  to  weigh  against  the  word  of  one  who  has 
done  such  service  to  the  Republic : it  is  a base  conspiracy 
to  betray  me ; the  whole  family  is  known  to  favor  the 
interest  of  the  emigres.  ” 

“And  therefore  you  would  marry  a member  of  the 
family,  and  allow  the  others  to  escape ; you  must  make  a 
better  defence,  citizen  Schneider,  ” said  St.  Just,  sternly. 


THE  STORY  OF  MARY  AN  CEL, 


155 


Here  I came  forward,  and  said  that,  three  days  since,  I 
had  received,  an  order  to  quit  Strasburg  for  Paris  immedi- 
ately after  a conversation  with  Schneider,  in  which  I had 
asked  him  his  aid  in  promoting  my  marriage  with  my 
cousin,  Mary  Ancel;  that  he  had  heard  from  me  full 
accounts  regarding  her  father’s  wealth  ; and  that  he  had 
abruptly  caused  my  dismissal,  in  order  to  carry  on  his 
scheme  against  her. 

“ You  are  in  the  uniform  of  a regiment  of  this  town ; 
who  sent  you  from  it  ? ” said  St.  Just. 

I produced  the  order,  signed  by  himself,  and  the  des- 
patches which  Schneider  had  sent  me. 

“ The  signature  is  mine,  but  the  despatches  did  not  come 
from  my  office.  Can  you  prove  in  any  way  your  conversation 
with  Schneider  ? ” 

“Why,  ” said  my  sentimental  friend  Gregoire,  “for  the 
matter  of  that,  I can  answer  that  the  lad  was  always  talk- 
ing about  this  young  woman : he  told  me  the  whole  story 
himself,  and  many  a good  laugh  I had  with  citizen 
Schneider  as  we  talked  about  it.  ” 

“ The  charge  against  Edward  Ancel  must  be  examined 
into,  ” said  St.  J ust.  “ The  marriage  cannot  take  place.  But 
if  I had  ratified  it,  Mary  Ancel,  what  then  would  have  been 
your  course  ? ” 

Mary  felt  for  a moment  in  her  bosom,  and  said  — “ He 
would  have  died  to-night  — I would  have  stabbed  him  with 
this  dagger . 99  * 

The  rain  was  beating  down  the  streets,  and  yet  they 
were  thronged ; all  the  world  was  hastening  to  the  market- 
place, where  the  worthy  Gregoire  was  about  to  perform 
some  of  the  pleasant  duties  of  his  office.  On  this  occasion, 
it  was  not  death  he  was  to  inflict ; he  was  only  to  expose 
a criminal  who  was  to  be  sent  on  afterwards  to  Paris.  St. 
Just  had  ordered  that  Schneider  should  stand  for  six  hours 
in  the  public  place  of  Strasburg,  and  then  be  sent  on  to  the 
capital  to  be  dealt  with  as  the  authorities  might  think  fit. 

The  people  followed  with  execrations  the  villain  to  his 
place  of  punishment;  and  Gregoire  grinned  as  he  fixed  up 
to  the  post  the  man  whose  orders  he  had  obeyed  so  often — 
who  had  delivered  over  to  disgrace  and  punishment  so 
many  who  merited  it  not. 

* This  reply,  and,  indeed,  the  .whole  of  the  story,  is  historical.  An 
account,  by  Charles  Nodier,  in  the  Revue  de  Paris,  suggested  it  to  the 
writer. 


156 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK 


Schneider  was  left  for  several  hours  exposed  to  the 
mockery  and  insults  of  the  mob  ; he  was  then,  according  to 
his  sentence,  marched  on  to  Paris,  where  it  is  probable  that 
he  would  have  escaped  death,  but  for  his  own  fault.  He 
was  left  for  some  time  in  prison,  quite  unnoticed,  perhaps 
forgotten  : day  by  day  fresh  victims  were  carried  to  the 
scaffold,  and  yet  the  Alsacian  tribune  remained  alive ; at 
last,  by  the  mediation  of  one  of  his  friends,  a long  petition 
was  presented  to  Robespierre,  stating  his  services  and  his 
innocence,  and  demanding  his  freedom.  The  reply  to  this 
was  an  order  for  his  instant  execution  : the  wretch  died  in 
the  last  days  of  Robespierre’s  reign.  His  comrade,  St. 
Just,  followed  him,  as  you  know  ; but  Edward  Ancel  had 
been  released  before  this,  for  the  action  of  my  brave  Mary 
had  created  a strong  feeling  in  his  favor. 

“ And  Mary  ? ” said  I. 

Here  a stout  and  smiling  old  lady  entered  the  Captain’s 
little  room  : she  was  leaning  on  the  arm  of  a military -look- 
ing man  of  some  forty  years,  and  followed  by  a number  of 
noisy,  rosy  children. 

“ This  is  Mary  Ancel,  ” said  the  Captain,  “ and  I am  Cap- 
tain Pierre,  and  yonder  is  the  Colonel,  my  son ; and  you 
see  us  here  assembled  in  force,  for  it  is  the  fete  of  little 
Jacob  yonder,  whose  brothers  and  sisters  have  all  come 
from  their  schools  to  dance  at  his  birthday.” 


BEATRICE  MERGER. 


EATRICE  MERGER,  whose 
name  might  figure  at  the  head 
of  one  of  Mr.  Colburn’s  polit- 
est romances — so  smooth  and 
aristocratic  does  it  sound  — 
is  no  heroine,  except  of  her 
own  simple  history ; she  is  not 
a fashionable  French  Count- 
ess, nor  even  a victim  of  the 
Revolution. 

She  is  a stout,  sturdy  girl  of 
two-and-twenty,  with  a face 
beaming  with  good  nature, 
and  marked  dreadfully  by 
small-pox ; and  a pair  of  black 
eyes,  which  might  have  done 
some  execution  had  they  been 
placed  in  a smoother  face. 
Beatrice’s  station  in  society 
is  not  very  exalted  ; she  is  a servant  of  all-work : she  will 
dress  your  wife,  your  dinner,  your  children  ; she  does  beef- 
steaks and  plain  work ; she  makes  beds,  blacks  boots,  and 
waits  at  table ; — such,  at  least,  were  the  offices  which  she 
performed  in  the  fashionable  establishment  of  the  writer  of 
this  book ; perhaps  her  history  may  not  inaptly  occupy  a 
few  pages  of  it. 

“ My  father  died,”  said  Beatrice,  “ about  six  years  since, 
and  left  my  poor  mother  with  little  else  but  a small  cot- 
tage and  a strip  of  land,  and  four  children  too  young  to 
work.  It  was  hard  enough  in  my  father’s  time  to  supply  so 
many  little  mouths  with  food ; and  how  was  a poor  wid- 
owed woman  to  provide  for  them  now,  who  had  neither  the 
strength  nor  the  opportunity  for  labor  ? 

157 


158 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK . 


“Besides  us,  to  be  sure,  there  was  my  old  aunt;  and  she 
would  have  helped  us,  but  she  could  not,  for  the  old  woman 
is  bed-ridden ; so  she  did  nothing  but  occupy  our  best  room, 
and  grumble  from  morning  till  night : heaven  knows,  poor 
old  soul,  that  she  had  no  great  reason  to  be  very  happy  ; 
for  you  know,  sir,  that  it  frets  the  temper  to  be  sick ; and 
that  it  is  worse  still  to  be  sick  and  hungry  too. 

“ At  that  time,  in  the  country  where  we  lived  ( in  Picardy, 
not  very  far  from  Boulogne ),  times  were  so  bad  that  the 
best  workman  could  hardly  find  employ ; and  when  he  did, 
he  was  happy  if  he  could  earn  a matter  of  twelve  sous  a 
day.  Mother,  work  as  she  would,  could  not  gain  more  than 
six ; and  it  was  a hard  job,  out  of  this,  to  put  meat  into  six 
bellies,  and  clothing  on  six  backs.  Old  Aunt  Bridget  would 
scold,  as  she  got  her  portion  of  black  bread ; and  my  little 
brothers  used  to  cry  if  theirs  did  not  come  in  time.  I,  too, 
used  to  cry  when  I got  my  share ; for  mother  kept  only  a 
little,  little  piece  for  herself,  and  said  that  she  had  dined  in 
the  fields,  — God  pardon  her  for  the  lie ! and  bless  her, 
as  I am  sure  He  did  ; for,  but  for  Him,  no  working  man  or 
woman  could  subsist  upon  such  a wretched  morsel  as  my 
dear  mother  took. 

“ I was  a thin,  ragged,  barefooted  girl,  then,  and  sickly 
and  weak  for  want  of  food ; but  I think  I felt  mother’s 
hunger  more  than  my  own  : and  many  and  many  a bitter 
night  I lay  awake,  crying,  and  praying  to  God  to  give  me 
means  of  working  for  myself  and  aiding  her.  And  he  has, 
indeed,  been  good  to  me,”  said  pious  Beatrice,  “ for  He 
has  given  me  all  this ! 

“ Well,  time  rolled  on,  and  matters  grew  worse  than  ever : 
winter  came,  and  was  colder  to  us  than  any  other  winter, 
for  our  clothes  were  thinner  and  more  torn  ; mother  some- 
times could  find  no  work,  for  the  fields  in  which  she  labored 
were  hidden  under  the  snow;  so  that  when  we  wanted 
them  most  we  had  them  least  — warmth,  work,  or  food. 

“ I knew  that,  do  what  I would,  mother  would  never  let 
me  leave  her,  because  I looked  to  my  little  brothers  and  my 
old  cripple  of  an  aunt ; but  still,  bread  was  better  for  us 
than  all  my  service  ; and  when  I left  them  the  six  would 
have  a slice  more;  so  I determined  to  bid  good-by  to 
nobody,  but  to  go  away,  and  look  for  work  elsewhere.  One 
Sunday,  when  mother  and  the  little  ones  were  at  church,  I 
went  in  to  Aunt  Bridget,  and  said,  ‘Tell  mother,  when  she 
comes  back,  that  Beatrice  is  gone.’  I spoke  quite  stoutly, 
as  if  I did  not  care  about  it. 


BEATRICE  MERGER . 


159 


“ ‘ Gone ! gone  where?5  said  she.  ‘You  ain’t  going  to 
leave  me  alone,  you  nasty  thing;  you  ain’t  going  to  the 
village  to  dance,  you  ragged,  barefooted  slut : you’re  all  of 
a piece  in  this  house  — your  mother,  your  brothers,  and 
you.  I know  you’ve  got  meat  in  the  kitchen,  and  you  only 
give  me  black  bread ; ’ and  here  the  old  lady  began  to 
scream  as  if  her  heart  would  break ; but  we  did  not  mind 
it,  we  were  so  used  to  it. 

“‘Aunt,’  said  I,  ‘I’m  going,  and  took  this  very  oppor- 
tunity because  you  were  alone : tell  mother  I am  too  old 
now  to  eat  her  bread,  and  do  no  work  for  it:  I am  going, 
please  God,  where  work  and  bread  can  be  found : ’ and  so  I 
kissed  her : she  was  so  astonished  that  she  could  not  move 
or  speak ; and  I walked  away  through  the  old  room,  and 
the  little  garden,  God  knows  whither ! 

“ I heard  the  old  woman  screaming  after  me,  but  I did 
not  stop  nor  turn  round.  I don’t  think  I could,  for  my 
heart  was  very  full ; and  if  I had  gone  back  again,  I should 
never  have  had  the  courage  to  go  away.  So  I walked  a 
long,  long  way,  until  night  fell;  and  I thought  of  poor 
mother  coming  home  from  mass,  and  not  finding  me ; and 
little  Pierre  shouting  out,  in  his  clear  voice,  for  Beatrice  to 
bring  him  his  supper.  I think  I should  like  to  have  died 
that  night,  and  I thought  I should  too;  for  when  I was 
obliged  to  throw  myself  on  the  cold,  hard  ground,  my  feet 
were  too  torn  and  weary  to  bear  me  any  further. 

“Just  then  the  moon  got  up;  and  do  you  know  I felt  a 
comfort  in  looking  at  it,  for  I knew  it  was  shining  on  our 
little  cottage,  and  it  seemed  like  an  old  friend’s  face ! A 
little  way  on,  as  I saw  by  the  moon,  was  a village : and  I 
saw,  too,  that  a man  was  coming  towards  me  ; he  must  have 
heard  me  crying,  I suppose. 

“ Was  not  God  good  to  me?  This  man  was  a farmer, 
who  had  need  of  a girl  in  his  house  ; he  made  me  tell  him 
why  I was  alone,  and  I told  him  the  same  story  I have 
told  you,  and  he  believed  me  and  took  me  home.  I had 
walked  six  long  leagues  from  our  village  that  day,  asking 
everywhere  for  work  in  vain ; and  here,  at  bedtime,  I found 
a bed  and  a supper  ! 

“ Here  I lived  very  well  for  some  months ; my  master 
was  very  good  and  kind  to  me  ; but,  unluckily,  too  poor  to 
give  me  any  wages ; so  that  I could  save  nothing  to  send  to 
my  poor  mother.  My  mistress  used  to  scold  ; but  I was 
used  to  that  at  home,  from  Aunt  Bridget : and  she  beat  me 


160 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK 


sometimes,  but  I did  not  mind  it ; for  your  hardy  country 
girl  is  not  like  your  tender  town  lasses,  who  cry  if  a pin 
pricks  them,  and  give  warning  to  their  mistresses  at  the 
first  hard  word.  The  only  drawback  to  my  comfort  was, 
that  I had  no  news  of  my  mother;  I could  not  write  to  her, 
nor  could  she  have  read  my  letter,  if  I had ; so  there  I was, 
at  only  six  leagues’  distance  from  home,  as  far  off  as  if  I 
had  been  to  Paris  or  to  ’Merica. 

“ However,  in  a few  months  I grew  so  listless  and  home- 
sick, that  my  mistress  said  she  would  keep  me  no  longer ; 
and  though  I went  away  as  poor  as  I came,  I was  still  too 
glad  to  go  back  to  the  old  village  again,  and  see  dear 
mother,  if  it  were  but  for  a day.  I knew  she  would  share 
her  crust  with  me,  as  she  had  done  for  so  long  a time  be- 
fore ; and  hoped  that,  now,  as  I was  taller  and  stronger,  I 
might  find  work  more  easily  in  the  neighborhood. 

“ You  may  fancy  what  a fete  it  was  when  I came  back  ; 
though  I’m  sure  we  cried  as  much  as  if  it  had  been  a 
funeral.  Mother  got  into  a fit,  which  frightened  us  all; 
and  as  for  Aunt  Bridget,  she  skreeled  away  for  hours  to- 
gether, and  did  not  scold  for  two  days  at  least.  Little 
Pierre  offered  me  the  whole  of  his  supper ; poor  little  man ! 
bis  slice  of  bread  was  no  bigger  than  before  I went  away. 

“ Well,  I got  a little  work  here  and  a little  there ; but 
still  I was  a burden  at  home  rather  than  a bread-winner ; 
and,  at  the  closing-in  of  the  winter,  was  very  glad  to  hear 
of  a place  at  two  leagues’  distance,  where  work,  they  said, 
was  to  be  had.  Off  I set,  one  morning,  to  find  it,  but 
missed  my  way,  somehow,  until  it  was  night-time  before  I 
arrived.  Night-time  and  snow  again;  it  seemed  as  if  all 
my  journeys  were  to  be  made  in  this  bitter  weather. 

“ When  I came  to  the  farmer’s  door,  his  house  was  shut 
up,  and  his  people  all  a-bed ; I knocked  for  a long  while  in 
vain ; at  last  he  made  his  appearance  at  a window  up  stairs, 
and  seemed  so  frightened,  and  looked  so  angry  that  I sup- 
pose he  took  me  for  a thief.  I told  him  how  I had  come 
for  work.  6 Who  comes  for  work  at  such  an  hour  ? ’ said 
he.  ‘ Go  home,  you  impudent  baggage,  and  do  not  disturb 
honest  people  out  of  their  sleep.’  He  banged  the  window 
to  ; and  so  I was  left  alone  to  shift  for  myself  as  I might. 
There  was  no  shed,  no  cow-house,  where  I could  find  a bed ; 
so  I got  under  a cart,  on  some  straw ; it  was  no  very  warm 
berth.  I could  not  sleep  for  the  cold : and  the  hours 
passed  so  slowly,  that  it  seemed  as  if  I had  been  there  a 


BEATRICE  MERGER . 


161 


week  instead  of  a night ; but  still  it  was  not  so  bad  as  the 
first  night  when  I left  home,  and  when  the  good  farmer 
found  me. 

“ In  the  morning,  before  it  was  light,  the  farmer’s  people 
came  out,  and  saw  me  crouching  under  the  cart : they  told 
me  to  get  up ; but  I was  so  cold  that  I could  not : at  last 
the  man  himself  came,  and  recognized  me  as  the  girl  who 
had  disturbed  him  the  night  before.  When  he  heard  my 
name,  and  the  purpose  for  which  I came,  this  good  man 
took  me  into  the  house,  and  put  me  into  one  of  the  beds 


out  of  which  his  sons  had  just  got;  and,  if  I was  cold 
before,  you  may  be  sure  I was  warm  and  comfortable  now  ! 
such  a bed  as  this  I had  never  slept  in,  nor  ever  did  I have 
such  good  milk-soup  as  he  gave  me  out  of  his  own  break- 
fast. Well,  he  agreed  to  hire  me  : and  what  do  you  think 
he  gave  me  ? — six  sous  a day  ! and  let  me  sleep  in  the  cow- 
house besides  : you  may  fancy  how  happy  I was  now,  at  the 
prospect  of  earning  so  much  money. 

“ There  was  an  old  woman  among  the  laborers  who  used 
11 


162 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK. 


to  sell  us  soup  : I got  a cupful  every  day  for  a half-penny, 
with  a bit  of  bread  in  it ; and  might  eat  as  much  beet-root 
besides  as  I liked  ; not  a very  wholesome  meal,  to  be  sure, 
but  God  took  care  that  it  should  not  disagree  with  me. 

“ So,  every  Saturday,  when  work  was  over,  I had  thirty 
sous  to  carry  home  to  mother  ; and  tired  though  I was,  I 
walked  merrily  the  two  leagues  to  our  village,  to  see  her 
again.  On  the  road  there  was  a great  wood  to  pass 
through,  and  this  frightened  me ; for  if  a thief  should  come 
and  rob  me  of  my  whole  week’s  earnings,  what  could  a 
poor  lone  girl  do  to  help  herself  ? But  I found  a remedy 
for  this  too,  and  no  thieves  ever  came  near  me ; I used  to 
begin  saying  my  prayers  as  I entered  the  forest,  and  never 
stopped  until  I was  safe  at  home ; and  safe  I always 
arrived,  with  my  thirty  sous  in  my  pocket.  Ah  ! you  may 
be  sure,  Sunday  was  a merry  day  for  us  all.” 

This  is  the  whole  of  Beatrice’s  history  which  is  worthy 
of  publication  ; the  rest  of  it  only  relates  to  her  arrival  in 
Paris,  and  the  various  masters  and  mistresses  whom  she 
there  had  the  honor  to  serve.  As  soon  as  she  enters  the 
capital  the  romance  disappears,  and  the  poor  girl’s  suffer- 
ings and  privations  luckily  vanish  with  it.  Beatrice  has 
got  now  warm  gowns,  and  stout  shoes,  and  plenty  of  good 
food.  She  has  had  her  little  brother  from  Picardy ; 
clothed,  fed,  and  educated  him : that  young  gentleman  is 
now  a carpenter,  and  an  honor  to  his  profession.  Madame 
Merger  is  in  easy  circumstances,  and  receives,  yearly,  fifty 
francs  from  her  daughter.  To  crown  all,  Mademoiselle 
Beatrice  herself  is  a funded  proprietor,  and  consulted  the 
writer  of  this  biography  as  to  the  best  method  of  laying 
out  a capital  of  two  hundred  francs,  which  is  the  present 
amount  of  her  fortune. 

God  bless  her ! she  is  richer  than  his  Grace  the  Duke  of 
Devonshire ; and,  I dare  say,  has,  in  her  humble  walk,  been 
more  virtuous  and  more  happy  than  all  the  dukes  in  the 
realm. 

It  is,  indeed,  for  the  benefit  of  dukes  and  such  great  peo- 
ple ( who,  I make  no  doubt,  have  long  since  ordered  copies 
of  these  Sketches),  that  poor  little  Beatrice’s  story  has 
been  indited.  Certain  it  is,  that  the  young  woman  would 
never  have  been  immortalized  in  this  way,  but  for  the  good 
which  her  betters  may  derive  from  her  example.  If  your 
ladyship  will  but  reflect  a little,  after  boasting  of  the  sums 


BEATRICE  MERGER. 


163 


which  you  spend  in  charity ; the  beef  and  blankets  which 
you  dole  out  at  Christmas;  the  poonah-painting  which  you 
execute  for  fancy  fairs ; the  long,  long  sermons  which  you 
listen  to  at  St.  George’s,  the  whole  year  through  ; — your 
ladyship,  I say,  will  allow  that,  although  perfectly  merito- 
rious in  your  line,  as  a patroness  of  the  Church  of  England, 
of  Almack’s,  and  of  the  Lying-in  Asylum,  yours  is  but  a 
paltry  sphere  of  virtue,  a pitiful  attempt  at  benevolence, 
and  that  this  honest  servant-girl  puts  you  to  shame ! And 
you,  my  Lord  Bishop ; do  you,  out  of  your  six  sous  a day, 
give  away  five  to  support  your  flock  and  family  ? Would 
you  drop  a single  coach-horse  ( I do  not  say  a dinner , for 
such  a notion  is  monstrous,  in  one  of  your  lordship’s  de- 
gree ),  to  feed  any  one  of  the  starving  children  of  your 
lordship’s  mother  — the  Church  ? 

I pause  for  a reply.  His  lordship  took  too  much  turtle 
and  cold  punch  for  dinner  yesterday,  and  cannot  speak  just 
now ; but  we  have,  by  this  ingenious  question,  silenced  him 
altogether  : let  the  world  wag  as  it  will,  and  poor  Christians 
and  curates  starve  as  they  may,  my  lord’s  footmen  must 
have  their  new  liveries,  and  his  horses  their  four  feeds 
a day. 

When  we  recollect  his  speech  about  the  Catholics  — 
when  we  remember  his  last  charity  sermon, — but  I say 
nothing.  Here  is  a poor  benighted  superstitious  creature, 
worshipping  images,  without  a rag  to  her  tail,  who  has  * as 
much  faith,  and  humility,  and  charity  as  all  the  reverend 
bench. 

This  angel  is  without  a place ; and  for  this  reason 
( besides  the  pleasure  of  composing  the  above  slap  at  epis- 
copacy ) — I have  indited  her  history.  If  the  Bishop  is 
going  to  Paris,  and  wants  a good  honest  maid-of-all-work,  he 
can  have  her,  I have  no  doubt;  or  if  he  chooses  to  give  a 
few  pounds  to  her  mother,  they  can  be  sent  to  Mr.  Titmarsh, 
at  the  publisher’s. 

Here  is  Miss  Mergers  last  letter  and  autograph.  The 
note  was  evidently  composed  by  an  Ecrivain  'public : — 

“ Madame , — Ay  ant  apris  par  ce  Monsieur , que  vous  vous 
portiez  bien , ainsi  que  Monsieur , ay  ant  su  aussi  que  vous 
parliez  de  moi  dans  votre  lettre  cette  nouvelle  m’a  fait  bien 
plaisir  Je  profite  de  V occasion  p>our  vous  faire  passer  ce 


164 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK. 


petit  billet  oil  Je  voudrais  pouvoir  m'enveloper  pour  alter 
vous  voir  et  pour  vous  dire  que  Je  suis  encore  sans  place 
Je  m’ennuye  tojours  de  ne  pas  vous  voir  ainsi  que  Minette 
( Minette  is  a cat ) qui  semble  m’interroger  tour  a tour  et  de- 
mander  oil  vous  etes . Je  vous  envoye  aussi  la  note  du  tinge , 
a blanchir  — ah , Madame  ! Je  vais  cesser  de  vous  ecrire  mais 
non  de  vous  regretter  ” 


CARICATURES  AND 
LITHOGRAPHY  IN  PARIS. 


IFTY  years  ago  there  lived  at 
Munich  a poor  fellow,  by 
name  Aloys  Senefelder,  who 
was  in  so  little  repute  as 
an  author  and  artist,  that 
printers  and  engravers  re- 
fused to  publish  his  works  at 
their  own  charges,  and  so  set 
him  upon  some  plan  for  do- 
ing without  their  aid.  In  the 
first  place,  Aloys  invented  a 
certain  kind  of  ink,  which 
would  resist  the  action  of  the 
acid  that  is  usually  employed 
by  engravers,  and  with  this  he  made  his  experiments  upon 
copper-plates,  as  long  as  he  could  afford  to  purchase  them. 
He  found  that  to  write  upon  the  plates  backwards,  after 
the  manner  of  engravers,  required  much  skill  and  many 
trials ; and  he  thought  that,  were  he  to  practise  upon  any 
other  polished  surface  — a smooth  stone,  for  instance,  the 
least  costly  article  imaginable  — he  might  spare  the  ex- 
pense of  the  copper  until  he  had  sufficient  skill  to  use  it. 

One  day,  it  is  said,  that  Aloys  was  called  upon  to  write 
— rather  a humble  composition  for  an  author  and  artist  — 
a washing-bill.  He  had  no  paper  at  hand,  and  so  he  wrote 
out  the  bill  with  some  of  his  newly -invented  ink  upon  one 
of  his  Kelheim  stones.  Some  time  afterwards  he  thought 
he  would  try  and  take  an  impression  of  his  washing-bill : 
he  did,  and  succeeded.  Such  is  the  story,  which  the  reader 

165 


166 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK. 


most  likely  knows  very  well ; and  having  alluded  to  the 
origin  of  the  art,  we  shall  not  follow  the  stream  through 
its  windings  and  enlargement  after  it  issued  from  the  little 
parent  rock,  or  fill  our  pages  with  the  rest  of  the  pedigree. 
Senefelder  invented  Lithography.  His  invention  has  not 
made  so  much  noise  and  larum  in  the  world  as  some 
others,  which  have  an  origin  quite  as  humble  and  unroman- 
tic ; but  it  is  one  to  which  we  owe  no  small  profit,  and  a 
great  deal  of  pleasure ; and,  as  such,  we  are  bound  to  speak 
of  it  with  all  gratitude  and  respect.  The  schoolmaster, 
who  is  now  abroad,  has  taught  us  in  our  youth,  how  the 
cultivation  of  art  “ emollit  mores  nee  sinit  esse  ” — ( it  is 
needless  to  finish  the  quotation ) ; and  Lithography  has 
been,  to  our  thinking,  the  very  best  ally  that  art  ever  had ; 
the  best  friend  of  the  artist,  allowing  him  to  produce 
rapidly  multiplied  and  authentic  copies  of  his  own  works 
( without  trusting  to  the  tedious  and  expensive  assistance 
of  the  engraver ) ; and  the  best  friend  to  the  people  like- 
wise, who  have  means  of  purchasing  these  cheap  and  beau- 
tiful productions,  and  thus  having  their  ideas  u mollified” 
and  their  manners  “feros  ” no  more. 

With  ourselves,  among  whom  money  is  plenty,  enterprise 
so  great,  and  everything  matter  of  commercial  speculation, 
Lithography  has  not  been  so  much  practised  as  wood  or 
steel  engraving ; which,  by  the  aid  of  great  original  capi- 
tal and  spread  of  sale,  are  able  more  than  to  compete  with 
the  art  of  drawing  on  stone.  The  two  former  may  be 
called  art  done  by  machinery.  We  confess  to  a prejudice 
in  favor  of  the  honest  work  of  hand , in  matters  of  art, 
and  prefer  the  rough  workmanship  of  the  painter  to  the 
smooth  copies  of  his  performances  which  are  produced,  for 
the  most  part,  on  the  wood-block  or  the  steel-plate. 

The  theory  will  possibly  be  objected  to  by  many  of  our 
readers : the  best  proof  in  its  favor,  we  think,  is,  that  the 
state  of  art  amongst  the  people  in  France  and  Germany, 
where  publishers  are  not  so  wealthy  or  enterprising  as  with 
us,*  and  where  Lithography  is  more  practised,  is  infinitely 
higher  than  in  England,  and  the  appreciation  more  correct. 
As  draughtsmen,  the  French  and  German  painters  are 
incomparably  superior  to  our  own  ; and  with  art,  as  with 

* These  countries  are,  to  be  sure,  inundated  with  the  productions  of 
our  market,  in  the  siiape  of  Byron  Beauties  reprints  from  the  “ Keep- 
sakes,” “ Books  of  Beauty/’  and  such  trash  ; but  these  are  only  of  late 
years,  and  their  original  schools  of  art  are  still  flourishing. 


CARICATURES  AND  LITHOGRAPHY. 


167 


any  other  commodity,  the  demand  will  be  found  pretty 
equal  to  the  supply : with  us,  the  general  demand  is  for 
neatness,  prettiness,  and  what  is  called  effect  in  pictures, 
and  these  can  be  rendered  completely,  nay,  improved,  by 
the  engraver’s  conventional  manner  of  copying  the  artist’s 
performances.  But  to  copy  fine  expression  and  fine  draw- 
ing, the  engraver  himself  must  be  a fine  artist ; and  let  any- 
body examine  the  host  of  picture-books  which  appear  every 
Christmas,  and  say  whether,  for  the  most  part,  painters  or 
engravers  possess  any  artistic  merit  ? We  boast,  neverthe- 
less, of  some  of  the  best  engravers  and  painters  in  Europe. 
Here,  again,  the  supply  is  accounted  for  by  the  demand ; 
our  highest  class  is  richer  than  any  other  aristocracy,  quite 
as  well  instructed,  and  can  judge  and  pay  for  fine  pictures 
and  engravings.  But  these  costly  productions  are  for  the 
few,  and  not  for  the  many,  who  have  not  yet  certainly 
arrived  at  properly  appreciating  fine  art. 

Take  the  standard  “ Album  ” for  instance  — that  unfor- 
tunate collection  of  deformed  Zuleikas  and  Medoras  ( from 
the  “ Byron  Beauties  ” ),  the  Flowers,  Gems,  Souvenirs, 
Caskets  of  Loveliness,  Beauty,  as  they  may  be  called ; 
glaring  caricatures  of  flowers,  singly,  in  groups,  in  flower- 
pots, or  with  hideous  deformed  little  Cupids  sporting 
among  them ; of  what  are  called  “ mezzotinto,  ” pencil- 
drawings,  “ poonah-paintings,  ” and  what  not.  “ The  Al- 
bum ” is  to  be  found  invariably  upon  the  round  rosewood 
brass-inlaid  drawing-room  table  of  the  middle  classes,  and 
with  a couple  of  “ Annuals  ” besides,  which  flank  it  on  the 
same  table,  represents  the  art  of  the  house ; perhaps  there 
is  a portrait  of  the  master  of  the  house  in  the  dining-room, 
grim-glancing  from  above  the  mantel -piece ; and  of  the 
mistress  over  the  piano  up  stairs ; add  to  these  some  odious 
miniatures  of  the  sons  and  daughters,  on  each  side  of  the 
chimney-glass ; and  here,  commonly  ( we  appeal  to  the 
reader  if  this  is  an  overcharged  picture),  the  collection 
ends.  The  family  goes  to  the  Exhibition  once  a year,  to 
the  National  Gallery  once  in  ten  years  : to  the  former 
place  they  have  an  inducement  to  go ; there  are  their  own 
portraits,  or  the  portraits  of  their  friends,  or  the  portraits 
of  public  characters ; and  you  will  see  them  infallibly 
wondering  over  No.  2645  in  the  catalogue,  representing 
“The  Portrait  of  a Lady,”  or  of  the  “First  Mayor  of 
Little  Pedlington  since  the  passing  of  the  Reform  Bill ; ” 
or  else  bustling  and  squeezing  among  the  miniatures,  where 


168 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK . 


lies  the  chief  attraction  of  the  Gallery.  England  has  pro- 
duced, owing  to  the  effects  of  this  class  of  admirers  of  art, 
two  admirable,  and  live  hundred  very  clever,  portrait  paint- 
ers. How  many  artists  ? Let  the  reader  count  upon  his 
live  fingers,  and  see  if,  living  at  the  present  moment,  he 
can  name  one  for  each. 

If,  from  this  examination  of  our  own  worthy  middle 
classes,  we  look  to  the  same  class  in  France,  what  a differ- 
ence do  we  hnd ! Humble  cafes  in  country  towns  have 
their  walls  covered  with  pleasing  picture  papers,  repre- 
senting 66  Les  Gloires  de  VArmee  Francaise  ” the  “ Sea- 
sons, ” the  “ Four  Quarters  of  the  World/5  “ Cupid  and 
Psyche/5  or  some  other  allegory,  landscape  or  history, 
rudely  painted,  as  papers  for  walls  usually  are ; but  the 
figures  are  all  tolerably  well  drawn  ; and  the  common  taste, 
which  has  caused  a demand  for  such  things,  is  undeniable. 
In  Paris,  the  manner  in  which  the  eafis  and  houses  of  the 
restaurateurs  are  ornamented,  is,  of  course,  a thousand 
times  richer,  and  nothing  can  be  more  beautiful,  or  more 
exquisitely  finished  and  correct,  than  the  designs  which 
adorn  many  of  them.  We  are  not  prepared  to  say  what 
sums  were  expended  upon  the  painting  of  “ Very5s 55  or 
“ Vefour’s, 55  of  the  u Salle  Musard/5  or  of  numberless  other 
places  of  public  resort  in  the  capital.  There  is  many  a 
shop-keeper  whose  sign  is  a very  tolerable  picture  ; and 
often  have  we  stopped  to  admire  (the  reader  will  give  us 
credit  for  having  remained  outside  ) the  excellent  work- 
manship of  the  grapes  and  vine-leaves  over  the  door  of 
some  very  humble,  dirty,  inodorous  shop  of  a marchand 
de  v in. 

These,  however,  serve  only  to  educate  the  public  taste, 
and  are  ornaments  for  the  most  part  much  too  costly  for 
the  people.  But  the  same  love  of  ornament  which  is 
shown  in  their  public  places  of  resort,  appears  in  their 
houses  likewise ; and  every  one  of  our  readers  who  has 
lived  in  Paris,  in  any  lodging,  magnificent  or  humble,  with 
any  family,  howrever  poor,  may  bear  witness  how  profusely 
the  wall  of  his  smart  salon  in  the  English  quarter,  or  of  his 
little  room  au  sixibne  in  the  Pays  Latin,  has  been  deco- 
rated with  prints  of  all  kinds.  In  the  first,  probably,  with 
bad  engravings  on  copper  from  the  bad  and  tawdy  pictures 
of  the  artists  of  the  time  of  the  Empire ; in  the  latter,  with 
gay  caricatures  of  Granville  or  Monnier:  military  pieces, 
such  as  are  dashed  off  by  Baffet,  Charlet,  Vernet  (one  can 


CARICATURES  AND  LITHOGRAPHY. 


169 


hardly  say  which  of  the  three  designers  has  the  greatest 
merit  or  the  most  vigorous  hand)  ; or  clever  pictures  from 
the  crayon  of  the  Deverias,  the  admirable  Roqueplan,  or 
Decamp.  We  have  named  here,  we  believe,  the  principal 
lithographic  artists  in  Paris ; and  those  — as'  doubtless 
there  are  many  — of  our  readers  who  have  looked  over 
Monsieur  Aubert’s  port-folios,  or  gazed  at  that  famous 
caricature-shop  window  in  the  Rue  de  Coq,  or  are  even 
acquainted  with  the  exterior  of  Monsieur  Delaporte’s  little 
emporium  in  the  Burlington  Arcade,  need  not  be  told  how 
excellent  the  productions  of  all  these  artists  are  in  their 
genre . We  get  in  these  engravings  the  loisirs  of  men  of 
genius,  not  the  finikin  performances  of  labored  mediocrity, 
as  with  us  : all  these  artists  are  good  painters,  as  well  as 
good  designers ; a design  from  them  is  worth  a whole  gross 
of  Books  of  Beauty  ; and  if  we  might  raise  a humble  sup- 
plication to  the  artists  in  our  own  country  of  similar  merit 
— to  such  men  as  Leslie,  Maclise,  Herbert,  Cattermole,  and 
others — it  would  be,  that  they  should,  after  the  example  of 
their  French  brethren  and  of  the  English  landscape  paint- 
ers, take  chalk  in  hand,  produce  their  own  copies  of  their 
own  sketches,  and  never  more  draw  a single  “ Forsaken 
One,  ” “ Rejected  One,  ” “ Dejected  One  ” at  the  entreaty 
of  any  publisher  or  for  the  pages  of  any  Book  of  Beauty, 
Royalty,  or  Loveliness  whatever. 

Can  there  be  a more  pleasing  walk  in  the  whole  world  than 
a stroll  through  the  Gallery  of  the  Louvre  on  any  fete-day ; 
not  to  look  so  much  at  the  pictures  as  at  the  lookers-on  ? 
Thousands  of  the  poorer  classes  are  there : mechanics  in 
their  Sunday  clothes,  smiling  grisettes,  smart  dapper  sol- 
diers of  the  line,  with  bronzed  wondering  faces,  marching 
together  in  little  companies  of  six  or  seven,  and  stop- 
ping every  now  and  then  at  Napoleon  or  Leonidas  as  they 
appear  in  proper  vulgar  heroics  in  the  pictures  of  David  or 
Gros.  The  taste  of  these  people  will  hardly  be  approved 
by  the  connoisseur,  but  they  have  a taste  for  art.  Can  the 
same  be  said  of  our  lower  classes,  who,  if  they  are  inclined 
to  be  sociable  and  amused  in  their  holidays,  have  no  place 
of  resort  but  the  tap-room  or  tea-garden,  and  no  food  for 
conversation  except  such  as  can  be  built  upon  the  politics 
or  the  police  reports  of  the  last  Sunday  paper  ? So  much 
has  Church  and  State  puritanism  done  for  us  — so  well  has 
it  succeeded  in  materializing  and  binding  down  to  the  earth 
the  imagination  of  men,  for  which  God  has  made  another 


170 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK 


world  ( which  certain  statesmen  take  but  too  little  into 
account ) — that  fair  and  beautiful  world  of  heart,  in 
which  there  can  be  nothing  selhsh  or  sordid,  of  which 
Dulness  has  forgotten  the  existence,  and  which  Bigotry  has 
endeavored  to  shut  out  from  sight  — 

“ On  a banni  les  demons  et  les  fees, 

Le  raisonner  tristement  s’accredite: 

On  court,  helas  ! apres  la  verite  : 

Ah  ! croyez  moi,  l’erreur  a son  merite  ! ” 

We  are  not  putting  in  a plea  here  for  demons  and  fairies, 
as  Voltaire  does  in  the  above  exquisite  lines;  nor  about  to 
expatiate  on  the  beauties  of  error,  for  it  has  none  ; but  the 
clank  of  steam-engines,  and  the  shouts  of  politicians,  and 
the  struggle  for  gain  or  bread,  and  the  loud  denunciations 
of  stupid  bigots,  have  well-nigh  smothered  poor  Fancy 
among  us.  We  boast  of  our  science,  and  vaunt  our  supe- 
rior morality.  Does  the  latter  exist  ? In  spite  of  all  the 
forms  which  our  policy  has  invented  to  secure  it  — in  spite 
of  all  the  preachers,  all  the  meeting-houses,  and  all  the 
legislative  enactments  — if  any  person  will  take  upon  him- 
self the  painful  labor  of  purchasing  and  perusing  some  of 
the  cheap  periodical  prints  which  form  the  people’s  library 
of  amusement,  and  contain  what  may  be  presumed  to  be 
their  standard  in  matters  of  imagination  and  fancy,  he  will 
see  how  false  the  claim  is  that  we  bring  forward  of  superior 
morality.  The  aristocracy  who  are  so  eager  to  maintain, 
were,  of  course,  not  the  last  to  feel  the  annoyance  of  the 
legislative  restrictions  on  the  Sabbath,  and  eagerly  seized 
upon  that  happy  invention  for  dissipating  the  gloom  and 
ennui  ordered  by  Act  of  Parliament  to  prevail  on  that  day 
— the  Sunday  paper.  It  might  be  read  in  a club-room, 
where  the  poor  could  not  see  how  their  betters  ordained  one 
thing  for  the  vulgar,  and  another  for  themselves ; or  in  an 
easy-chair,  in  the  study,  whither  my  lord  retires  every  Sun- 
day for  his  devotions.  It  dealt  in  private  scandal  and 
ribaldry,  only  the  more  piquant  for  its  pretty  flimsy  veil  of 
double-entendre . It  was  a fortune  to  the  publisher,  and  it 
became  a necessary  to  the  reader,  which  he  could  not ‘do 
without,  any  more  than  without  his  snuff-box,  his  opera- 
box,  or  his  chasse  after  coffee.  The  delightful  novelty 
could  not  for  any  time  be  kept  exclusively  for  the  haut 
ton  ; and  from  my  lord  it  descended  to  his  valet  or  trades- 
men, and  from  Grosvenor  Square  it  spread  all  the  town 


CARICATURES  AND  LITHOGRAPHY . 


171 


through ; so  that  now  the  lower  classes  have  their  scandal 
and  ribaldry  organs,  as  well  as  their  betters  ( the  rogues, 
they  will  imitate  them  ! ) and  as  their  tastes  are  somewhat 
coarser  than  my  lord’s,  and  their  numbers  a thousand  to 
one,  why  of  course  the  prints  have  increased,  and  the 
profligacy  has  been  diffused  in  a ratio  exactly  proportiona- 
ble to  the  demand,  until  the  town  is  infested  with  such  a 
number  of  monstrous  publications  of  the  kind  as  would 
have  put  Abbe  Dubois  to  the  blush,  or  made  Louis  XV.  cry 
shame.  Talk  of  English  morality  ! — the  worst  licentious- 
ness, in  the  worst  period  of  the  French  monarchy,  scarcely 
equalled  the  wickedness  of  this  Sabbath-keeping  country  of 
ours. 

The  reader  will  be  glad,  at  last,  to  come  to  the  conclusion 
that  we  would  fain  draw  from  all  these  descriptions  — why 
does  this  immorality  exist  ? Because  the  people  must  be 
amused,  and  have  not  been  taught  how  ; because  the  upper 
classes,  frightened  by  stupid  cant,  or  absorbed  in  material 
wants,  have  not  as  yet  learned  the  refinement  which  only 
the  cultivation  of  art  can  give ; and  when  their  intellects 
are  uneducated,  and  their  tastes  are  coarse,  the  tastes  and 
amusements  of  classes  still  more  ignorant  must  be  coarse 
and  vicious  likewise,  in  an  increased  proportion. 

Such  discussions  and  violent  attacks  upon  high  and  low, 
Sabbath  Bills,  politicians,  and  what  not,  may  appear,  per- 
haps, out  of  place  in  a few  pages  which  purport  only  to 
give  an  account  of  some  French  drawings:  all  we  would 
urge  is,  that,  in  France,  these  prints  are  made  because  they 
are  liked  and  appreciated  ; with  us  they  are  not  made, 
because  they  are  not  liked  and  appreciated : and  the  more 
is  the  pity.  Nothing  merely  intellectual  will  be  popular 
among  us : we  do  not  love  beauty  for  beauty’s  sake,  as 
Germans  ; or  wit  for  wit’s  sake,  as  the  French : for  abstract 
art  we  have  no  appreciation.  We  admire  H.  B.’s  carica- 
tures, because  they  are  the  caricatures  of  well-known 
political  characters,  not  because  they  are  witty ; and  Boz, 
because  he  writes  us  good  palpable  stories  ( if  we  may  use 
such  a word  to  a story  ) ; and  Madame  Vestris,  because  she 
has  the  most  beautifully  shaped  legs ; — the  art  of  the 
designer,  the  writer,  the  actress  (each  admirable  in  its 
way, ) is  a very  minor  consideration ; each  might  have  ten 
times  the  wit,  and  would  be  quite  unsuccessful  without 
their  substantial  points  of  popularity. 

In  France  such  matters  are  far  better  managed,  and  the 


172 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK. 


love  of  art  is  a thousand  times  more  keen ; and  (from  this 
feeling,  surely  ) how  much  superiority  is  there  in  French 
society  over  our  own  ; how  much  better  is  social  happiness 
understood  ; how  much  more  manly  equality  is  there  be- 
tween Frenchman  and  Frenchman,  than  between  rich  and 
poor  in  our  own  country,  with  all  our  superior  wealth, 
instruction  and  political  freedom ! There  is,  amongst  the 
humblest,  a gayety,  cheerfulness,  politeness,  and  sobriety, 
to  which,  in  England,  no  class  can  show  a parallel  : 
and  these,  be  it  remembered,  are  not  only  qualities  for 
holidays,  but  for  working-days  too,  and  add  to  the  en- 
joyment of  human  life  as  much  as  good  clothes,  good 
beef,  or  good  wages.  If,  to  our  freedom,  we  could  but  add 
a little  of  their  happiness  !— it  is  one,  after  all,  of  the 
cheapest  commodities  in  the  world,  and  in  the  power  of 
every  man  ( with  means  of  gaining  decent  bread  ) who  has 
the  will  or  the  skill  to  use  it. 

We  are  not  going  to  trace  the  history  of  the  rise  and 
progress  of  art  in  France ; our  business,  at  present,  is  only 
to  speak  of  one  branch  of  art  in  that  country  — lithographic 
designs,  and  those  chiefly  of  a humorous  character.  A 
history  of  French  caricature  was  published  in  Paris,  two 
or  three  years  back,  illustrated  by  numerous  copies  of 
designs,  from  the  time  of  Henry  III.  to  our  own  day.  We 
can  only  speak  of  this  work  from  memory,  having  been 
unable,  in  London,  to  procure  the  sight  of  a copy  ; but  our 
impression,  at  the  time  we  saw  the  collection,  was  as  unfa- 
vorable as  could  possibly  be : nothing  could  be  more  meagre 
than  the  wit,  or  poorer  than  the  execution,  of  the  whole  set 
of  drawings.  Under  the  Empire,  art,  as  may  be  imagined, 
was  at  a very  low  ebb ; and,  aping  the  Government  of  the 
day,  and  catering  to  the  national  taste  and  vanity,  it  was  a 
kind  of  tawdry  caricature  of  the  sublime ; of  which  the 
pictures  of  David  and  Girodet,  and  almost  the  entire  col- 
lection now  at  the  Luxembourg  Palace,  will  give  pretty 
fair  examples.  Swollen,  distorted,  unnatural,  the  painting 
was  something  like  the  politics  of  those  days ; with  force 
in  it,  nevertheless,  and  something  of  grandeur,  that  will 
exist  in  spite  of  taste,  and  is  born  of  energetic  will.  A 
man,  disposed  to  write  comparisons  of  characters,  might, 
for  instance,  find  some  striking  analogies  between  Mounte- 
bank Murat,  with  his  irresistible  bravery  and  horseman- 
ship, who  was  a kind  of  mixture  of  Duguesclin  and  Ducrow, 
and  Mountebank  David,  a fierce,  powerful  painter  and 


CARICATURES  AND  LITHOGRAPHY. 


173 


genius,  whose  idea  of  beauty  and  sublimity  seemed  to  have 
been  gained  from  the  bloody  melodramas  on  the  Boulevard. 
Both,  however,  were  great  in  their  way,  and  were  worship- 
ped as  gods,  in  those  heathen  times  of  false  belief  and  hero- 
worship. 

As  for  poor  caricature  and  freedom  of  the  press,  they, 
like  the  rightful  princess  in  a fairy  tale,  with  the  merry  fan- 
tastic dwarf,  her  attendant,  were  entirely  in  the  power  of 
the  giant  who  ruled  the  land.  The  Princess  Press  was  so 
closely  watched  and  guarded  (with  some  little  show, 
nevertheless,  of  respect  for  her  rank),  that  she  dared  not 
utter  a word  of  her  own  thoughts  ; and,  for  poor  Caricature, 
he  was  gagged,  and  put  out  of  the  way  altogether  : impris- 
oned as  completely  as  ever  Asmodeus  was  in  his  phial. 

How  the  Press  and  her  attendant  fared  in  succeeding 
reigns,  is  well  known ; their  condition  was  little  bettered 
by  the  downfall  of  Napoleon  : with  the  accession  of  Charles 
X.  they  were  more  oppressed  even  than  before  — more  than 
they  could  bear ; for  so  hard  were  they  pressed,  that,  as 
one  has  seen  when  sailors  are  working  a capstan,  back  of  a 
sudden  the  bars  flew,  knocking  to  the  earth  the  men  who 
were  endeavoring  to  work  them.  The  Bevolution  came, 
and  up  sprung  Caricature  in  France ; all  sorts  of  fierce 
epigrams  were  discharged  at  the  flying  monarch,  and 
speedily  were  prepared,  too,  for  the  new  one. 

About  this  time  there  lived  at  Paris  ( if  our  information 
be  correct ) a certain  M.  Philipon,  an  indifferent  artist 
(painting  was  his  profession),  a tolerable  designer,  and  an 
admirable  wit.  M.  Philipon  designed  many  caricatures 
himself,  married  the  sister  of  an  eminent  publisher  of 
prints  (M.  Aubert),  and  the  two,  gathering  about  them  a 
body  of  wits  and  artists  like  themselves,  set  up  journals  of 
their  own  : — La  Caricature , first  published  once  a week; 
and  the  Charivari  afterwards,  a daily  paper,  in  which  a 
design  also  appears  daily. 

At  first  the  caricatures  inserted  in  the  Charivari  were 
chiefly  political ; and  a most  curious  contest  speedily  com- 
menced between  the  State  and  M.  Philipon ’s  little  army 
in  the  Galerie  Vero-Dodat.  Half  a dozen  poor  artists  on 
the  one  side,  and  his  Majesty  Louis  Philippe,  his  august 
family,  and  the  numberless  placemen  and  supporters  of  the 
monarchy,  on  the  other  ; it  was  something  like  Thersites 
girding  at  Ajax,  and  piercing  through  the  folds  of  the 
clypei  septemplicis  with  the  poisonous  shafts  of  his  scorn. 


174 


THE  PAKIS  SKETCH  BOOK 


Our  French  Thersites  was  not  always  an  honest  opponent, 
it  must  be  confessed ; and  many  an  attack  was  made  upon 
the  gigantic  enemy,  which  was  cowardly,  false,  and  malig- 
nant. But  to  see  the  monster  writhing  under  the  effects 
of  the  arrow  — to  see  Ins  uncouth  fury  in  return,  and  the 
blind  blows  that  he  dealt  at  his  diminutive  opponent ! — 
not  one  of  these  told  in  a hundred ; when  they  did  tell,  it 
may  be  imagined  that  they  were  fierce  enough  in  all 
conscience,  and  served  almost  to  annihilate  the  adversary. 

To  speak  more  plainly,  and  to  drop  the  metaphor  of 
giant  and  dwarf,  the  King  of  the  French  suffered  so  much, 
his  Ministers  were  so  mercilessly  ridiculed,  his  family  and 
his  own  remarkable  figure  drawn  with  such  odious  and 
grotesque  resemblance,  in  fanciful  attitudes,  circumstances, 
and  disguises,  so  ludicrously  mean,  and  often  so  appro- 
priate, that  the  King  was  obliged  to  descend  into  the  lists 
and  battle  his  ridiculous  enemy  in  form.  Prosecutions, 
seizures,  fines,  regiments  of  furious  legal  officials,  were 
first  brought  into  play  against  poor  M.  Plnlipon  and  his 
little  dauntless  troop  of  malicious  artists ; some  few  were 
bribed  out  of  his  ranks ; and  if  they  did  not,  like  Gilray  in 
England,  turn  their  weapons  upon  their  old  friends,  at 
least  laid  down  their  arms,  and  would  fight  no  more.  The 
bribes,  fines,  indictments,  and  loud-tongued  avocats  da  Hoi 
made  no  impression ; Philipon  repaired  the  defeat  of  a fine 
by  some  fresh  and  furious  attack  upon  his  great  enemy ; 
if  his  epigrams  were  more  covert,  they  were  no  less  bitter ; 
if  he  was  beaten  a dozen  times  before  a jury,  he  had  eighty 
or  ninety  victories  to  show  in  the  same  field  of  battle,  and 
every  victory  and  every  defeat  brought  him  new  sympathy. 
Every  one  who  was  at  Paris  a few  years  since  must  recol- 
lect the  famous  “ poire  ” which  was  chalked  upon  all  the 
walls  of  the  city,  and  which  bore  so  ludicrous  a resemblance 
to  Louis  Philippe.  The  poire  became  an  object  of  prosecu- 
tion, and  M.  Philipon  appeared  before  a jury  to  answer  for 
the  crime  of  inciting  to  contempt  against  the  King’s  person, 
by  giving  such  a ludicrous  version  of  his  face.  Philipon, 
for  defence,  produced  a sheet  of  paper,  and  drew  a poire,  a 
real  large  Burgundy  pear:  in  the  lower  parts  round  and 
capacious,  narrower  near  the  stalk,  and  crowned  with  two 
or  three  careless  leaves.  “ There  was  no  treason  in  that  ” 
he  said  to  the  jury  ; “ could  any  one  object  to  such  a harm- 
less botanical  representation?”  Then  he  drew  a second 
pear,  exactly  like  the  former,  except  that  one  or  two  lines 


CARICATURES  AND  LITHOGRAPHY. 


175 


were  scrawled  in  the  midst  of  it,  which  bore  somehow  a 
ludicrous  resemblance  to  the  eyes,  nose,  and  mouth  of  a 
celebrated  personage;  and,  lastly,  he  drew  the  exact  por- 
trait of  Louis  Philippe  ; the  well-known  toupet,  the  ample 
whiskers  and  jowl  were  there,  neither  extenuated  nor  set 
down  in  malice.  “Can  I help  it,  gentlemen  of  the  jury, 
then,  ” said  he,  “if  his  Majesty’s  face  is  like  a pear? 
Say  yourselves,  respectable  citizens,  is  it,  or  is  it  not,  like 
a pear  ? ” Such  eloquence  could  not  fail  of  its  effect ; the 

artist  was  acquitted,  and  La  poire  is  immortal. 

At  last  came  the  famous  September  laws : the  freedom 
of  the  Press,  which,  from  August,  1830,  was  to  be  “ desormais 
une  verite , ” was  calmly  strangled  by  the  Monarch  who  had 
gained  his  crown  for  his  supposed  championship  of  it ; by 
his  Ministers,  some  of  whom  had  been  stout  Republicans 
on  paper  but  a few  years  before ; and  by  the  Chamber, 
which,  such  is  the  blessed  constitution  of  French  elections, 
will  generally  vote,  unvote,  revote  in  any  way  the  Govern- 
ment wishes.  With  a wondrous  union,  and  happy  forget- 
fulness of  principle,  monarch,  ministers,  and  deputies 
issued  the  restriction  laws  ; the  Press  was  sent  to  prison  ; 
as  for  the  poor  dear  Caricature,  it  was  fairly  murdered.  N o 
more  political  satires  appear  now,  and  “ through  the  eye, 
correct  the  heart ; ” no  more  poires  ripen  on  the  walls  of  the 
metropolis ; Philipon’s  political  occupation  is  gone. 

But  there  is  always  food  for  satire ; and  the  French 
caricaturists,  being  no  longer  allowed  to  hold  up  to  ridicule 
and  reprobation  the  King  and  the  deputies,  have  found 
no  lack  of  subjects  for  the  pencil  in  the  ridicules  and  ras- 
calities of  common  life.  We  have  said  that  public  decency 
is  greater  amongst  the  French  than  amongst  us,  which,  to 
some  of  our  readers,  may  appear  paradoxical ; but  we  shall 
not  attempt  to  argue  that,  in  private  roguery,  our  neigh- 
bors are  not  our  equals.  The  proc&s  of  Gisquet,  which  has 
appeared  lately  in  the  papers,  shows  how  deep  the  demor- 
alization must  be,  and  how  a Government,  based  itself  on 
dishonesty  ( a tyranny,  that  is,  under  the  title  and  fiction 
of  a democracy,  ) must  practise  and  admit  corruption  in  its 
own  and  in  its  agents’  dealings  with  the  nation.  Accord- 
ingly, of  cheating  contracts,  of  ministers  dabbling  with  the 
funds,  or  extracting  underhand  profits  for  the  granting  of 
unjust  privileges  and  monopolies,  — of  grasping,  envious 
police  restrictions,  which  destroy  the  freedom,  and,  with  it, 
the  integrity  of  commerce, — those  who  like  to  examine 


176 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK 


such  details  may  find  plenty  in  French  history  : the  whole 
French  finance  system  has  been  a swindle  from  the  days  of 
Luvois,  or  Law,  down  to  the  present  time.  The  Govern- 
ment swindles  the  public,  and  the  small  traders  swindle 
their  customers,  on  the  authority  and  example  of  the 
superior  powers.  Hence  the  art  of  roguery,  under  such 
high  patronage,  maintains  in  France  a noble  front  of  impu- 
dence, and  fine  audacious  openness,  which  it  does  not  wear 
in  our  country. 

Among  the  various  characters  of  roguery  which  the 
French  satirists  have  amused  themselves  by  depicting, 
there  is  one  of  which  the  greatness  (using  the  word  in  the 
sense  which  Mr.  Jonathan  Wild  gave  to  it)  so  far  exceeds 
that  of  all  others,  embracing,  as  it  does,  all  in  turn,  that  it 
has  come  to  be  considered  the  type  of  roguery  in  general ; 
and  now,  just  as  all  the  political  squibs  were  made  to  come 
of  old  from  the  lips  of  Pasquin,  all  the  reflections  on  the 
prevailing  cant,  knavery,  quackery,  humbug,  are  put  into 
the  mouth  of  Monsieur  Robert  Macaire. 

A play  was  written,  some  twenty  years  since,  called  the 
“Auberge  des  Adrets,”  in  which  the  characters  of  two 
robbers  escaped  from  the  galleys  were  introduced — Robert 
Macaire,  the  clever  rogue  above  mentioned,  and  Bertrand, 
the  stupid  rogue,  his  friend,  accomplice,  butt,  and  scape- 
goat, on  all  occasions  of  danger.  It  is  needless  to  describe 
the  play  — a witless  performance  enough,  of  which  the 
joke  was  Macaire’s  exaggerated  style  of  conversation,  a 
farrago  of  all  sorts  of  high-flown  sentiments  such  as  the 
French  love  to  indulge  in  — contrasted  with  his  actions, 
which  were  philosophically  unscrupulous,  and  his  appear- 
ance, which  was  most  picturesquely  sordid.  The  play  had 
been  acted,  we  believe,  and  forgotten,  when  a very  clever 
actor,  M.  Frederick  Lemaitre,  took  upon  himself  the  per- 
formance of  the  character  of  Robert  Macaire,  and  looked, 
spoke,  and  acted  it  to  such  admirable  perfection,  that  the 
whole  town  rung  with  applauses  of  the  performance,  and 
the  caricaturists  delighted  to  copy  his  singular  figure  and 
costume.  M.  Robert  Macaire  appears  in  a most  picturesque 
green  coat,  with  a variety  of  rents  and  patches,  a pair  of 
crimson  pantaloons  ornamented  in  the  same  way,  enormous 
whiskers  and  ringlets,  an  enormous  stock  and  shirt-frill,  as 
dirty. and  ragged  as  stock  and  shirt-frill  can  be,  the  relic  of 
a hat  very  gaylv  cocked  over  one  eye,  and  a patch  to  take 
away  somewhat  from  the  brightness  of  the  other  — these 


CARICATURES  AND  LITHOGRAPHY . 


177 


are  the  principal  pieces  of  his  costume  — a snuff-box  like  a 
creaking  warming-pan,  a handkerchief  hanging  together  by 
a miracle,  and  a switch  of  about  the  thickness  of  a man’s 
thigh,  formed  the  ornaments  of  this  exquisite  personage. 
He  is  a compound  of  Fielding’s  “ Blueskin  ” and  Gold- 
smith’s “ Beau  Tibbs.”  He  has  the  dirt  and  dandyism  of 
the  one,  with  the  ferocity  of  the  other : sometimes  he  is 
made  to  swindle,  but  where  he  can  get  a shilling  more,  M. 
Macaire  will  murder  without  scruple : he  performs  one  and 
the  other  act  (or  any  in  the  scale  between  them)  with  a 
similar  bland  imperturbability,  and  accompanies  his  actions 
with  such  philosophical  remarks  as  may  be  expected  from 
a person  of  his  talents,  his  energies,  his  amiable  life  and 
character. 

Bertrand  is  the  simple  recipient  of  Macaire’s  jokes,  and 
makes  vicarious  atonement  for  his  crimes,  acting,  in  fact, 
the  part  which  pantaloon  performs  in  the  pantomime,  who 
is  entirely  under  the  fatal  influence  of  clown.  He  is  quite 
as  much  a rogue  as  that  gentleman,  but  he  has  not  his 
genius  and  courage.  So,  in  pantomimes,  (it  may,  doubtless, 
have  been  remarked  by  the  reader,)  clown  always  leaps  first, 
pantaloon  following  after,  more  clumsily  and  timidly  than 
his  bold  and  accomplished  friend  and  guide.  Whatever 
blows  are  destined  for  clown,  fall,  by  some  means  of  ill-luck, 
upon  the  pate  of  pantaloon : whenever  the  clown  robs, 
the  stolen  articles  are  sure  to  be  found  in  his  compan- 
ion’s pocket ; and  thus  exactly  Bobert  Macaire  and  his  com- 
panion Bertrand  are  made  to  go  through  the  world ; both 
swindlers,  but  the  one  more  accomplished  than  the  other. 
Both  robbing  all  the  world,  and  Bobert  robbing  his  friend, 
and,  in  the  event  of  danger,  leaving  him  faithfully  in  the 
lurch.  There  is,  in  the  two  characters,  some  grotesque 
good  for  the  spectator  — a kind  of  66 Beggars’  Opera”  moral. 

Ever  since  Bobert,  with  dandified  rags  and  airs,  his  cane 
and  snuff-box,  and  Bertrand  with  torn  surtout  and  all-absorb- 
ing pocket,  have  appeared  on  the  stage,  they  have  been 
popular  with  the  Parisians ; and  with  these  two  types  of 
clever  and  stupid  knavery,  M.  Philipon  and  his  companion 
Daumier  have  created  a world  of  pleasant  satire  upon  all 
the  prevailing  abuses  of  the  day. 

Almost  the  first  figure  that  these  audacious  caricaturists 
dared  to  depict  was  a political  one:  in  Macaire’s  red 
breeches  and  tattered  coat  appeared  no  less  a personage 
than  the  King  himself — the  old  JPoire  — in  a country  of 
12 


178 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK. 


humbugs  and  swindlers  the  facile  princeps ; fit  to  govern, 
as  he  is  deeper  than  all  the  rogues  in  his  dominions.  Ber- 
trand was  opposite  to  him,  and  having  listened  with  delight 
and  reverence  to  some  tale  of  knavery  truly  royal,  was  ex- 
claiming with  a look  and  voice  expressive  of  the  most 
intense  admiration,  “Ah  vieux  blagueur!  va!  ” — the 
word  blague  is  untranslatable — it  means  French  humbug 
as  distinct  from  all  other  ; and  only  those  who  know  the 
value  of  an  epigram  in  France,  an  epigram  so  wonderfully 
just,  a little  word  so  curiously  comprehensive,  can  fancy 


the  kind  of  rage  and  rapture  with  which  it  was  received. 
It  was  a blow  that  shook  the  whole  dynasty.  Ther sites 
had  there  given  such  a wound  to  Ajax,  as  Hector  in  arms 
could  scarcely  have  inflicted:  a blow  sufficient  almost  to 
create  the  madness  to  which  the  fabulous  hero  of  Homer 
and  Ovid  fell  a prey. 

Not  long,  however,  was  French  caricature  allowed  to 
attack  personages  so  illustrious : the  September  laws  came, 
and  henceforth  no  more  epigrams  were  launched  against 
politics  ; but  the  caricaturists  were  compelled  to  confine 


CARICATURES  AND  LITHOGRAPHY. 


179 


their  satire  to  subjects  and  characters  that  had  nothing  to 
do  with  the  State.  The  Duke  of  Orleans  was  no  longer  to 
figure  in  lithography  as  the  fantastic  Prince  Rosolin ; no 
longer  were  multitudes  ( in  chalk ) to  shelter  under  the 
enormous  shadow  of  M.  d’Argout’s  nose  : Marshal  Lobau’s 
squirt  was  hung  up  in  peace,  and  M.  Thiers’s  pigmy  figure 
and  round  spectacled  face  were  no  more  to  appear  in  print.* 
Robert  Maeaire  was  driven  out  of  the  Chambers  and  the 
Palace  — his  remarks  were  a great  deal  too  appropriate  and 
too  severe  for  the  ears  of  the  great  men  who  congregated  in 
those  places. 

The  Chambers  and  the  Palace  were  shut  to  him ; but  the 
rogue,  driven  out  of  his  rogue’s  paradise,  saw  “ that  the 
world  was 'all  before  him  where  to  choose,”  and  found  no 
lack  of  opportunities  for  exercising  his  wit.  There  was 
the  Bar,  with  its  roguish  practitioners,  rascally  attorneys, 
stupid  juries,  and  forsworn  judges;  there  was  the  Bourse, 
with  all  its  gambling,  swindling,  and  hoaxing,  its  cheats 
and  its  dupes ; the  Medical  Profession,  and  the  quacks  who 
ruled  it,  alternately  ; the  Stage,  and  the  cant  that  was  prev- 
alent there ; the  Fashion,  and  its  thousand  follies  and  ex- 
travagances. Robert  Maeaire  had  all  these  to  exploiter. 
Of  all  the  empire,  through  all  the  ranks,  professions,  the 
lies,  crimes,  and  absurdities  of  men,  he  may  make  sport  at 
will ; of  all  except  of  a certain  class.  Like  Bluebeard’s  wife, 
he  may  see  everything,  but  is  bidden  to  beware  of  the  blue 
chamber.  Robert  is  more  wise  than  Bluebeard’s  wife,  and 
knows  that  it  would  cost  him  his  head  to  enter  it.  Robert, 
therefore,  keeps  aloof  for  the  moment.  Would  there  be 
any  use  in  his  martyrdom  ? Bluebeard  cannot  live  for 
ever ; perhaps,  even  now,  those  are  on  their  way  (one  sees 
a suspicious  cloud  of  dust  or  two)  that  are  to  destroy  him. 

In  the  meantime  Robert  and  his  friend  have  been  fur- 
nishing the  designs  that  we  have  before  us,  and  of  which 
perhaps  the  reader  will  be  edified  by  a brief  discription. 
We  are  not,  to  be  sure,  to  judge  the  French  nation  by  M. 
Maeaire,  any  more  than  we  are  to  judge  of  our  own 
national  morals  in  the  last  century  by  such  a book  as  the 

Beggars’  Opera ; ” but  upon  the  morals  and  the  national 
manners,  works  of  satire  afford  a world  of  light  that  one 
would  in  vain  look  for  in  regular  books  of  history.  Doctor 

* Almost  all  the  principal  public  men  had  been  most  ludicrously 
caricatured  in  the  Charivari:  those  mentioned  above  were  usually  de- 
picted with  the  distinctive  attributes  mentioned  by  us. 


180 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK. 


Smollett  would  have  blushed  to  devote  any  considerable 
portion  of  his  pages  to  a discussion  of  the  acts  and  char- 
acter of  Mr.  Jonathan  Wild,  such  a figure  being  hardly 
admissible  among  the  dignified  personages  who  usually 
push  all  others  out  from  the  possession  of  the  historical 
page ; but  a chapter  of  that  gentleman’s  memoirs,  as  they 
are  recorded  in  that  exemplary  recueil  — the  “ Newgate 
Calendar ; ” nay,  a canto  of  the  great  comic  epic  ( involv- 
ing many  fables,  and  containing  much  exaggeration,  but  still 
having  the  seeds  of  truth  ) which  the  satirical  poet  of  those 
days  wrote  in  celebration  of  him  — we  mean  Fielding’s 
“ History  of  Jonathan  Wild  the  Great”  — does  seem  to 
us  to  give  a more  curious  picture  of  the  manners  of  those 
times  than  any  recognized  history  of  them.  At  the  close  of 
his  history  of  George  II.,  Smollett  condescends  to  give  a 
short  chapter  on  Literature  and  Manners.  He  speaks  of 
Glover’s  “ Leonidas,”  Cibber’s  “ Careless  Husband,”  the 
poems  of  Mason,  Gray,  the  two  Whiteheads,  “ the  nervous 
style,  extensive  erudition,  and  superior  sense  of  a Corke ; 
the  delicate  taste,  the  polished  muse,  and  tender  feeling  of 
a Lyttelton.”  “ King,”  he  says,  “shone  unrivalled  in  Roman 
eloquence,  the  female  sex  distinguished  themselves  by 
their  taste  and  ingenuity.  Miss  Carter  rivalled  the  cele- 
brated Dacier  in  learning  and  critical  knowledge  : Mrs.  Len- 
nox signalized  herself  by  many  successful  efforts  of  genius 
both  in  poetry  and  prose  ; and  Miss  Keid  excelled  the  cel- 
ebrated Rosalba  in  portrait-painting,  both  in  miniature  and 
at  large,  in  oil  as  well  as  in  crayons.  The  genius  of  Cer- 
vantes was  transferred  into  the  novels  of  Fielding,  who 
painted  the  characters  and  ridiculed  the  follies  of  life 
with  equal  strength,  humor  and  propriety.  The  field  of 
history  and  biography  was  cultivated  by  many  writers  of 
ability,  among  whom  we  distinguish  the  copious  Guthrie, 
the  circumstantial  Ralph,  the  laborious  Carte,  the  learned 
and  elegant  Robertson,  and  above  all,  the  ingenious,  pene- 
trating, and  comprehensive  Hume,”  &c.  &c.  We  will 
quote  no  more  of  the  passage.  Could  a man  in  the  best 
humor  sit  down  to  write  a graver  satire  ? Who  cares  for 
the  tender  muse  of  Lyttelton  ? Who  knows  the  signal 
efforts  of  Mrs.  Lennox’s  genius  ? Who  has  seen  the  admi- 
rable performances,  in  miniature  and  at  large,  in  oil  as  well 
as  in  crayons,  of  Miss  Reid  ? Laborious  Carte,  and  circum- 
stantial Ralph,  and  copious  Guthrie,  where  are  they,  their 
works,  and  their  reputation  ? Mrs.  Lennox’s  name  is  just 


CARICATURES  AND  LITHOGRAPHY. 


181 


as  clean  wiped  out  of  the  list  of  worthies  as  if  she  had 
never  been  born  ; and  Miss  Reid,  though  she  was  once 
actual  flesh  and  blood,  “ rival  in  miniature  and  at  large  ” 
of  the  celebrated  Rosalba,  she  is  as  if  she  had  never  been  at 
all ; her  little  farthing  rushlight  of  a soul  and  reputation 
having  burnt  out,  and  left  neither  wick  or  tallow.  Death, 
too,  has  overtaken  copious  Guthrie  and  circumstantial 
Ralph.  Only  a few  know  whereabouts  is  the  grave  where 
lies  laborious  Carte ; and  yet,  0 wondrous  power  of  genius  ! 
Fielding’s  men  and  women  are  alive,  though  History’s  are 
not.  The  progenitors  of  circumstantial  Ralph  sent  forth, 
after  much  labor  and  pains  of  making,  educating,  feeding, 
clothing,  a real  man  child,  a great  palpable  mass  of  flesh, 
bones,  and  blood  (we  say  nothing  about  the  spirit),  which 
was  to  move  through  the  world,  ponderous,  writing  histories, 
and  to  die,  having  achieved  the  title  of  circumstantial 
Ralph ; and  lo ! without  any  of  the  trouble  that  the  parents 
of  Ralph  had  undergone,  alone  perhaps  in  a watch  or  spung- 
ing-house,  fuddled  most  likely,  in  the  blandest,  easiest,  and 
most  good-humored  way  in  the  world,  Henry  Fielding 
makes  a number  of  men  and  women  on  so  many  sheets  of 
paper,  not  only  more  amusing  than  Ralph  or  Miss  Reid, 
but  more  like  flesh  and  blood,  and  more  alive  now  than  they. 
Is  not  Amelia  preparing  her  husband’s  little  supper  ? Is 
not  Miss  Snapp  chastely  preventing  the  crime  of  Mr.  Fire- 
brand ? Is  not  Parson  Adams  in  the  midst  of  his  family, 
and  Mr.  Wild  taking  his  last  bowl  of  punch  with  the  New- 
gate Ordinary  ? Is  not  every  one  of  them  a real  substan- 
tial Aave-been  personage  now?  — more  reall  than  Reid  or 
Ralph  ? For  our  parts,  we  will  not  take  upon  ourselves  to 
say  that  they  do  not  exist  somewhere  else : that  the  actions 
attributed  to  them  have  not  really  taken  place ; certain  we 
are  that  they  are  more  worthy  of  credence  than  Ralph,  who 
may  or  may  not  have  been  circumstantial ; who  may  or 
may  not  even  have  existed,  a point  unworthy  of  disputation. 
As  for  Miss  Reid,  we  will  take  an  affidavit  that  neither  in 
miniature  nor  at  large  did  she  excel  the  celebrated  Rosalba; 
and  with  regard  to  Mrs.  Lennox,  we  consider  her  to  be  a 
mere  figment,  like  Narcissa,  Miss  Tabitha  Bramble,  or  any 
hero  or  heroine  depicted  by  the  historian  of  “ Peregrine 
Pickle.” 

In  like  manner,  after  viewing  nearly  ninety  portraits  of 
Robert  Macaire  and  his  friend  Bertrand,  all  strongly  resem- 
bling each  other,  we  are  inclined  to  believe  in  them  as 


182 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK. 


historical  personages,  and  to  canvass  gravely  the  circum- 
stances of  their  lives.  Why  should  we  not  ? Have  we  not 
their  portraits  ? Are  not  they  sufficient  proofs  ? If  not, 
we  must  discredit  Napoleon  (as  Archbishop  Whately 
teaches),  for  about  his  figure  and  himself  we  have  no 
more  authentic  testimony. 

Let  the  reality  of  M.  Eobert  Macaire  and  his  friend  M. 
Bertrand  be  granted,  if  but  to  gratify  our  own  fondness  for 
those  exquisite  characters : we  find  the  worthy  pair  in  the 
French  capital,  mingling  with  all  grades  of  its  society, 
pars  magna  in  the  intrigues,  pleasures,  perplexities,  roguer- 
ies, speculations,  which  are  carried  on  in  Paris,  as  in  our 
own  chief  city  ; for  it  need  not  be  said  that  roguery  is  of 
no  country  nor  clime,  but  finds  ws  iravraxov  ye  warpls  fj 
j3oo" koihtol  y rj,  is  a citizen  of  all  countries  where  the  quarters 
are  good ; among  our  merry  neighbors  it  finds  itself  very 
much  at  its  ease. 

Not  being  endowed,  then,  with  patrimonial  wealth,  but 
compelled  to  exercise  their  genius  to  obtain  distinction,  or 
even  subsistence,  we  see  Messrs.  Bertrand  and  Macaire,  by 
turns,  adopting  all  trades  and  professions,  and  exercising 
each  with  their  own  peculiar  ingenuity.  As  public  men, 
we  have  spoken  already  of  their  appearance  in  one  or  two 
important  characters,  and  stated  that  the  Government  grew 
fairly  jealous  of  them,  excluding  them  from  office,  as  the 
Whigs  did  Lord  Brougham.  As  private  individuals,  they 
are  made  to  distinguish  themselves  as  the  founders  of 
journals,  societes  en  commandite  (companies  of  which  the 
members  are  irresponsible  beyond  the  amount  of  their 
shares),  and  all  sorts  of  commercial  speculations,  requiring 
intelligence  and  honesty  on  the  part  of  the  directors,  con- 
fidence and  liberal  disbursements  from  the  share-holders. 

These  are,  among  the  French,  so  numerous,  and  have 
been  of  late  years  ( in  the  shape  of  Newspaper  Companies, 
Bitumen  Companies,  Galvanized-Tron  Companies,  Bailroad 
Companies,  &c.  ) pursued  with  such  a blind  furor  and  lust 
of  gain,  by  that  easily  excited  and  imaginative  people,  that, 
as  may  be  imagined,  the  satirist  has  found  plenty  of  occa- 
sion for  remark,  and  M.  Macaire  and  his  friend  innumerable 
opportunities  for  exercising  their  talents. 

We  know  nothing  of  M.  Emile  de  Girardin,  except  that, 
in  a duel,  he  shot  the  best  man  in  France,  Armand  Carrel ; 
and  in  Girard  in’s  favor  it  must  be  said,  that  he  had  no 
other  alternative  ; but  was  right  in  provoking  the  duel, 


CARICATURES  AND  LITHOGRAPHY . 


183 


seeing  that  the  whole  Republican  party  had  vowed  his 
destruction,  and  that  he  fought  and  killed  their  champion, 
as  it  were.  We  know  nothing  of  M.  Girardin’s  private 
character ; but,  as  far  as  we  can  judge  from  the  French 
public  prints,  he  seems  to  be  the  most  speculative  of  specu- 
lators, and,  of  course,  a fair  butt  for  the  malice  of  the 
caricaturists.  His  one  great  crime,  in  the  e}7es  of  the 
French  Republicans  and  Republican  newspaper  proprietors, 
was,  that  Girardin  set  up  a journal,  as  he  called  it,  u f ran- 
chement  monarchique — a journal  in  the  pay  of  the 
monarchy,  that  is,  — and  a journal  that  only  cost  forty 
francs  by  the  year.  The  National  costs  twice  as  much ; 
the  Charivari  itself  costs  half  as  much  again ; and  though 
all  newspapers,  of  all  parties,  concurred  in  “ snubbing” 
poor  M.  Girardin  and  his  journal,  the  Republican  prints, 
were  by  far  the  most  bitter  against  him,  thundering  daily 
accusations  and  personalities  ; whether  the  abuse  was  well 
or  ill  founded,  we  know  not.  Hence  arose  the  duel  with 
Carrel ; after  the  termination  of  which,  Girardin  put 
by  his  pistol,  and  vowed,  very  properly,  to  assist  in  the 
shedding  of  no  more  blood.  Girardin  had  been  the  origin- 
ator of  numerous  other  speculations  besides  the  journal : 
the  capital  of  these,  like  that  of  the  journal,  was  raised  by 
shares,  and  the  shareholders,  by  some  fatality,  have  found 
themselves  wofully  in  the  lurch  ; while  Girardin  carries  on 
the  war  gayly,  is,  or  was,  a member  of  the  Chamber  of 
Deputies,  has  money,  goes  to  Court  and  possesses  a certain 
kind  of  reputation.  He  invented,  we  believe,  the  “ Institu- 
tion Agronome  de  Coetbo,  the  “ Physionotype,  ” the 
“Journal  des  Connoissances  Utiles,  ” the  “ Pantheon 
Litteraire,  ” and  the  system  of  “ Primes  ” — premiums,  that 
is  — to  be  given,  by  lottery,  to  certain  subscribers  in  these 
institutions.  Could  Robert  Macaire  see  such  things  going 
on,  and  have  no  hand  in  them  ? 

Accordingly  Messrs.  Macaire  and  Bertrand  are  made  the 
heroes  of  many  speculations  of  the  kind.  In  almost  the 
first  print  of  our  collection,  Robert  discourses  to  Bertrand 
of  his  projects.  “Bertrand, ” says  the  disinterested  admirer 
of  talent  and  enterprise,  “ j’adore  Findustrie.  Si  tu  veux 
nous  creons  une  banque,  mais  la,  une  vraie  banque : capital 
cent  millions  de  millions,  cent  milliards  de  milliards  d?ac- 
tions.  ISTous  enfon^ons  la  banque  de  France,  les  banquiers, 

* It  is  not  necessary  to  enter  into  descriptions  of  these  various  inven- 
tions. 


184 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK 


les  banquistes ; nous  enfongons  tout  le  monde.  ” “ Oui,  99 

says  Bertrand  very  calm  and  stupid,  “ mais  les  gendarmes  ? ” 
“ Que  tu  es  bete,  Bertrand : est-ce  qu’on  arrete  un  million- 
aire ? ” Such  is  the  key  to  M.  Macaire’s  philosophy ; and 
a wise  creed  too,  as  times  go. 

Acting  on  these  principles,  Bobert  appears  soon  after ; 
he  has  not  created  a bank,  but  a journal.  He  sits  in  a chair 
of  state,  and  discourses  to  a shareholder.  Bertrand,  calm 
and  stupid  as  before,  stands  humbly  behind.  “ Sir,  ” says 
the  editor  of  La  Blague , journal  quotidienne,  “ our  profits 
arise  from  a new  combination.  The  journal  costs  twenty 
francs  ; we  sell  it  for  twenty-three  and  a half.  A million 
subscribers  make  three  millions  and  a half  of  profits ; there 
are  my  figures  ; contradict  me  by  figures,  or  I will  bring 
an  action  for  libel.  ” The  reader  may  fancy  the  scene 
takes  place  in  England,  where  many  such  a swindling 
prospectus  has  obtained  credit  ere  now.  At  Plate  33, 
Robert  is  still  a -journalist ; he  brings  to  the  editor  of  a 
paper  an  article  of  his  composition,  a violent  attack  on  a 
law.  “ My  dear  M.  Macaire,  ” says  the  editor,  “ this  must 
be  changed  ; we  must^ratse  this  law.  ” “Bon,  bon  ! ” says 
our  versatile  Macaire.  “ Je  vais  retoucher  ca,  et  je  vous 
fais  en  faveur  de  la  loi  un  article  mousseux.  99 

Can  such  things  be  ? Is  it  possible  that  French  jour- 
nalists can  so  forget  themselves  ? The  rogues ! they 
should  come  to  England  and  learn  consistency.  The 
honesty  of  the  Press  in  England  is  like  the  air  we  breathe, 
without  it  we  die.  No,  no ! in  France,  the  satire  may  do 
very  well ; but  for  England  it  is  too  monstrous.  Call  the 
press  stupid,  call  it  vulgar,  call  it  violent,  — but  honest  it 
is.  Who  ever  heard  of  a journal  changing  its  politics  ? 0 
tempora  ! 0 mores  ! as  Robert  Macaire  says,  this  would 

be  carrying  the  joke  too  far. 

When  he  has  done  with  newspapers,  Robert  Macaire 
begins  to  distinguish  himself  on  ’Change,*  as  a creator  of 
companies,  a vender  of  shares,  or  a dabbler  in  foreign 
stock.  “ Buy  my  coal-mine  shares,”  shouts  Robert ; “ gold 
mines,  silver  mines,  diamond  mines,  ‘ sont  de  la  pot-bouille 
de  la  ratatouille  en  comparaison  de  ma  houille.  9 99  “ Look,  99 
says  he,  on  another  occasion,  to  a very  timid,  open-counte- 
nanced client,  “you  have  a property  to  sell ! I have  found 


* We  have  given  a description  of  a genteel  Macaire  in  the  account  of 
M.  de  Bernard’s  novels. 


CARICATURES  AND  LITHOGRAPHY. 


185 


the  very  man,  a rich  capitalist,  a fellow  whose  bills  are 
better  than  bank-notes.  ” His  client  sells  ; the  bills  are 
taken  in  payment,  and  signed  by  that  respectable  capitalist, 
Monsieur  de  Saint  Bertrand.  At  Plate  81,  we  find  him 
inditing  a circular  letter  to  all  the  world,  running  thus  : — 
“ Sir, — I regret  to  say  that  your  application  for  shares  in  the 
Consolidated  European  Incombustible  Blacking  Association 
cannot  be  complied  with,  as  all  the  shares  of  the  C.  E.  I.  B. 
A.  were  disposed  of  on  the  day  they  were  issued.  I have, 
nevertheless,  registered  your  name,  and  in  case  a second 
series  should  be  put  forth,  I shall  have  the  honor  of  imme- 
diately givingyou  notice.  I am,  sir,  yours,  &c.,  the  Director, 
Robert  Macaire.  ” — “ Print  300,000  of  these,  ” he  says  to 
Bertrand,  “ and  poison  all  France  with  them.  ” As  usual, 
the  stupid  Bertrand  remonstrates  — “ But  we  have  not  sold 
a single  share ; you  have  not  a penny  in  your  pocket,  and  ” 
— “ Bertrand,  you  are  an  ass  ; do  as  I bid  you.  ” 

Will  this  satire  apply  anywhere  in  England  ? Have  we 
any  Consolidated  European  Blacking  Associations  amongst 
us  ? Have  we  penniless  directors  issuing  El  Dorado  pros- 
pectuses, and  jockeying  their  shares  through  the  market  ? 
For  information  on  this  head,  we  must  refer  the  reader  to 
the  newspapers ; or  if  he  be  connected  with  the  city,  and 
acquainted  with  commercial  men,  he  will  be  able  to  say 
whether  all  the  persons  whose  names  figure  at  the  head 
of  announcements  of  projected  companies  are  as  rich  as 
Rothschild,  or  quite  as  honest  as  heart  could  desire. 

When  Macaire  has  sufficiently  exploit & the  Bourse, 
whether  as  a gambler  in  the  public  funds  or  other  compa- 
nies, he  sagely  perceives  that  it  is  time  to  turn  to  some  other 
profession,  and,  providing  himself  with  a black  gown,  pro- 
poses blandly  to  Bertrand  to  set  up  — anew  religion.  “ Mon 
ami,”  says  the  repentant  sinner,  “le  temps  de  la  comman- 
dite va  passer,  mais  les  badauds  ne  passeront  pas”  (O 
rare  sentence ! it  should  be  written  in  letters  of  gold ! ) 
“ Occupons  nous  de  ce  qui  est  eternel.  Si  nous  fassions  une 
religion  ? ” On  which  M.  Bertrand  remarks,  “ A religion  ! 
what  the  devil  — a religion  is  not  an  easy  thing  to  make.” 
But  Macaire’s  receipt  is  easy.  “ Get  a gown,  take  a shop,” 
he  says,  “ borrow  some  chairs,  preach  about  Napoleon,  or 
the  discovery  of  America,  or  Moliere  — and  there’s  a 
religion  for  you.” 

We  have  quoted  this  sentence  more  for  the  contrast 
it  offers  with  our  own  manners,  than  for  its  merits. 


186 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK . 


After  the  noble  paragraph,  “Les  badauds  ne  passeront  pas. 
Occupons  nous  de  ce  qui  est  eternel,”  one  would  have 
expected  better  satire  upon  cant  than  the  words  that  follow. 
We  are  not  in  a condition  to  say  whether  the  subjects  chosen 
are  those  that  had  been  selected  by  Pere  Enfantin,  or 
Chatel,  or  Lacordaire  ; but  the  words  are  curious,  we  think, 
for  the  very  reason  that  the  satire  is  so  poor.  The  fact  is, 
there  is  no  religion  in  Paris;  even  clever  M.  Philipon,  who 
satirizes  everything,  and  must  know,  therefore,  some  little 
about  the  subject  which  he  ridicules,  has  nothing  to  say 
but,  “Preach  a sermon,  and  that  makes  a religion  ; anything 
will  do.”  If  anything  will  do,  it  is  clear  that  the  religious 
commodity  is  not  in  much  demand.  Tartuffe  had  better 
things  to  say  about  hypocrisy  in  his  time ; but  then  Faith 
was  alive ; now,  there  is  no  satirizing  religious  cant  in 
France,  for  its  contrary,  true  religion,  has  disappeared  al- 
together ; and  having  no  substance,  can  cast  no  shadow.  If 
a satirist  would  lash  the  religious  hypocrites  in  England 
now  — the  High  Church  hypocrites,  the  Low  Church  hypo- 
crites, the  promiscuous  Dissenting  hypocrites,  the  No  Pop- 
ery hypocrites  — he  would  have  ample  subject  enough.  In 
France,  the  religious  hypocrites  went  out  with  the  Bour- 
bons. Those  who  remain  pious  in  that  country  (or  rather, 
we  should  say,  in  the  capital,  for  of  that  we  speak,)  are 
unaffectedly  so,  for  they  have  no  worldly  benefit  to  hope 
for  from  their  piety ; the  great  majority  have  no  religion 
at  all,  and  do  not  scoff  at  the  few,  for  scoffing  is  the 
minority’s  weapon,  and  is  passed  always  to  the  weaker 
side,  whatever  that  may  be.  Thus  H.  B.  caricatures  the 
Ministers : if  by  any  accident  that  body  of  men  should 
be  dismissed  from  their  situations,  and  be  succeeded  by  H. 
B.’s  friends,  the  Tories, — what  must  the  poor  artist  do? 
He  must  pine  away  and  die,  if  he  be  not  converted ; he  can- 
not always  be  paying  compliments ; for  caricature  has  a 
spice  of  Goethe’s  Devil  in  it,  and  is  “ der  Geist  der  stets 
verneint,”  the  Spirit  that  is  always  denying. 

With  one  or  two  of  the  French  writers  and  painters  of 
caricatures,  the  King  tried  the  experiment  of  bribery ; 
which  succeeded  occasionally  in  buying  off  the  enemy,  and 
bringing  him  from  the  republican  to  the  royal  camp  ; but 
when  there,  the  deserter  was  never  of  any  use.  Figaro, 
when  so  treated,  grew  fat  and  desponding,  and  lost  all  his 
sprightly  verve  ; and  Nemesis  became  as  gentle  as  a Quak- 
eress. But  these  instances  of  “ratting”  were  not  many. 


CARICATURES  AND  LITHOGRAPHY. 


187 


Some  few  poets  were  bought  over ; but,  among  men  follow- 
ing the  profession  of  the  press,  a change  of  politics  is  an 
infringement  of  the  point  of  honor,  and  a man  must  fight 
as  well  as  apostatize.  A very  curious  table  might  be  made, 
signalizing  the  difference  of  the  moral  standard  between  us 
and  the  French.  Why  is  the  grossness  and  indelicacy,  pub- 
licly permitted  in  England,  unknown  in  France,  where 
private  morality  is  certainly  at  a lower  ebb  ? Why  is  the 
point  of  private  honor  now  more  rigidly  maintained  among 
the  French  ? Why  is  it,  as  it  should  be,  a moral  disgrace 
for  a Frenchman  to  go  into  debt,  and  no  disgrace  for  him 
to  cheat  his  customer  ? Why  is  there  more  honesty  and 
less  — more  propriety  and  less  ? — and  how  are  we  to  ac- 
count for  the  particular  vices  or  virtues  which  belong  to 
each  nation  in  its  turn  ? 

The  above  is  the  Reverend  M.  Macaire’s  solitary  exploit 
as  a spiritual  swindler : as  MaUre  Macaire  in  the  courts  of 
law,  as  avocat , avoue — in  a humbler  capacity  even,  as  a 
prisoner  at  the  bar,  he  distinguishes  himself  greatly,  as 
may  be  imagined.  On  one  occasion  we  find  the  learned 
gentleman  humanely  visiting  an  unfortunate  detenu  — no 
other  person,  in  fact,  than  his  friend  M.  Bertrand,  who  has 
fallen  into  some  trouble,  and  is  awaiting  the  sentence  of 
the  law.  He  begins  — 

“ Mon  cher  Bertrand,  donne  moi  cent  ecus,  je  te  fais  ac- 
quitter  d’emblee.” 

“ J’ai  pas  d’argent.” 

“ He  bien,  donne  moi  cent  francs.” 

“ Pas  le  sou.” 

“ Tu  n’as  pas  dix  francs  ? ” 

“ Pas  un  liard.” 

“ Alors  donne  moi  tes  bottes,  je  plaiderai  la  circonstance 
attenuante.” 

The  manner  in  which  Maitre  Macaire  soars  from  the  cent 
ecus  ( a high  point  already  ) to  the  sublime  of  the  boots,  is 
in  the  best  comic  style.  In  another  instance  he  pleads  be- 
fore a judge,  and  mistaking  his  client,  pleads  for  defendant, 
instead  of  plaintiff.  “ The  infamy  of  the  plaintiff’s  char- 
acter, my  luds , renders  his  testimony  on  such  a charge  as 
this  wholly  unavailing.”  “M.  Macaire,  M.  Macaire,”  cries 
the  attorney,  in  a fright,  “you  are  for  the  plaintiff!” 
“This,  my  lords,  is  what  the  defendant  will  say.  This  is 
the  line  of  defence  which  the  opposite  party  intend  to 
pursue;  as  if  slanders  like  these  could  weigh  with  an 


188 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK 


enlightened  jury,  or  injure  the  spotless  reputation  of  my 
client ! ” In  this  story  and  expedient  M.  Macaire  has  been 
indebted  to  the  English  bar.  If  there  be  an  occupation  for 
the  English  satirist  in  the  exposing  of  the  cant  and 
knavery  of  the  pretenders  to  religion,  what  room  is  there 
for  him  to  lash  the  infamies  of  the  law ! On  this  point 
the  French  are  babes  in  iniquity  compared  to  us  — a coun- 
sel prostituting  himself  for  money  is  a matter  with  us  so 
stale,  that  it  is  hardly  food  for  satire : which,  to  be  pop- 
ular, must  find  some  much  more  complicated  and  interest- 
ing knavery  whereon  to  exercise  its  skill. 

M.  Macaire  is  more  skilful  in  love  than  in  law,  and  ap- 
pears once  or  twice  in  a very  amiable  light  while  under  the 
influence  of  the  tender  passion.  We  find  him  at  the  head 
of  one  of  those  useful  establishments  unknown  in  our 
country  — a Bureau  de  Manage  : half  a dozen  of  such 
places  are  daily  advertised  in  the  journals  : and  “une  veuve 
de  trente  ans  ayant  une  fortune  de  deux  cent  mille  francs,” 
or  “ une  demoiselle  de  quinze  ans,  jolie,  d’une  famille  tres 
distinguee,  qui  possede  trente  mille  livres  de  rentes,”  — 
continually,  in  this  kind-hearted  way,  are  offering  them- 
selves to  the  public : sometimes  it  is  a gentleman,  with  a 
“ physique  agreable, — des  talens  de  societe” — and  a place 
under  Government,  who  makes  a sacrifice  of  himself  in 
a similar  manner.  In  our  little  historical  gallery  we 
find  this  philanthropic  anti-Malthusian  at  the  head  of  an 
establishment  of  this  kind,  introducing  a very  meek, 
simple-looking  bachelor  to  some  distinguished  ladies  of  his 
connoissance . “Let  me  present  you,  sir,  to  Madame  de  St. 
Bertrand  ” ( it  is  our  old  friend ),  “ veuve  de  la  grande 
armee,  et  Mdlle  Eloa  de  Wormspire.  Ces  dames  brulent  de 
Tenvie  de  faire  votre  connoissance.  Je  les  ai  invitees  a 
diner  chez  vous  ce  soir : vous  nous  menerez  a l’opera,  et 
nous  ferons  une  petite  partie  d’ecarte.  Tenez  vous  bien, 
M.  Gobard  ! ces  dames  ont  des  pro  jets  sur  vous  ! ” 

Happy  Gobard  ! happy  system,  which  can  thus  bring 
the  pure  and  loving  together,  and  acts  as  the  best  ally  of 
Hymen  ! The  announcement  of  the  rank  and  titles  of 
Madame  de  St.  Bertrand  — “ veuve  de  la  grande  armee  ” — 
is  very  happy.  “ La  grande  armee  ” has  been  a father  to 
more  orphans^  and  a husband  to  more  widows,  than  it  ever 
made.  Mistresses  of  cafes , old  governesses,  keepers  of 
boarding-houses,  genteel  beggars,  and  ladies  of  lower  rank 
still,  have  this  favorite  pedigree.  They  have  all  had 


CARICATURES  AND  LITHOGRAPHY. 


189 


malheurs  ( what  kind  it  is  needless  to  particularize  ),  they 
are  all  connected  with  the  grand  homme , and  their  fathers 
were  all  colonels.  This  title  exactly  answers  to  the  “ cler- 
gyman’s daughter”  in  England  — as,  “A  young  lady,  the 
daughter  of  a clergyman,  is  desirous  to  teach,”  &c. ; “A 
clergyman’s  widow  receives  into  her  house  a few  select,” 
and  so  forth.  “ Appeal  to  the  benevolent. — By  a series  of 
unheard-of  calamities,  a young  lady,  daughter  of  a clergy- 
man in  the  west  of  England,  has  been  plunged,”  &c.  &c. 
The  difference  is  curious,  as  indicating  the  standard  of 
respectability. 

The  male  beggar  of  fashion  is  not  so  well  known  among 
us  as  in  Paris,  where  street-doors  are  open ; six  or  eight 
families  live  in  a house  ; and  the  gentleman  who  earns  his 
livelihood  by  this  profession  can  make  half  a dozen  visits 
without  the  trouble  of  knocking  from  house  to  house,  and 
the  pain  of  being  observed  by  the  whole  street,  while  the 
footman  is  examining  him  from  the  area.  Some  few  may  be 
seen  in  England  about  the  inns  of  court,  were  the  locality 
is  favorable  ( where,  however,  the  owners  of  the  cham- 
bers are  not  proverbially  soft  of  heart,  so  that  the  har- 
vest must  be  poor)  ; but  Paris  is  full  of  such  adventurers, 
— fat  smooth-tongued,  and  well  dressed,  with  gloves  and 
gilt-headed  canes,  who  would  be  insulted  almost  by  the 
offer  of  silver,  and  expect  your  gold  as  their  right.  Among 
these,  of  course,  our  friend  Robert  plays  his  part ; and  an 
excellent  engraving  represents  him,  snuff-box  in  hand, 
advancing  to  an  old  gentleman,  whom,  by  his  poodle,  his 
powdered  head,  and  his  drivelling,  stupid  look,  one  knows 
to  be  a Carlist  of  the  old  regime.  “ I beg  pardon,”  says 
Robert ; “ is  it  really  yourself  to  whom  I have  the  honor  of 
speaking  ? ” — “ It  is.”  “ Do  you  take  snuff  ? ” — “ I thank 
you.”  — “ Sir,  I have  had  misfortunes  — I want  assistance. 
I am  a Vendean  of  illustrious  birth.  You  know  the  family 
of  Macairbec  — we  are  of  Brest.  My  grandfather  served 
the  King  in  his  galleys ; my  father  and  I belong,  also,  to 
the  marine.  Unfortunate  suits  at  law  have  plunged  us  into 
difficulties,  and  I do  not  hesitate  to  ask  you  for  the  succor 
of  ten  francs.”  — “Sir,  I never  give  to  those  I don’t 
know.”  — “ Right,  sir,  perfectly  right.  Perhaps  you  will 
have  the  kindness  to  lend  me  ten  francs  ? ” 

The  adventures  of  Doctor  Macaire  need  not  be  described, 
because  the  different  degrees  in  quackery  which  are  taken 
by  that  learned  physician  are  all  well  known  in  England, 


190 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK. 


where  we  have  the  advantage  of  many  higher  degrees  in 
the  science,  which  our  neighbors  know  nothing  about.  We 
have  not  Hahnemann,  but  we  have  his  disciples ; we  have 
not  Broussais,  but  we  have  the  College  of  Health ; and 
surely  a dose  of  Morrison’s  pills  is  a sublimer  discovery 
than  a draught  of  hot  water.  We  had  St.  John  Long,  too  — 
where  is  his  science  ? — and  we  are  credibly  informed  that 
some  important  cures  have  been  effected  by  the  inspired 
dignitaries  of  “the  church ” in  Newman  Street  — which,  if 
it  continue  to  practise,  will  sadly  interfere  with  the  profits 
of  the  regular  physicians,  and  where  the  miracles  of  the 
Abbe  of  Paris  are  about  to  be  acted  over  again. 

In  speaking  of  M.  Macaire  and  his  adventures,  we  have 
managed  so  entirely  to  convince  ourselves  of  the  reality  of 
the  personage,  that  we  have  quite  forgotten  to  speak  of 
Messrs.  Philipon  and  Daumier,  who  are,  the  one  the  inven- 
tor, the  other  the  designer,  of  the  Macaire  Picture  Gallery. 
As  works  of  esprit , these  drawings  are  not  more  remarkable 
than  they  are  as  works  of  art,  and  we  never  recollect  to 
have  seen  a series  of  sketches  possessing  more  extraordi- 
nary cleverness  and  variety.  The  countenance  and  figure 
of  Macaire  and  the  dear  stupid  Bertrand  are  preserved,  of 
course,  with  great  fidelity  throughout ; but  the  admirable 
way  in  which  each  fresh  character  is  conceived,  the  gro- 
tesque appropriateness  of  Bobert’s  every  successive  atti- 
tude and  gesticulation,  and  the  variety  of  Bertrand’s 
postures  of  invariable  repose,  the  exquisite  fitness  of  all  the 
other  characters,  who  act  their  little  part  and  disappear 
from  the  scene,  cannot  be  described  on  paper,  or  too  highly 
lauded.  The  figures  are  very  carelessly  drawn ; but,  if  the 
reader  can  understand  us,  all  the  attitudes  and  limbs  are 
perfectly  conceived  and  wonderfully  natural  and  various. 
After  pondering  over  these  drawings  for  some  hours,  as  we 
have  been  while  compiling  this  notice  of  them,  we  have 
grown  to  believe  that  the  personages  are  real,  and  the 
scenes  remain  imprinted  on  the  brain  as  if  we  had  abso- 
lutely been  present  at  their  acting.  Perhaps  the  clever 
way  in  which  the  plates  are  colored,  and  the  excellent 
effect  which  is  put  into  each,  may  add  to  this  illusion. 
Now,  in  looking,  for  instance,  at  H.  B.’s  slim  vapory  figures, 
they  have  struck  us  as  excellent  likenesses  of  men  and 
women,  but  no  more : the  bodies  want  spirit,  action,  and 
individuality.  George  Cruikshank,  as  a humorist,  has  quite 
as  much  genius,  but  he  does  not  know  the  art  of  “ effect  ” 


CARICATURES  AND  LITHOGRAPHY. 


191 


so  well  as  Monsieur  Daumier ; and,  if  we  might  venture  to 
give  a word  of  advice  to  another  humorous  designer,  whose 
works  are  extensively  circulated  — the  illustrator  of  “ Pick- 
wick ” and  “ Nicholas  Nickleby,” — it  would  be  to  study 
well  these  caricatures  of  Monsieur  Daumier ; who,  though 
he  executes  very  carelessly,  knows  very  well  what  he 
would  express,  indicates  perfectly  the  attitude  and  identity 
of  his  figure,  and  is  quite  aware,  beforehand,  of  the  effect 
which  he  intends  to  produce.  The  one  we  should  fancy  to 
be  a practised  artist,  taking  his  ease  : the  other,  a young  one, 
somewhat  bewildered  : a very  clever  one,  however,  who,  if 
he  would  think  more,  and  exaggerate  less,  would  add  not  a 
little  to  his  reputation. 

Having  pursued,  all  through  these  remarks,  the  compari- 
son between  English  art  and  French  art,  English  and  French 
humor,  manners,  and  morals,  perhaps  we  should  endeavor, 
also,  to  write  an  analytical  essay  on  English  cant  or  hum- 
bug, as  distinguished  from  French.  It  might  be  shown 
that  the  latter  was  more  picturesque  and  startling,  the 
former  more  substantial  and  positive.  It  has  none  of  the 
poetic  flights  of  the  French  genius,  but  advances  steadily, 
and  gains  more  ground  in  the  end  than  its  sprightlier 
compeer.  But  such  a discussion  would  carry  us  through 
the  whole  range  of  French  and  English  history,  and  the 
reader  has  probably  read  quite  enough  of  the  subject  in 
this  and  the  foregoing  pages. 

We  shall,  therefore,  say  no  more  of  French  and  English 
caricatures  generally,  or  of  Mr.  Macaire’s  particular  accom- 
plishments and  adventures.  They  are  far  better  understood 
by  examining  the  original  pictures,  by  which  Philipon  and 
Daumier  have  illustrated  them,  than  by  translations  first 
into  print  and  afterwards  into  English.  They  form  a very 
curious  and  instructive  commentary  upon  the  present  state 
of  society  in  Paris,  and  a hundred  years  hence,  when  the 
whole  of  this  struggling,  noisy,  busy,  merry  race  shall  have 
exchanged  their  pleasures  or  occupations  for  a quiet  coffin 
( and  a tawdry  lying  epitaph  ) at  Montmartre,  or  Pere  la 
Chaise ; when  the  follies  here  recorded  shall  have  been 
superseded  by  new  ones,  and  the  fools  now  so  active  shall 
have  given  up  the  inheritance  of  the  world  to  their  children  : 
the  latter  will,  at  least,  have  the  advantage  of  knowing,  in- 
timately and  exactly  the  manners  of  life  and  being  of  their 
grandsires,  and  calling  up,  when  they  so  choose  it,  our 
ghosts  from  the  grave,  to  live,  love,  quarrel,  swindle,  suffer, 


192 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK , 


and  struggle  on  blindly  as  of  yore.  And  when  the  amused 
speculator  shall  have  laughed  sufficiently  at  the  immen- 
sity of  our  follies,  and  the  paltriness  of  our  aims,  smiled 
at  our  exploded  superstitions,  wondered  how  this  man 
should  be  considered  great,  who  is  now  clean  forgotten 
(as  copious  Guthrie  before  mentioned);  how  this  should 
have  been  thought  a patriot  who  is  but  a knave  spouting 
commonplace ; or  how  that  should  have  been  dubbed  a 
philosopher  who  is  but  a dull  fool,  blinking  solemn,  and 
pretending  to  see  in  the  dark ; when  he  shall  have  exam- 
ined all  these  at  leisure,  smiling  in  a pleasant  contempt  and 
good-humored  superiority,  and  thanking  heaven  for  his 
increased  lights,  he  will  shut  the  book,  and  be  a fool  as  his 
fathers  were  before  him. 

It  runs  in  the  blood.  Well  hast  thou  said,  0 ragged 
Macaire,  — “ Le  jour  va  passer,  mais  les  badauds  ne 

PASSERONT  PAS.” 


LITTLE  P0INS1NET. 


BOUT  the  year  1760,  there 
lived,  at  Paris,  a little  fellow, 
who  was  the  darling  of  all 
the  wags  of  his  aquaintance. 
Nature  seemed,  in  the  forma- 
tion of  this  little  man,  to 
have  amused  herself,  by  giv- 
ing loose  to  half  a hundred 
of  her  most  comical  caprices. 
He  had  some  wit  and  drollery 
of  his  own,  which  sometimes 
rendered  his  sallies  very  amus- 
ing ; but,  where  his  friends 
laughed  with  him  once,  they 
laughed  at  him  a thousand 
times,  for  he  had  a fund  of 
absurdity  in  himself  that  was  more  pleasant  than  all  the 
wit  in  the  world.  He  was  as  proud  as  a peacock,  as  wicked 
as  an  ape,  and  as  silly  as  a goose.  He  did  not  possess  one 
single  grain  of  common  sense  ; but,  in  revenge,  his  preten- 
sions were  enormous,  his  ignorance  vast,  and  his  credulity 
more  extensive  still.  From  his  youth  upwards,  he  had  read 
nothing  but  the  new  novels,  and  the  verses  in  the  almanacs, 
which  helped  him  not  a little  in  making,  what  he  called, 
poetry  of  his  own ; for,  of  course,  our  little  hero  was  a 
poet.  All  the  common  usages  of  life,  all  the  ways  of  the 
world,  and  all  the  customs  of  society,  seemed  to  be  quite 
unknown  to  him  ; add  to  these  gdod  qualities,  a magnificent 
conceit,  a cowardice  inconceivable,  and  a face  so  irresistibly 
comic,  that  every  one  who  first  beheld  it  was  compelled  to 
burst  out  a-laughing,  and  you  will  have  some  notion  of  this 
strange  little  gentleman.  He  was  very  proud  of  his  voice, 
13  193 


194 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK 


and  uttered  all  his  sentences  in  the  richest  tragic  tone. 
He  was  little  better  than  a dwarf ; but  he  elevated  his  eye- 
brows, Held  up  his  neck,  walked  on  the  tips  of  his  toes,  and 
gave  himself  the  airs  of  a giant.  He  had  a little  pair  of 
bandy  legs,  which  seemed  much  too  short  to  support  any- 
thing like  a human  body  ; but,  by  the  help  of  these  crooked 
supporters,  he  thought  he  could  dance  like  a Grace  ; and 
indeed,  fancied  all  the  graces  possible  were  to  be  found  in 
his  person.  His  goggle  eyes  were  always  rolling  about 
wildly,  as  if  in  correspondence  with  the  disorder  of  his  little 
brain ; and  his  countenance  thus  wore  an  expression  of  per- 
petual wonder.  With  such  happy  natural  gifts,  he  not 
only  fell  into  all  traps  that  were  laid  for  him,  but  seemed 
almost  to  go  out  of  his  way  to  seek  them ; although,  to  be 
sure,  his  friends  did  not  give  him  much  trouble  in  that 
search,  for  they  prepared  hoaxes  for  him  incessantly. 

One  day  the  wags  introduced  him  to  a company  of  ladies, 
who,  though  not  countesses  and  princesses  exactly,  took, 
nevertheless,  those  titles  upon  themselves  for  the  nonce  ; 
and  were  all,  for  the  same  reason,  violently  smitten  with 
Master  Poinsinet’s  person.  One  of  them,  the  lady  of  the 
house,  was  especially  tender ; and,  seating  him  by  her  side 
at  supper,  so  plied  him  with  smiles,  ogles,  and  champagne, 
that  our  little  hero  grew  crazed  with  ecstasy,  and  wild  with 
love.  In  the  midst  of  his  happiness,  a cruel  knock  was 
heard  below,  accompanied  by  quick  loud  talking,  swearing, 
and  shuffling  of  feet : you  would  have  thought  a regiment 
was  at  the  door.  “ Oh  heavens  ! ” cried  the  marchioness, 
starting  up,  and  giving  to  the  hand  of  Poinsinet  one  part- 
ing squeeze  ; “fly — fly,  my  Poinsinet:  7tis  the  colonel  — 
my  husband  ! ” At  this,  each  gentleman  of  the  party  rose, 
and,  drawing  his  rapier,  vowed  to  cut  his  way  through  the 
colonel  and  all  his  mousquetaires , or  die,  if  need  be,  by  the 
side  of  Poinsinet. 

The  little  fellow  was  obliged  to  lug  out  his  sword  too, 
and  went  shuddering  down  stairs,  heartily  repenting  of  his 
passion  for  marchionesses.  When  the  party  arrived  in  the 
street,  they  found,  sure  enough,  a dreadful  company  of 
mousquetaires , as  they  seemed,  ready  to  oppose  their 
passage.  Swords  crossed, — torches  blazed  ; and,  with  the 
most  dreadful  shouts  and  imprecations,  the  contending 
parties  rushed  upon  one  another  ; the  friends  of  Poinsinet 
surrounding  and  supporting  that  little  warrior,  as  the 
French  knights  did  King  Francis  at  Pavia,  otherwise  the 


LITTLE  POINSINET: 


195 


poor  fellow  certainly  would  have  fallen  down  in  the  gutter 
from  fright. 

But  the  combat  was  suddenly  interrupted  ; for  the  neigh- 
bors, who  knew  nothing  of  the  trick  going  on,  and 
thought  the  brawl  was  real,  had  been  screaming  with  all 
their  might  for  the  police,  who  began  about  this  time  to 
arrive.  Directly  they  appeared,  friends  and  enemies  of 
Poinsinet  at  once  took  to  their  heels ; and,  in  this  part  of 
the  transaction,  at  least,  our  hero  himself  showed  that  he 
was  equal  to  the  longest-legged  grenadier  that  ever  ran 
away. 

When,  at  last,  those  little  bandy  legs  of  his  had  borne 
him  safely  to  his  lodgings,  all  Poinsinet’s  friends  crowded 
round  him,  to  congratulate  him  on  his  escape  and  his 
valor. 

“ Egad,  how  he  pinked  that  great  red-haired  fellow ! ” 
said  one. 

“No ; did  I ? ” said  Poinsinet. 

“ Did  you  ? Psha ! don’t  try  to  play  the  modest,  and 
humbug  us  ; you  know  you  did.  I suppose  you  will  say, 
next,  that  you  were  not  for  three  minutes  point  to  point 
with  Cartentierce  himself,  the  most  dreadful  swordsman  of 
the  army.  ” 

“Why,  you  see,  ” says  Poinsinet,  quite  delighted,  “it  was 
so  dark  that  I did  not  know  with  whom  I was  engaged ; 
although  corbleu , I did  for  one  or  two  of  the  fellows.  ” 
And  after  a little  more  of  such  conversation,  during  which 
he  was  fully  persuaded  that  he  had  done  for  a dozen  of  the 
enemy  at  least,  Poinsinet  went  to  bed,  his  little  person 
trembling  with  fright  and  pleasure  ; and  he  fell  asleep,  and 
dreamed  of  rescuing  ladies,  and  destroying  monsters,  like  a 
second  Amadis  de  Gaul. 

When  he  awoke  in  the  morning,  he  found  a party  of 
his  friends  in  his  room : one  was  examining  his  coat  and 
waistcoat ; another  was  casting  many  curious  glances  at  his 
inexpressibles.  “Look  here!”  said  this  gentleman,  hold- 
ing up  the  garment  to  the  light;  “one  — two  — three 
gashes  ! I am  hanged  if  the  cowards  did  not  aim  at  Poin- 
sinet’s legs  ! There  are  four  holes  in  the  sword  arm  of 
his  coat,  and  seven  have  gone  right  through  coat  and 
waistcoat.  Good  heaven ! Poinsinet,  have  you  had  a 
surgeon  to  your  wounds  ? ” 

“Wounds  !”  said  the  little  man,  springing  up,  “I  don’t 
know — that  is,  I hope — that  is  — 0 Lord!  0 Lord!  I 


196 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK 


hope  Fm  not  wounded ! ” and,  after  a proper  examination, 
he  discovered  he  was  not. 

“ Thank  heaven  ! thank  heaven  ! ” said  one  of  the  wags 
(who,  indeed,  during  the  slumbers  of  Poinsinet  had  been 
occupied  in  making  these  very  holes  through  the  garments 
of  that  individual),  “if  you  have  escaped,  it  is  by  a 
miracle.  Alas ! alas ! all  your  enemies  have  not  been  so 
lucky.  ” 

“ How  ! is  anybody  wounded  ? ” said  Poinsinet. 

“ My  dearest  friend,  prepare  yourself ; that  unhappy 
man  who  came  to  revenge  his  menaced  honor  — that 
gallant  officer — -that  injured  husband,  Colonel  Count  de 
Cartentierce  — ” 

“Well?” 

“Is  no  more  ! he  died  this  morning,  pierced  through 
with  nineteen  wounds  from  your  hand,  and  calling  upon  his 
country  to  revenge  his  murder.” 

When  this  awful  sentence  was  pronounced,  all  the  audi- 
tory gave  a pathetic  and  simultaneous  sob;  and  as  for 
Poinsinet,  he  sank  back  on  his  bed  with  a howl  of  terror, 
which  would  have  melted  a Visigoth  to  tears,  or  to  laughter. 
As  soon  as  his  terror  and  remorse  had,  in  some  degree,  sub- 
sided, his  comrades  spoke  to  him  of  the  necessity  of 
making  his  escape ; and,  huddling  on  his  clothes,  and  bid- 
ding them  all  a tender  adieu,  he  set  off,  incontinently, 
without  his  breakfast,  for  England,  America,  or  Russia,  not 
knowing  exactly  which. 

One  of  his  companions  agreed  to  accompan}^  him  on  a 
part  of  this  journey, — that  is,  as  far  as  the  barrier  of  St. 
Denis,  which  is,  as  everybody  knows,  on  the  high  road  to 
Dover ; and  there,  being  tolerably  secure,  they  entered  a 
tavern  for  breakfast ; which  meal,  the  last  that  he  ever  was 
to  take,  perhaps,  in  his  native  city,  Poinsinet  was  just 
about  to  discuss,  when,  behold ! a gentleman  entered  the 
apartment  where  Poinsinet  and  his  friend  were  seated,  and, 
drawing  from  his  pocket  a paper,  with  “ Au  nom  du  Roy  ” 
flourished  on  the  top,  read  from  it,  or  rather  from  Poin- 
sinef  s own  figure,  his  exact  signalement , laid  his  hand  on 
his  shoulder,  and  arrested  him  in  the  name  of  the  King, 
and  of  the  provost-marshal  of  Paris.  “ I arrest  you,  sir,” 
said  he,  gravely,  “ with  regret ; you  have  slain,  with  seven- 
teen wounds,  in  single  combat,  Colonel  Count  de  Carten- 
tierce, one  of  his  Majesty’s  household  ; and,  as  his  murderer, 
you  fall  under  the  immediate  authority  of  the  provost- 
marshal,  and  die  without  trial  or  benefit  of  clergy.” 


LITTLE  POINSINET. 


197 


You  may  fancy  how  the  poor  little  man’s  appetite  fell 
when  he  heard  this  speech.  “ In  the  provost-marshal’s 
hands  ? ” said  his  friend : u then  it  is  all  over,  indeed ! 
When  does  my  poor  friend  suffer,  sir  ? ” 

“ At  half-past  six  o’clock,  the  day  after  to-morrow,”  said 
the  officer,  sitting  down,  and  helping  himself  to  wine. 
“ But  stop,”  said  he,  suddenly ; “ sure  I can’t  mistake  ? 
Yes  — no  — yes,  it  is.  My  dear  friend,  my  dear  Durand! 
don’t  you  recollect  your  old  schoolfellow,  Antoine  ? ” 
And  herewith  the  officer  flung  himself  into  the  arms  of 
Durand,  Poinsinet’s  comrade,  and  they  performed  a most 
affecting  scene  of  friendship. 

“This  may  be  of  some  service  to  you,”  whispered  Du- 
rand to  Poinsinet ; and,  after  some  further  parley,  he  asked 
the  officer  when  he  was  bound  to  deliver  up  his  prisoner ; 
and,  hearing  that  he  was  not  called  upon  to  appear  at  the 
Marshalsea  before  six  o’clock  at  night,  Monsieur  Durand 
prevailed  upon  Monsieur  Antoine  to  wait  until  that  hour, 
and  in  the  meantime  to  allow  his  prisoner  to  walk  about 
the  town  in  his  company.  This  request  was,  with  a little 
difficulty,  granted ; and  poor  Poinsinet  begged  to  be  carried 
to  the  houses  of  his  various  friends,  and  bid  them  farewell. 
Some  were  aware  of  the  trick  that  had  been  played  upon 
him  : others  were  not ; but  the  poor  little  man’s  credulity 
was  so  great,  that  it  was  impossible  to  undeceive  him ; and 
he  went  from  house  to  house  bewailing  his  fate,  and 
followed  by  the  complaisant  marshal’s  officer. 

The  news  of  his  death  he  received  with  much  more 
meekness  than  could  have  been  expected;  but  what  he 
could  not  reconcile  to  himself  was,  the  idea  of  dissection 
afterwards.  “ What  can  they  want  with  me  ? ” cried  the 
poor  wretch,  in  an  unusual  fit  of  candor.  “I  am  very  small 
and  ugly  ; it  would  be  different  if  I were  a tall  fine-looking 
fellow.”  But  he  was  given  to  understand  that  beauty 
made  very  little  difference  to  the  surgeons,  who,  on  the 
contrary,  would,  on  certain  occasions,  prefer  a deformed 
man  to  a handsome  one  ; for  science  was  much  advanced  by 
the  study  of  such  monstrosities.  With  this  reason  Poin- 
sinet was  obliged  to  be  content ; and  so  paid  his  rounds  of 
visits,  and  repeated  his  dismal  adieux. 

The  officer  of  the  provost-marshal,  however  amusing 
Poinsinet’s  woes  might  have  been,  began,  by  this  time,  to 
grow  very  weary  of  them,  and  gave  him  more  than  one 
opportunity  to  escape.  He  would  stop  at  shop-windows, 


198 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK. 


loiter  round  corners,  and  look  up  in  the  sky,  but  all  in  vain : 
Poinsinet  would  not  escape,  do  what  the  other  would.  At 
length,  luckily,  about  dinner-time,  the  officer  met  one  of 
Poinsinet’s  friends  and  his  own : and  the  three  agreed  to 
dine  at  a tavern,  as  they  had  breakfasted;  and  here  the 
officer,  who  vowed  that  he  had  been  up  for  five  weeks  in- 
cessantly, fell  suddenly  asleep,  in  the  profoundest  fatigue  ; 
and  Poinsinet  was  persuaded,  after  much  hesitation  on  his 
part,  to  take  leave  of  him. 

And  now,  this  danger  overcome,  another  was  to  be 
avoided.  Beyond  a doubt  the  police  were  after  him,  and 
how  was  he  to  avoid  them  ? He  must  be  disguised,  of 
course  ; and  one  of  his  friends,  a tall,  gaunt  lawyer’s  clerk, 
agreed  to  provide  him  with  habits. 

So  little  Poinsinet  dressed  himself  out  in  the  clerk’s 
dingy  black  suit,  of  which  the  knee-breeches  hung  down  to 
his  heels,  and  the  waist  of  the  coat  reached  the  calves  of 
his  legs  ; and,  furthermore,  he  blacked  his  eyebrows,  and 
wore  a huge  black  periwig,  in  which  his  friend  vowed  that 
no  one  could  recognize  him.  But  the  most  painful  in- 
cident, with  regard  to  the  periwig,  was,  that  Poinsinet, 
whose  solitary  beauty  — if  beauty  it  might  be  called  — was 
a head  of  copious,  curling,  yellow  hair,  was  compelled  to 
snip  off  every  one  of  his  golden  locks,  and  to  rub  the 
bristles  with  a black  dye  ; “ for  if  your  wig  were  to  come 
off,”  said  the  lawyer,  “ and  your  fair  hair  to  tumble  over 
your  shoulders,  every  man  would  know,  or  at  least  suspect 
you.”  So  off  the  locks  were  cut,  and  in  his  black  suit  and 
periwig  little  Poinsinet  went  abroad. 

His  friends  had  their  cue;  and  when  he  appeared 
amongst  them,  not  one  seemed  to  know  him.  He  was 
taken  into  companies  where  his  character  was  discussed 
before  him,  and  his  wonderful  escape  spoken  of.  At  last 
he  was  introduced  to  the  very  officer  of  the  provost- 
marshal  who  had  taken  him  into  custody,  and  who  told  him 
that  he  had  been  dismissed  the  provost’s  service,  in  con- 
sequence of  the  escape  of  the  prisoner.  Now,  for  the  first 
time,  poor  Poinsinet  thought  himself  tolerably  safe,  and 
blessed  his  kind  friends  who  had  procured  for  him  such  a 
complete  disguise.  How  this  affair  ended  I know  not,  — 
whether  some  new  lie  was  coined  to  account  for  his  release, 
or  whether  he  was  simply  told  that  he  had  been  hoaxed : it 
mattered  little  ; for  the  little  man  was  quite  as  ready  to  be 
hoaxed  the  next  day. 


LITTLE  POINSINET. 


199 


200 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  ROOK. 


Poinsinet  was  one  day  invited  to  dine  with  one  of  the 
servants  of  the  Tuileries ; and,  before  his  arrival,  a person 
in  company  had  been  decorated  with  a knot  of  lace  and  a 
gold  key,  such  as  chamberlains  wear ; he  was  introduced  to 
Poinsinet  as  the  Count  de  Truchses,  chamberlain  to  the 
King  of  Prussia.  After  dinner  the  conversation  fell  upon 
the  Count’s  visit  to  Paris  ; when  his  Excellency,  with  a 
mysterious  air,  vowed  that  lie  had  only  come  for  pleasure. 
“ It  is  mighty  well,  ” said  a third  person,  “ and,  of  course, 
we  can’t  cross-question  your  lordship  too  closely ; ” but  at 
the  same  time  it  was  hinted  to  Poinsinet  that  a person  of 
such  consequence  did  not  travel  for  nothing , with  which 
opinion  Poinsinet  solemnly  agreed ; and,  indeed,  it  was 
borne  out  by  a subsequent  declaration  of  the  Count,  who 
condescended,  at  last,  to  tell  the  company,  in  confidence, 
that  he  had  a mission,  and  a most  important  one  — to  find, 
namely,  among  the  literary  men  of  Prance,  a governor  for 
the  Prince  Poyal  of  Prussia.  The  company  seemed  aston- 
ished that  the  King  had  not  made  choice  of  Voltaire  of 
D’Alembert,  and  mentioned  a dozen  other  distinguished 
men  who  might  be  competent  to  this  important  duty ; but 
the  Count,  as  may  be  imagined,  found  objections  to  every 
one  of  them  ; and,  at  last,  one  of  the  guests  said,  that,  if  his 
Prussian  Majesty  was  not  particular  as  to  age,  he  knew  a 
person  more  fitted  for  the  place  than  any  other  who  could 
be  found, — his  honorable  friend,  M.  Poinsinet,  was  the  indi- 
vidual to  whom  he  alluded. 

“ Good  heavens ! ” cried  the  Count,  “ is  it  possible  that 
the  celebrated  Poinsinet  would  take  such  a place  ? I would 
give  the  world  to  see  him  ? ” And  you  may  fancy  how 
Poinsinet  simpered  and  blushed  when  the  introduction 
immediately  took  place. 

The  Count  protested  to  him  that  the  King  would  be 
charmed  to  know  him  ; and  added,  that  one  of  his  operas 
(for  it  must  be  told  that  our  little  friend  was  a vaudeville- 
maker  by  trade  ) had  been  acted  seven-and-twenty  times  at 
the  theatre  at  Potsdam.  His  Excellency  then  detailed  to 
him  all  the  honors  and  privileges  which  the  governor  of  the 
Prince  Koyal  might  expect ; and  all  the  guests  encouraged 
the  little  man’s  vanity,  by  asking  him  for  his  protection  and 
favor.  In  a short  time  our  hero  grew  so  inflated  with  pride 
and  vanit}q  that  he  was  for  patronizing  the  chamberlain 
himself,  who  proceeded  to  inform  him  that  he  was  furnished 
with  all  the  necessary  powers  by  his  sovereign,  who  had 


LITTLE  LOINS  I NET. 


201 


specially  enjoined  him  to  confer  upon  the  future  governor 
of  his  son  the  royal  order  of  the  Black  Eagle. 

Poinsinet,  delighted,  was  ordered  to  kneel  down  ; and 
the  Count  produced  a large  yellow  ribbon,  which  he  hung 
over  his  shoulder,  and  which  was,  he  declared,  the  grand 
cordon  of  the  order.  You  must  fancy  Poinsinet’s  face,  and 
excessive  delight  at  this ; for  as  for  describing  them,  nobody 
can.  For  four-and-twenty  hours  the  happy  chevalier  paraded 
through  Paris  with  this  flaring  yellow  ribbon  ; and  he  was 
not  undeceived  until  his  friends  had  another  trick  in  store 
for  him. 

He  dined  one  day  in  the  company  of  a man  who  under- 
stood a little  of  the  noble  art  of  conjuring,  and  performed 
some  clever  tricks  on  the  cards.  Poinsinet’s  organ  of 
wonder  was  enormous ; he  looked  on  with  the  gravity  and 
awe  of  a child,  and  thought  the  man’s  tricks  sheer  mira- 
cles. It  wanted  no  more  to  set  his  companions  to  work. 

“ Who  is  this  wonderful  man  ? ” said  he  to  his  neighbor. 

“ Why,”  said  the  other,  mysteriously,  “ one  hardly  knows 
who  he  is ; or,  at  least,  one  does  not  like  to  say  to  such  an 
indiscreet  fellow  as  you  are.”  Poinsinet  at  once  swore  to  be 
secret.  “Well,  then,”  said  his  friend,  “you  will  hear  that 
man  — that  wonderful  man  — called  by  a name  which  is  not 
his:  his  real  name  is  Acosta:  he  is  a Portuguese  Jew,  a 
Bosicrucian,  a Cabalist  of  the  first  order,  and  compelled  to 
leave  Lisbon  for  fear  of  the  Inquisition.  He  performs  here, 
as  you  see,  some  extraordinary  things,  occasionally ; but 
the  master  of  the  house,  who  loves  him  excessively,  would 
not,  for  the  world,  that  his  name  should  be  made  public.” 

“ Ah,  bah  ! ” said  Poinsinet,  who  affected  the  bel  esprit ; 
“you  don’t  mean  to  say  that  you  believe  in  magic,  and 
cabalas,  and  such  trash  ? ” 

“ Do  I not  ? You  shall  judge  for  yourself.”  And,  accord- 
ingly, Poinsinet  was  presented  to  the  magician,  who  pre- 
tended to  take  a vast  liking  for  him,  and  declared  that 
he  saw  in  him  certain  marks  which  would  infallibly  lead 
him  to  great  eminence  in  the  magic  art,  if  he  chose  to 
study  it. 

Dinner  was  served,  and  Poinsinet  placed  by  the  side  of  the 
miracle-worker,  who  became  very  confidential  with  him,  and 
promised  him  — ay,  before  dinner  was  over  — a remarkable 
instance  of  his  power.  Nobody,  on  this  occasion,  ventured 
to  cut  a single  joke  against  poor  Poinsinet ; nor  could  he 
fancy  that  any  trick  was  intended  against  him,  for  the 


202 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK . 


demeanor  of  the  society  towards  him  was  perfectly  grave 
and  respectful,  and  the  conversation  serious.  On  a sudden, 
however,  somebody  exclaimed,  “ Where  is  Poinsinet  ? Did 
any  one  see  him  leave  the  room  ? ” 

All  the  company  exclaimed  how  singular  the  disappear- 
ance was ; and  Poinsinet  himself,  growing  alarmed,  turned, 
round  to  his  neighbor,  and  was  about  to  explain. 

“ Hush  ! ” said  the  magician,  in  a whisper ; “ I told  you 
that  you  should  see  what  I could  do.  I have  made  you 
invisible  ; be  quiet,  and  you  shall  see  some  more  tricks  that 
I shall  play  with  these  fellows.” 

Poinsinet  remained  then  silent,  and  listened  to  his  neigh- 
bors, who  agreed,  at  last,  that  he  was  a quiet,  orderly  per- 
sonage, and  had  left  the  table  early,  being  unwilling  to 
drink  too  much.  Presently  they  ceased  to  talk  about  him, 
and  resumed  their  conversation  upon  other  matters. 

At  first  it  was  very  quiet  and  grave,  but  the  master  of  the 
house  brought  back  the  talk  to  the  subject  of  Poinsinet,  and 
uttered  all  sorts  of  abuse  concerning  him.  He  begged  the 
gentleman,  who  had  introduced  such  a little  scamp  into  his 
house,  to  bring  him  thither  no  more  : whereupon  the  other 
took  up,  warmly,  Poinsinet’s  defence  ; declared  that  he  was 
a man  of  the  greatest  merit,  frequenting  the  best  society, 
and  remarkable  for  his  talents  as  well  as  his  virtues. 

“ Ah  ! ” said  Poinsinet  to  the  magician,  quite  charmed  at 
what  he  heard,  “ how  ever  shall  I thank  you,  my  dear  sir, 
for  thus  showing  me  who  my  true  friends  are  9 ” 

The  magician  promised  him  still  further  favors  in  pros- 
pect ; and  told  him  to  look  out  now,  for  he  was  about  to 
throw  all  the  company  into  a temporary  fit  of  madness, 
which,  no  doubt,  would  be  very  amusing. 

In  consequence,  all  the  company,  who  had  heard  every 
syllable  of  the  conversation,  began  to  perform  the  most 
extraordinary  antics,  much  to  the  delight  of  Poinsinet.  One 
asked  a nonsensical  question,  and  the  other  delivered  an 
answer  not  at  all  to  the  purpose.  If  a man  asked  for  a 
drink,  they  poured  him  out  a pepper-box  or  a napkin : they 
took  a pinch  of  snuff,  and  swore  it  was  excellent  wine ; and 
vowed  that  the  bread  was  the  most  delicious  mutton  ever 
tasted.  The  little  man  was  delighted. 

“ Ah  ! ” said  he,  “ these  fellows  are  prettily  punished  for 
their  rascally  backbiting  of  me  ! ” 

“ Gentlemen,”  said  the  host,  “ I shall  now  give  you  some 
celebrated  champagne,”  and  he  poured  out  to  each  a glass 
of  water. 


LITTLE  POINSINET. 


203 


“ Good  heavens ! 55  said  one,  spitting  it  out,  with  the 
most  horrible  grimace,  “ where  did  you  get  this  detestable 
claret  ? ” 

“ Ah,  faugh  ! ” said  a second,  “ I never  tasted  such  vile 
corked  burgundy  in  all  my  days ! ” and  he  threw  the  glass 
of  water  in  Poinsinet’s  face,  as  did  half  a dozen  of  the 
other  guests,  drenching  the  poor  wretch  to  the  skin.  To 
complete  this  pleasant  illusion,  two  of  the  guests  fell  to 
boxing  across  Poinsinet,  who  received  a number  of  the 
blows,  and  received  them  with  the  patience  of  a fakir,  feel- 
ing himself  more  flattered  by  the  precious  privilege  of 
beholding  this  scene  invisible,  than  hurt  by  the  blows  and 
buffets  which  the  mad  company  bestowed  upon  him. 

The  fame  of  this  adventure  spread  quickly  over  Paris, 
and  all  the  world  longed  to  have  at  their  houses  the  rep- 
resentation of  Poinsinet  the  Invisible.  The  servants  and 
the  whole  company  used  to  be  put  up  to  the  trick ; and 
Poinsinet,  who  believed  in  his  invisibility  as  much  as  he 
did  in  his  existence,  went  about  with  his  friend  and  pro- 
tector the  magician.  People,  of  course,  never  pretended  to 
see  him,  and  would  very  often  not  talk  of  him  at  all  for 
some  time,  but  hold  sober  conversation  about  anything  else 
in  the  world.  When  dinner  was  served,  of  course  there 
was  no  cover  laid  for  Poinsinet,  who  carried  about  a little 
stool,  on  which  he  sat  by  the  side  of  the  magician,  and 
always  ate  off  his  plate.  Everybody  was  astonished  at  the 
magician’s  appetite  and  at  the  quantity  of  wine  he  drank ; 
as  for  little  Poinsinet,  he  never  once  suspected  any  trick, 
and  had  such  a confidence  in  his  magician,  that,  I do 
believe,  if  the  latter  had  told  him  to  fling  himself  out  of 
window,  he  would  have  done  so,  without  the  slightest 
trepidation. 

Among  other  mystifications  in  which  the  Portuguese 
enchanter  plunged  him,  was  one  which  used  to  afford 
always  a good  deal  of  amusement.  He  informed  Poinsinet, 
with  great  mystery,  that  he  was  not  himself ; he  was 
not,  that  is  to  say,  that  ugly,  deformed  little  monster, 
called  Poinsinet ; but  that  his  birth  was  most  illustrious, 
and  his  real  name  Polycarte.  He  was,  in  fact,  the  son  of 
a celebrated  magician  ; but  other  magicians,  enemies  of  his 
father,  had  changed  him  in  his  cradle,  altering  his  features 
into  their  present  hideous  shape,  in  order  that  a silly  old 
fellow,  called  Poinsinet,  might  take  him  to  be  his  own  son, 
which  little  monster  the  magician  had  likewise  spirited 
away. 


204 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK 


The  poor  wretch  was  sadly  cast  down  at  this ; for  he 
tried  to  fancy  that  his  person  was  agreeable  to  the  ladies, 
of  whom  he  was  one  of  the  warmest  little  admirers 
possible ; and  to  console  him  somewhat,  the  magician  told 
him  that  his  real  shape  was  exquisitely  beautiful,  and  as 
soon  as  he  should  appear  in  it,  all  the  beauties  in  Paris 
would  be  at  his  feet.  But  how  to  regain  it  ? “ Oh,  for  one 
minute  of  that  beauty  ! ” cried  the  little  man  ; “ what  would 
lie  not  give  to  appear  under  that  enchanting  form  ! ” The 
magician  hereupon  waved  his  stick  over  his  head,  pro- 
nounced some  awful  magical  words,  and  twisted  him  round 
three  times ; at  the  third  twist,  the  men  in  company 
seemed  struck  with  astonishment  and  envy,  the  ladies 
clasped  their  hands,  and  some  of  them  kissed  his.  Every- 
body declared  his  beauty  to  be  supernatural. 

Poinsinet,  enchanted,  rushed  to  a glass.  “ Fool ! ” said 
the  magician  ; “ do  you  suppose  that  you  can  see  the  change  ? 
My  power  to  render  you  invisible,  beautiful,  or  ten  times 
more  hideous  even  than  you  are,  extends  only  to  others, 
not  to  you.  You  may  look  a thousand  times  in  the  glass, 
and  you  will  only  see  those  deformed  limbs  and  disgusting 
features  with  which  devilish  malice  has  disguised  you.  ” 
Poor  little  Poinsinet  looked,  and  came  back  in  tears. 
“But,  ” resumed  the  magician,  — “ha,  ha,  ha!  — I know 
a way  in  which  to  disappoint  the  machinations  of  these 
fiendish  magi.  ” 

“ Oh,  my  benefactor  ! — my  great  master  ! — for  heaven’s 
sake  tell  it ! ” gasped  Poinsinet. 

“ Look  you  — it  is  this.  A prey  to  enchantment  and 
demoniac  art  all  your  life  long,  you  have  lived  until  your 
present  age  perfectly  satisfied ; nay,  absolutely  vain  of  a 
person  the  most  singularly  hideous  that  ever  walked  the 
earth ! ” 

“ Is  it  ? ” whispered  Poinsinet.  “ Indeed  and  indeed  I 
didn’t  think  it  so  bad  ! ” 

“ He  acknowledges  it ! he  acknowledges  it ! ” roared  the 
magician.  “Wretch,  dotard,  owl,  mole,  miserable  buzzard  ! 
I have  no  reason  to  tell  thee  now  that  thy  form  is  mon- 
strous, that  children  cry,  that  cowards  turn  pale,  that  teem- 
ing matrons  shudder  to  behold  it.  It  is  not  thy  fault  that 
thou  art  thus  ungainly : but  wherefore  so  blind  ? where- 
fore so  conceited  of  thyself  ! I tell  thee  Poinsinet,  that 
over  every  fresh  instance  of  thy  vanity  the  hostile  enchant- 
ers rejoice  apd  triumph.  As  long  as  thou  art  blindly 


LITTLE  POINSINET . 


205 


satisfied  with  thyself ; as  long  as  thou  pretendest,  in  thy 
present  odious  shape,  to  win  the  love  of  aught  above  a 
negress ; nay,  further  still,  until  thou  hast  learned  to 
regard  that  face,  as  others  do,  with  the  most  intolerable 
horror  and  disgust,  to  abuse  it  when  thou  seest  it,  to  de- 
spise it,  in  short,  and  treat  that  miserable  disguise  in  which 
the  enchanters  have  wrapped  thee  with  the  strongest  hatred 
and  scorn,  so  long  art  thou  destined  to  wear  it.  ” 

Such  speeches  as  these,  continually  repeated,  caused 
Poinsinet  to  be  fully  convinced  of  his  ugliness ; he  used  to 
go  about  in  companies,  and  take  every  opportunity  of 
inveighing  against  himself ; he  made  verses  and  epigrams 
against  himself ; he  talked  about  “ that  dwarf,  Poinsinet ; ” 
“ that  buffoon,  Poinsinet ; ” “ that  conceited,  hump-backed 
Poinsinet ; ” and  he  would  spend  hours  before  the  glass, 
abusing  his  own  face  as  he  saw  it  reflected  there,  and  vow- 
ing that  he  grew  handsomer  at  every  fresh  epithet  that  he 
uttered. 

Of  course  the  wags,  from  time  to  time,  used  to  give  him 
every  possible  encouragement,  and  declared  that  since  this 
exercise,  his  person  was  amazingly  improved.  The  ladles, 
too,  began  to  be  so  excessively  fond  of  him,  that  the  little 
fellow  was  obliged  to  caution  them  at  last  — for  the  good, 
as  he  said,  of  society  ; he  recommended  them  to  draw  lots, 
for  he  could  not  gratify  them  all ; but  promised  when  his 
metamorphosis  was  complete,  that  the  one  chosen  should 
become  the  happy  Mrs.  Poinsinet ; or,  to  speak  more 
correctly,  Mrs.  Polycarte. 

I am  sorry  to  say,  however,  that,  on  the  score  of  gal- 
lantry, Poinsinet  was  never  quite  convinced  of  the  hideous- 
ness, of  his  appearance.  He  had  a number  of  adventures, 
accordingly,  with  the  ladies,  but  strange  to  say,  the  hus- 
bands or  fathers  were  always  interrupting  him.  On  one 
occasion  he  was  made  to  pass  the  night  in  a slipper-bath 
full  of  water ; where,  although  he  had  all  his  clothes  on,  he 
declared  that  he  nearly  caught  his  death  of  cold.  Another 
night,  in  revenge,,  the  poor  fellow 

“dans  le  simple  appareil 

D’une  beaute,  qu’on  vient  d’arracher  au  sommeil,  ” 

spent  a number  of  hours  contemplating  the  beauty  of  the 
moon  on  the  tiles.  These  adventures  are  pretty  numerous 
in  the  memoirs  of  M.  Poinsinet ; but  the  fact  is,  that  peo- 
ple in  France  were  a great  deal  more  philosophical  in  those 
days  than  the  English  are  now,  so  that  Poinsinet’s  loves 


206 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK 


must  be  passed  over,  as  not  being  to  our  taste.  His  magi- 
cian was  a great  diver,  and  told  Poinsinet  the  most  won- 
derful tales  of  his  two  minutes  absence  under  water. 
These  two  minutes,  he  said,  lasted  through  a year,  at  least, 
which  he  spent  in  the  company  of  a naiad,  more  beautiful 
than  Venus,  in  a palace  more  splendid  than  even  Versailles. 
Fired  by  the  description,  Poinsinet  used  to  dip,  and  dip, 
but  he  was  never  known  to  make  any  mermaid  acquaint- 
ances, although  he  fully  believed  that  one  day  he  should 
find  such. 

The  invisible  joke  was  brought  to  an  end  by  Poinsinet’s 
too  great  reliance  on  it ; for  being,  as  we  have  said,  of  a 
very  tender  and  sanguine  disposition,  he  one  day  fell  in 
love  with  a lady  in  whose  company  he  dined,  and  whom  he 
actually  proposed  to  embrace ; but  the  fair  lady,  in  the 
hurry  of  the  moment,  forgot  to  act  up  to  the  joke ; and  in- 
stead of  receiving  Poinsinet’s  salute  with  calmness,  grew 
indignant,  called  him  an  impudent  little  scoundrel,  and 
lent  him  a sound  box  on  the  ear.  With  this  slap  the  invis- 
ibility of  Poinsinet  disappeared,  the  gnomes  and  genii  left 
him,  and  he  settled  down  into  common  life  again,  and  was 
hoaxed  only  by  vulgar  means. 

A vast  number  of  pages  might  be  filled  with  narratives 
of  the  tricks  that  were  played  upon  him  ; but  they  resemble 
each  other  a good  deal,  as  may  be  imagined,  and  the  chief 
point  remarkable  about  them  is  the  wondrous  faith  of 
Poinsinet.  After  being  introduced  to  the  Prussian  ambas- 
sador at  the  Tuileries,  he  was  presented  to  the  Turkish 
envoy  at  the  Place  Vendome,  who  received  him  in  state, 
surrounded  by  the  officers  of  his  establishment,  all  dressed 
in  the  smartest  dresses  that  the  wardrobe  of  the  Opera 
Comique  could  furnish. 

As  the  greatest  honor  that  could  be  done  to  him,  Poin- 
sinet was  invited  to  eat,  and  a tray  was  produced,  on  which 
was  a delicate  dish  prepared  in  the  Turkish  manner.  This 
consisted  of  a reasonable  quantity  of  mustard,  salt,  cinna- 
mon and  ginger,  nutmegs  and  cloves,  with  a couple  of 
tablespoonfuls  of  cayenne  pepper,  to  give  the  whole  a 
flavor;  and  Poinsinet’s  countenance  may  be  imagined  when 
he  introduced  into  his  mouth  a quantity  of  this  exquisite 
compound. 

“The  best  of  the  joke  was,”  says  the  author  who  records 
so  many  of  the  pitiless  tricks  practised  upon  poor  Poin- 
sinet, “that  the  little  man  used  to  laugh  at  them  afterwards 


LITTLE  POINSINET. 


207 


himself  with  perfect  good  humor ; and  lived  in  the  daily 
hope  that,  from  being  the  sufferer,  he  should  become  the 
agent  in  these  hoaxes,  and  do  to  others  as  he  had  been 
done  by.”  Passing,  therefore,  one  day,  on  the  Pont  Neuf, 
with  a friend,  who  had  been  one  of  the  greatest  performers, 
the  latter  said  to  him,  “ Poinsinet,  my  good  fellow,  thou 
hast  suffered  enough,  and  thy  sufferings  have  made  thee  so 
wise  and  cunning,  that  thou  art  worthy  of  entering  among 
the  initiated,  and  hoaxing  in  thy  turn.”  Poinsinet  was 
charmed ; he  asked  when  he  should  be  initiated,  and  how  ? 
It  was  told  him  that  a moment  would  suffice,  and  that  the 
ceremony  might  be  performed  on  the  spot.  At  this  news, 
and  according  to  order,  Poinsinet  flung  himself  straightway 
on  his  knees  in  the  kennel ; and  the  other,  drawing  his 
sword,  solemnly  initiated  him  into  the  sacred  order  of 
jokers.  From  that  day  the  little  man  believed  himself  re- 
ceived into  the  society;  and  to  this  having  brought  him, 
let  us  bid  him  a respectful  adieu. 


THE  DEVIL’S  WAGER 


1?  was  the  hour 
of  the  night  when 
there  be  none  stir- 
ring save  church- 
yard ghosts  — 
when  all  doors 
are  closed  except 
the  gates  of 
graves,  and  all 
eyes  shut  but  the 
eyes  of  wicked 
men. 

When  there  is 
no  sound  on  the 
earth  except  the 
ticking  of  the  grasshopper,  or  the  croaking  of  obscene  frogs 
in  the  poole. 

And  no  light  except  that  of  the  blinking  starres,  and  the 
wicked  and  devilish  wills-o’-the-wisp,  as  they  gambol  among 
the  marshes,  and  lead  good  men  astraye. 

When  there  is  nothing  moving  in  heaven  except  the 
owle,  as  he  flappeth  along  lazily ; or  the  magician,  as  he 
rides  on  his  infernal  broomsticke,  whistling  through  the  aire 
like  the  arrowes  of  a Yorkshire  archere. 

It  was  at  this  hour  (namely,  at  twelve  o’clock  of  the 
night,)  that  two  beings  went  winging  through  the  black 
clouds,  and  holding  converse  with  each  other. 

Now  the  first  was  Mercurius,  the  messenger,  not  of  gods 
(as  the  heathens  feigned),  but  of  daemons ; and  the  second, 
with  whom  he  held  company,  was  the  soul  of  Sir  Roger  de 
Rollo,  the  brave  knight.  Sir  Roger  was  Count  of  Chau- 
chigny,  in  Champagne ; Seigneur  of  Santerre,  Villacerf 
and  aultre  lieux.  But  the  great  die  as  well  as  the  humble ; 

208 


THE  DEVIL’S  WAGER . 


209 


and  nothing  remained  of  brave  Roger  now,  but  his  coffin 
and  his  deathless  soul. 

And  Mercurius,  in  order  to  keep  fast  the  soul,  his  com- 
panion, had  bound  him  round  the  neck  with  his  tail ; which, 
when  the  soul  was  stubborn,  he  would  draw  so  tight  as  to 
strangle  him  wellnigh,  sticking  into  him  the  barbed  point 
thereof ; whereat  the  poor  soul,  Sir  Rollo,  would  groan  and 
roar  lustily. 

Now  they  two  had  come  together  from  the  gates  of  pur- 
gatorie,  being  bound  to  those  regions  of  fire  and  flame 
where  poor  sinners  fry  and  roast  in  saecular  saeculorum. 

‘:It  is  hard/5  said  the  poor  Sir  Rollo,  as  they  went  glid- 
ing through  the  clouds,  “ that  I should  thus  be  condemned 
for  ever,  and  all  for  want  of  a single  ave.55 

“How,  Sir  Soul?55  said  the  daemon.  “You  were  on 
earth  so  wicked,  that  not  one,  or  a million  of  aves,  could 
suffice  to  keep  from  hell-flame  a creature  like  thee;  but 
cheer  up  and  be  merry  ; thou  wilt  be  but  a subject  of 
our  lord  the  Devil,  as  am  I;  and,  perhaps,  thou  wilt  be 
advanced  to  posts  of  honor,  as  am  I also : 55  and  to  show  his 
authoritie,  he  lashed  with  his  tail  the  ribbes  of  the  wretched 
Rollo. 

“ Nevertheless,  sinner  as  I am,  one  more  ave  would  have 
saved  me ; for  my  sister,  who  was  Abbess  of  St.  Mary  of 
Chauchigny,  did  so  prevail,  by  her  prayer  and  good  works, 
for  my  lost  and  wretched  soul,  that  every  day  I felt  the 
pains  of  purgatory  decrease ; the  pitchforks  which,  on  my 
first  entry,  had  never  ceased  to  vex  and  torment  my  poor 
carcass,  were  now  not  applied  above  once  a week ; the 
roasting  had  ceased,  the  boiling  had  discontinued  ; only 
a certain  warmth  was  kept  up,  to  remind  me  of  my 
situation.55 

“ A gentle  stewe,55  said  the  daemon. 

“ Yea,  truly,  I was  but  in  a stew,  and  all  from  the  effects 
of  the  prayers  of  my  blessed  sister.  But  yesterday,  he 
who  watched  me  in  purgatory  told  me,  that  yet  another 
prayer  from  my  sister,  and  my  bonds  should  be  unloosed, 
and  I,  who  am  now  a devil,  should  have  been  a blessed 
angel.55 

“And  the  other  ave  ? 55  said  the  daemon. 

“ She  died,  sir  — my  sister  died  — death  choked  her  in 
the  middle  of  the  prayer.55  And  hereat  the  wretched  spirit 
began  to  weepe  and  whine  piteously  ; his  salt  tears  falling 
over  his  beard,  and  scalding  the  tail  of  Mercurius  the  devil, 
14 


210 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK 


“It  is,  in  truth,  a hard  case,”  said  the  daemon;  “but  I 
know  of  no  remedy  save  patience,  and  for  that  you  will 
have  an  excellent  opportunity  in  your  lodgings  below.” 

“ But  I have  relations,  ” said  the  Earl ; “ my  kinsman 
Randal,  who  has  inherited  my  lands,  will  he  not  say  a 
prayer  for  his  uncle.  ” 

“ Thou  didst  hate  and  oppress  him  when  living.  ” 

“ It  is  true ; but  an  ave  is  not  much  ; his  sister,  my 
niece,  Matilda  — ” 

“ You  shut  her  in  a convent,  and  hanged  her  lover.  ” 

“ Had  I not  reason  ? besides,  has  she  not  others  ? ” 

“ A dozen,  without  a doubt.  ” 

“ And  my  brother,  the  prior  ? ” 

“ A liege  subject  of  my  lord  the  Devil : he  never  opens 
his  mouth,  except  to  utter  an  oath,  or  to  swallow  a cup  of 
wine.  ” 

“ And  yet,  if  but  one  of  these  would  but  say  an  ave  for 
me,  I should  be  saved.  ” 

“ Aves  with  them  are  rarae  aves,  ” replied  Mercurius, 
wagging  his  tail  right  waggishly;  “and,  what  is  more,  I will 
lay  thee  any  wager  that  no  one  of  these  will  say  a prayer 
to  save  thee.” 

“ I would  wager  willingly,  ” responded  he  of  Chauchigny  ; 
“but  what  has  a poor  soul  like  me  to  stake  ? ” 

“ Every  evening,  after  the  day’s  roasting,  my  lord  Satan 
giveth  a cup  of  cold  water  to  his  servants ; I will  bet  thee 
thy  water  for  a year,  that  none  of  the  three  will  pray  for 
thee.” 

“ Done  ! ” said  Rollo. 

“ Done  ! ” said  the  daemon  ; and  here,  if  I mistake  not,  is 
thy  castle  of  Chauchigny.” 

Indeed,  it  was  true.  The  soul,  on  looking  down,  per- 
ceived the  tall  towers,  the  courts,  the  stables,  and  the  fair 
gardens  of  the  castle.  Although  it  was  past  midnight, 
there  was  a blaze  of  light  in  the  banqueting-hall,  and  a 
lamp  burning  in  the  open  window  of  the  Lady  Matilda. 

“ With  whom  shall  we  begin  ? ” said  the  daemon  ; “ with 
the  baron  or  the  lady  ? ” 

“ With  the  lady,  if  you  will.  ” 

“ Be  it  so ; her  window  is  open,  let  us  enter.  ” 

So  the}7,  descended,  and  entered  silently  into  Matilda’s 
chamber. 

The  young  lady’s  eyes  were  fixed  so  intently  on  a little 


THE  DEVIL'S  WAGER . 


211 


clock,  that  it  was  no  wonder  that  she  did  not  perceive  the 
entrance  of  her  two  visitors.  Her  fair  cheek  rested  on  her 
white  arm,  and  her  white  arm  on  the  cushion  of  a great 
chair  in  which  she  sat,  pleasantly  supported  by  sweet 
thoughts  and  swan's  down  ; a lute  was  at  her  side,  and  a 
book  of  prayers  lay  under  the  table  ( for  piety  is  always 
modest).  Like  the  amorous  Alexander,  she  sighed  and 
looked  ( at  the  clock ) — and  sighed  for  ten  minutes  or 
more,  when  she  softly  breathed  the  word  “ Edward!  ” 


At  this  the  soul  of  the  Baron  was  wroth.  “ The  jade  is  at 
her  old  pranks,  ” said  he  to  the  devil ; and  then  addressing 
Matilda  : “ I pray  thee,  sweet  niece,  turn  thy  thoughts  for 
a moment  from  that  villanous  page,  Edward,  and  give 
them  to  thine  affectionate  uncle.  ” 

When  she  heard  the  voice,  and  saw  the  awful  apparition 
of  her  uncle  ( for  a year’s  sojourn  in  purgatory  had  not 
increased  the  comeliness  of  his  appearance),  she  started, 
screamed,  and  of  course  fainted. 

But  the  devil  Mercurius  soon  restored  her  to  herself. 


212 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK. 


“ What’s  o’clock  ? ” said  she,  as  soon  as  she  had  recovered 
from  her  fit : “ is  he  come  ? ” 

“Not  thy  lover,  Maude,  but  thine  uncle  — that  is,  his 
soul.  For  the  love  of  heaven,  listen  to  me  : I have  been 
frying  in  purgatory  for  a year  past,  and  should  have  been 
in  heaven  but  for  the  want  of  a single  ave.  ” 

“ I will  say  it  for  thee  to-morrow,  uncle.  ” 

“ To-night,  or  never.  ” 

“ Well,  to-night  be  it : ” and  she  requested  the  devil 
Mercurius  to  give  her  the  prayer-book,  from  under  the 
table  ; but  he  had  no  sooner  touched  the  holy  book  than  he 
dropped  it  with  a shriek  and  a yell.  “ It  was  hotter,”  he 
said,  “ than  his  master  Sir  Lucifer’s  own  particular  pitch- 
fork.  ” And  the  lady  was  forced  to  begin  her  ave  without 
the  aid  of  her  missal. 

At  the  commencement  of  her  devotions  the  daemon 
retired,  and  carried  with  him  the  anxious  soul  of  poor  Sir 
Eoger  de  Eollo. 

The  lady  knelt  down — she  sighed  deepiy;  sue  looked 
again  at  the  clock,  and  began  — 

“ Ave  Maria.  ” 

When  a lute  was  heard  under  the  window,  and  a sweet 
voice  singing  — 

“ Hark ! ” said  Matilda. 

“ Now  the  toils  of  day  are  over, 

And  the  sun  hath  sunk  to  rest, 

Seeking,  like  a fiery  lover, 

The  bosom  of  the  blushing  west  — 

“ The  faithful  night  keeps  watch  and  ward, 

Raising  the  moon,  her  silver  shield, 

And  summoning  the  stars  to  guard 
The  slumbers  of  my  fair  Mathilde  !” 

“For  mercy’s  sake  !”  said  Sir  Eollo,  “the  ave  first,  and 
next  the  song.  ” 

So  Matilda  again  dutifully  betook  her  to  her  devotions, 
and  began  — 

“ Ave  Maria  gratia  plena ! ” but  the  music  began  again, 
and  the  prayer  ceased  of  course. 

“ The  faithful  night ! Now  all  things  lie 
Hid  by  her  mantle  dark  and  dim, 

In  pious  hope  I hither  hie, 

And  humbly  chant  mine  ev’ning  hymn. 


THE  DEVIL'S  WAGER. 


213 


“ Thou  art  my  prayer,  my  saint,  my  shrine  ! 

(For  never  holy  pilgrim  kneehd, 

Or  wept  at  feet  more  pure  than  thine), 

My  virgin  love,  my  sweet  Mathilde  ! ” 

“Virgin  love!”  said  the  Baron.  “Upon  my  so’ul,  this 
is  too  bad  ! ” and  he  thought  of  the  lady’s  lover  whom  he 
had  caused  to  be  hanged. 

But  she  only  thought  of  him  who  stood  singing  at  her 
window. 

“ Niece  Matilda  ! ” cried  Sir  Roger,  agonizedly,  “ wilt 
thou  listen  to  the  lies  of  an  impudent  page,  whilst  thine 
uncle  is  waiting  but  a dozen  words  to  make  him  happy  ? ” 

At  this  Matilda  grew  angry  : “ Edward  is  neither  impu- 
dent nor  a liar,  Sir  Uncle,  and  I will  listen  to  the  end  of 
the  song.  ” 

“ Come  away,  ” said  Mercurius  ; “ he  hath  yet  got  wield, 
field,  sealed,  congealed,  and  a dozen  other  rhymes  beside ; 
and  after  the  song  will  come  the  supper.  ” 

So  the  poor  soul  was  obliged  to  go ; while  the  lady  lis- 
tened, and  the  page  sung  away  till  morning. 

“My  virtues  have  been  my  ruin,”  said  poor  Sir  Rollo, 
as  he  and  Mercurius  slunk  silently  out  of  the  window. 
“ Had  I hanged  that  knave  Edward,  as  I did  the  page  his 
predecessor,  my  niece  would  have  sung  mine  ave,  and  I 
should  have  been  by  this  time  an  angel  in  heaven.  ” 

“ He  is  reserved  for  wiser  purposes,”  responded  the 
devil : “ he  will  assassinate  your  successor,  the  lady  Ma- 
thilde’s  brother ; and,  in  consequence,  will  be  hanged.  In 
the  love  of  the  lady  he  will  be  succeeded  by  a gardener, 
who  will  be  replaced  by  a monk,  who  will  give  way  to  an 
ostler,  who  will  be  deposed  by  a Jew  pedler,  who  shall, 
finally,  yield  to  a noble  earl,  the  future  husband  of  the  fair 
Mathilde.  So  that,  you  see,  instead  of  having  one  poor 
soul  a-frying,  we  may  now  look  forward  to  a goodly  harvest 
for  our  lord  the  Devil.” 

The  soul  of  the  Baron  began  to  think  that  his  companion 
knew  too  much  for  one  who  would  make  fair  bets ; but 
there  was  no  help  for  it ; he  would  not,  and  he  could  not  cry 
off : and  he  prayed  inwardly  that  the  brother  might  be  found 
more  pious  than  the  sister. 

But  there  seemed  little  chance  of  this.  As  they  crossed 
the  court,  lackeys,  with  smoking  dishes  and  full  jugs, 
passed  and  repassed  continually,  although  it  was  long  past 


214 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK. 


midnight.  On  entering  the  hall,  they  found  Sir  Randal  at 
the  head  of  a vast  table,  surrounded  by  a fiercer  and  more 
motley  collection  of  individuals  than  had  congregated  there 
even  in  the  time  of  Sir  Rollo.  The  lord  of  the  castle  had 
signified"  that  “it  was  his  royal  pleasure  to  be  drunk,”  and 
the  gentlemen  of  his  train  had  obsequiously  followed  their 
master.  Mercurius  was  delighted  with  the  scene,  and 
relaxed  his  usually  rigid  countenance  into  a bland  and 
benevolent  smile,  which  became  him  wonderfully. 

The  entrance  of  Sir  Roger,  who  had  been  dead  about  a 
year,  and  a person  with  hoofs,  horns,  and  a tail,  rather 
disturbed  the  hilarity  of  the  company.  Sir  Randal  dropped 
his  cup  of  wine ; and  Father  Peter,  the  confessor,  inconti- 
nently paused  in  the  midst  of  a profane  song,  with  which 
he  was  amusing  the  society. 

“ Holy  Mother  ! ” cried  he,  “ it  is  Sir  Roger.” 

“ Alive  ! ” screamed  Sir  Randal. 

“No,  my  lord,”  Mercurius  said;  “Sir  Roger  is  dead,  but 
cometh  on  a matter  of  business  ; and  I have  the  honor  to 
act  as  his  counsellor  and  attendant.” 

“ Nephew,”  said  Sir  Roger,  “ the  daemon  saith  justly ; I 
am  come  on  a trifling  affair,  in  which  thy  service  is 
essential.” 

“ I will  do  anything,  uncle,  in  my  power.” 

“ Thou  canst  give  me  life,  if  thou  wilt  ?”  But  Sir  Ran- 
dal looked  very  blank  at  this  proposition.  “ I mean  life 
spiritual,  Randal,  ” said  Sir  Roger ; and  thereupon  he 
explained  to  him  the  nature  of  the  wager. 

Whilst  he  was  telling  his  story,  his  companion  Mercu- 
rius was  playing  all  sorts  of  antics  in  the  hall ; and,  by 
his  wit  and  fun,  became  so  popular  with  this  godless  crew, 
that  they  lost  all  the  fear  which  his  first  appearance  had 
given  them.  The  friar  was  wonderfully  taken  with  him, 
and  used  his  utmost  eloquence  and  endeavors  to  convert 
the  devil  ; the  knights  stopped  drinking  to  listen  to  the 
argument ; the  men-at-arms  forbore  brawling ; and  the 
wicked  little  pages  crowded  round  the  two  strange  dis- 
putants, to  hear  their  edifying  discourse.  The  ghostly 
man,  however,  had  little  chance  in  the  controversy,  and 
certainly  little  learning  to  carry  it  on.  Sir  Randal  inter- 
rupted him.  “ Father  Peter,”  said  he,  “our  kinsman  is 
condemned  for  ever,  for  want  of  a single  ave  : wilt  thou  say 
it  for  him  ? ” “ Willingly,  my  lord,”  said  the  monk,  “with 
my  book  ; ” and  accordingly  he  produced  his  missal  to  read, 


THE  DEVIL’S  WAGER . 


215 


without  which  aid  it  appeared  that  the  holy  father  could 
not  manage  the  desired  prayer.  But  the  crafty  Mercurius 
had,  by  his  devilish  art,  inserted  a song  in  the  place  of  the 
ave,  so  that  Father  Peter,  instead  of  chanting  an  hymn, 
sang  the  following  irreverent  ditty  : — 

“ Some  love  the  matin-chimes,  which  tell 
The  hour  of  prayer  to  sinner : 

But  better  far's  the  mid-day  bell, 

Which  speaks  the  hour  of  dinner; 

For  when  I see  a smoking  fish, 

Or  capon  drowned  in  gravy, 

Or  noble  haunch  on  silver  dish, 

Full  glad  I sing  mine  ave. 

“ My  pulpit  is  an  ale-house  bench, 

Whereon  I sit  so  jolly  ; 

A smiling  rosy  country  wench 
My  saint  and  patron  holy. 

I kiss  her  cheek  so  red  and  sleek, 

1 press  her  ringlets  wavy. 

And  in  her  willing  ear  I speak 
A most  religious  ave. 

“ And  if  I’m  blind,  yet  heaven  is  kind, 

And  holy  saints  forgiving  ; 

For  sure  he  leads  a right  good  life 
Who  thus  admires  good  living. 

Above,  they  say,  our  flesh  is  air, 

Our  blood  celestial  ichor : 

Oh,  grant!  mid  all  the  changes  there, 

They  may  not  change  our  liquor ! ” 

And  with  this  pious  wish  the  holy  confessor  tumbled 
under  the  table  in  an  agony  of  devout  drunkenness  ; whilst 
the  knights,  the  men-at-arms,  and  the  wicked  little  pages, 
rang  out  the  last  verse  with  a most  melodious  and  emphatic 
glee.  “ I am  sorry,  fair  uncle,”  hiccupped  Sir  Randal, 
“that,  in  the  matter  of  the  ave,  we  could  not  oblige  thee  in 
a more  orthodox  manner ; but  the  holy  father  has  failed, 
and  there  is  not  another  man  in  the  hall  who  hath  an  idea 
of  a prayer. 

“It  is  my  own  fault,”  said  Sir  Rollo;  “for  I hanged  the 
last  confessor.”  And  he  wished  his  nephew  a surly  good- 
night, as  he  prepared  to  quit  the  room. 

“Au  revoir,  gentlemen,”  said  the  devil  Mercurius;  and 
once  more  fixed  his  tail  round  the  neck  of  his  disappointed 
companion. 

The  spirit  of  poor  Rollo  was  sadly  cast  down ; the  devil, 
on  the  contrary,  was  in  high  good  humor.  He  wagged  his 


216 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK . 


tail  with  the  most  satisfied  air  in  the  world,  and  cut  a hun- 
dred jokes  at  the  expense  of  his  poor  associate.  On  they 
sped,  cleaving  swiftly  through  the  cold  night  winds,  fright- 
ening the  birds  that  were  roosting  in  the  woods,  and  the 
owls  that  were  watching  in  the  towers. 

In  the  twinkling  of  an  eye,  as  it  is  known,  devils  can 
fly  hundreds  of  miles : so  that  almost  the  same  beat  of  the 
clock  which  left  these  two  in  Champagne,  found  them  hov- 
ering over  Paris.  They  dropped  into  the  court  of  the  Laz- 
arist  Convent,  and  winded  their  way,  through  passage  and 
cloister,  until  they  reached  the  door  of  the  prior’s  cell. 

Now  the  prior,  Polio’s  brother,  was  a wicked  and  malig- 
nant sorcerer  ; his  time  was  spent  in  conjuring  devils  and 
doing  wicked  deeds,  instead  of  fasting,  scourging,  and  sing- 
ing holy  psalms : this  Mercurius  knew ; and  he,  therefore, 
was  fully  at  ease  as  to  the  final  result  of  his  wager  with 
poor  Sir  Poger. 

“ You  seem  to  be  well  acquainted  with  the  road,”  said 
the  knight. 

“ I have  reason,”  answered  Mercurius,  “ having,  for  a 
long  period,  had  the  acquaintance  of  his  reverence,  your 
brother ; but  you  have  little  chance  with  him.” 

“ And  why  ? ” said  Sir  Polio. 

“ He  is  under  a bond  to  my  master,  never  to  say  a prayer, 
or  else  his  soul  and  his  body  are  forfeited  at  once.” 

“ Why,  thou  false  and  traitorous  devil ! ” said  the  enraged 
knight ; “ and  thou  knewest  this  when  we  made  our  wager  ? ” 

“ Undoubtedly  : do  you  suppose  I would  have  done  so  had 
there  been  any  chance  of  losing  ? ” 

And  with  this  they  arrived  at  Father  Ignatius’s  door. 

“Thy  cursed  presence  threw  a spell  on  my  niece,  and 
stopped  the  tongue  of  my  nephew’s  chaplain ; I do  believe 
that  had  I seen  either  of  them  alone,  my  wager  had  been 
won.” 

“Certainly  ; therefore,  I took  good  care  to  go  with  thee: 
however,  thou  mayest  see  the  prior  alone,  if  thou  wilt ; and 
lo  ! his  door  is  open.  I will  stand  without  for  five  minutes 
when  it  will  be  time  to  commence  our  journey.” 

It  was  the  poor  Baron’s  last  chance : and  he  entered  his 
brother’s  room  more  for  the  five  minutes’  respite  than  from 
any  hope  of  success. 

Father  Ignatius,  the  prior,  was  absorbed  in  magic  calcu- 
lations : he  stood  in  the  middle  of  a circle  of  skulls,  with 
no  garment  except  his  long  white  beard,  which  reached  to 


THE  DEVIL'S  WAGER. 


217 


his  knees ; he  was  waving  a silver  rod,  and  muttering  im- 
precations in  some  horrible  tongue. 

But  Sir  Rollo  came  forward  and  interrupted  his  incanta- 
tion. “ I am/’  said  he,  “ the  shade  of  thy  brother  Roger 
de  Rollo ; and  have  come,  from  pure  brotherly  love,  to  warn 
thee  of  thy  fate.” 

£ Whence  earnest  thou  ? ” 

“ From  the  abode  of  the  blessed  in  Paradise,”  replied  Sir 
Roger,  who  was  inspired  with  a sudden  thought ; “ it  was 
but  five  minutes  ago  that  the  Patron  Saint  of  thy  church 
told  me  of  thy  danger,  and  of  thy  wicked  compact  with 
the  fiend.  £ Go/  said  he,  ‘ to  thy  miserable  brother,  and 
tell  him  there  is  but  one  way  by  which  he  may  escape  from 
paying  the  awful  forfeit  of  his  bond.’  ” 

“ And  how  may  that  be  ? ” said  the  prior ; “ the  false 
fiend  hath  deceived  me ; I have  given  him  my  soul,  but 
have  received  no  worldly  benefit  in  return.  Brother  ! dear 
brother ! how  may  I escape  ? ” 

“I  will  tell  thee.  As  soon  as  I heard  the  voice  of 
blessed  St.  Mary  Lazarus  ” ( the  worthy  Earl  had,  at  a 
pinch,  coined  the  name  of  a saint),  “I  left  the  clouds, 
where,  with  other  angels,  I was  seated,  and  sped  hither  to 
save  thee.  £ Thy  brother/  said  the  Saint,  ‘ hath  but  one 
day  more  to  live,  when  he  will  become  for  all  eternity  the 
subject  of  Satan  ; if  he  would  escape,  he  must  boldly  break 
his  bond,  by  saying  an  ave.’  ” 

“ It  is  the  express  condition  of  the  agreement,”  said  the 
unhappy  monk,  “ I must  say  no  prayer,  or  that  instant  I 
become  Satan’s,  body  and  soul.” 

“It  is  the  express  condition  of  the  Saint,”  answered 
Roger,  fiercely ; “ pray,  brother,  pray,  or  thou  art  lost  for 
ever.” 

So  the  foolish  monk  knelt  down,  and  devoutly  sung  out 
an  ave.  “ Amen  ! ” said  Sir  Roger,  devoutly. 

“ Amen ! ” said  Mercurius,  as,  suddenly,  coming  behind, 
he  seized  Ignatius  by  his  long  beard,  and  flew  up  with  him 
to  the  top  of  the  church-steeple. 

The  monk  roared,  and  screamed,  and  swore  against  his 
brother ; but  it  was  of  no  avail  : Sir  Roger  smiled  kindly  on 
him,  and  said,  “ Do  not  fret,  brother ; it  must  have  come  to 
this  in  a year  or  two.” 

And  he  flew  alongside  of  Mercurius  to  the  steeple-top : 
but  this  time  the  devil  had  not  his  tail  round  his  neck.  “ I 
will  let  thee  off  thy  bet,”  said  he  to  the  daemon  ; for  he 
could  afford,  now,  to  be  generous. 


218 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK 


“I  believe,  my  lord,”  said  the  daemon,  politely,  “that 
our  ways  separate  here.”  Sir  ltoger  sailed  gayly  upwards: 
while  Mercurius  having  bound  the  miserable  monk  faster 
than  ever,  he  sunk  downwards  to  earth,  and  perhaps  lower. 
Ignatius  was  heard  roaring  and  screaming  as  the  devil 
dashed  him  against  the  iron  spikes  and  buttresses  of  the 
church. 

The  moral  of  this  story  will  be  given  in  the  second 
edition. 


MADAME  SAND  AND  THE 
NEW  APOCALYPSE. 


tlie  fashionable  shoulders ; and,  in  like  manner,  with  books 
as  with  boots,  the  fashion  has  changed  considerably,  and  it 
is  not  a little  curious  to  contrast  the  old  inodes  with  the 
new.  Absurd  as  was  the  literary  dandyism  of  those  days, 
it  is  not  a whit  less  absurd  now : only  the  manner  is 
changed,  and  our  versatile  Frenchmen  have  passed  from 
one  caricature  to  another. 

The  revolution  may  be  called  a caricature  of  freedom,  as 
the  empire  was  of  glory ; and  what  they  borrow  from  for- 
eigners undergoes  the  same  process.  They  take  top-boots 
and  mackintoshes  from  across  the  water,  and  caricature  our 
fashions ; they  read  a little,  very  little,  Shakespeare,  and 


DON’T  know  an  impression 
more  curious  than  that  which 
is  formed  in  a foreigner’s  mind, 
who  has  been  absent  from  this 
place  for  two  or  three  years, 
returns  to  it,  and  beholds  the 
change  which  has  taken  place, 
in  the  meantime,  in  French 
fashions  and  ways  of  thinking. 
Two  years  ago,  for  instance, 
when  I left  the  capital,  I left 
the  young  gentlemen  of  France 
with  their  hair  brushed  en  tou- 
pet  in  front,  and  the  toes  of 
their  ' boots  round ; now  the 
boot-toes  are  pointed,  and  the 
hair  combed  flat,  and,  parted  in 
the  middle,  falls  in  ringlets  on 


219 


220 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK . 


caricature  our  poetry : and  while  in  David’s  time  art  and 
religion  were  only  a caricature  of  Heathenism,  now,  on  the 
contrary,  these  two  commodities  are  imported  from  Ger- 
many ; and  distorted  caricatures  originally,  are  still  farther 
distorted  on  passing  the  frontier. 

I trust  in  heaven  that  German  art  and  religion  will  take 
no  hold  in  our  country  (where  there  is  a fund  of  roast-beef 
that  will  expel  any  such  humbug  in  the  end  ) ; but  these 
sprightly  Frenchmen  have  relished  the  mystical  doctrines 
mightily  ; and  having  watched  the  Germans,  with  their 
sanctified  looks,  and  quaint  imitations  of  the  old  times, 
and  mysterious  transcendental  talk,  are  aping  many  of 
their  fashions;  as  well  and  solemnly  as  they  can:  not  very 
solemnly,  God  wot ; for  I think  one  should  always  prepare 
to  grin  when  a Frenchman  looks  particularly  grave,  being 
sure  that  there  is  something  false  and  ridiculous  lurking 
under  the  owl-like  solemnity. 

When  last  in  Paris,  we  were  in  the  midst  of  what  was 
called  a Catholic  reaction.  Artists  talked  of  faith  in 
poems  and  pictures ; churches  were  built  here  and  there ; 
old  missals  were  copied  and  purchased ; and  numberless 
portraits  of  saints,  with  as  much  gilding  about  them  as 
ever  was  used  in  the  fifteenth  century,  appeared  in  churches, 
ladies’  boudoirs,  and  picture-shops.  One  or  two  fashion- 
able preachers  rose,  and  were  eagerly  followed ; the  very 
youth  of  the  schools  gave  up  their  pipes  and  billiards  for 
some  time,  and  flocked  in  crowds  to  Notre  Dame,  to  sit 
under  the  feet  of  Lacordaire.  I went  to  visit  the  Church  of 
Notre  Dame  de  Lorette  yesterday,  which  was  finished  in 
the  heat  of  this  Catholic  rage,  and  was  not  a little  struck 
by  the  similarity  of  the  place  to  the  worship  celebrated  in 
it,  and  the  admirable  manner  in  which  the  architect  has 
caused  his  work  to  express  the  public  feeling  of  the 
moment.  It  is  a pretty  little  bijou  of  a church : it  is  sup- 
ported by  sham  marble  pillars ; it  has  a gaudy  ceiling  of 
blue  and  gold,  which  will  look  very  well  for  some  time  ; 
and  is  filled  with  gaudy  pictures  and  carvings,  in  the  very 
pink  of  the  mode.  The  congregation  did  not  offer  a bad 
illustration  of  the  present  state  of  Catholic  reaction.  Two 
or  three  stray  people  were  at  prayers ; there  was  no  ser- 
vice ; a few  countrymen  and  idlers  were  staring  about  at 
the  pictures ; and  the  Swiss,  the  paid  guardian  of  the 
place,  was  comfortably  and  appropriately  asleep  on  his 
bench  at  the  door.  I am  inclined  to  think  the  famous 


MADAME  SAND. 


221 


222 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK. 


reaction  is  over ; the  students  have  taken  to  their  Sunday 
pipes  and  billiards  again  ; and  one  or  two  cafes  have  been 
established,  within  the  last  year,  that  are  ten  times  hand- 
somer than  Notre  Dame  de  Lorette. 

However,  if  the  immortal  Gorres  and  the  German  mys- 
tics have  had  their  day,  there  is  the  immortal  Gothe,  and 
the  Pantheists  ; and  I incline  to  think  that  the  fashion  has 
set  very  strongly  in  their  favor.  Voltaire  and  the  Encyclo- 
paedias are  voted,  now,  barbares , and  there  is  no  term  of 
reprobation  strong  enough  for  heartless  Humes  and  Helve- 
tiuses,  who  lived  but  to  destroy,  and  who  only  thought  to 
doubt.  Wretched*  as  Voltaire’s  sneers  and  puns  are,  I 
think  there  is  something  more  manly  and  earnest  even  in 
them,  than  in  the  present  muddy  French  transcendentalism. 
Pantheism  is  the  word  now;  one  and  all  have  begun  to 
eprouver  the  besoin  of  a religious  sentiment;  and  we  are 
deluged  with  a host  of  gods  accordingly.  Monsieur  de 
Balzac  feels  himself  to  be  inspired ; Victor  Hugo  is  a god; 
Madame  Sand  is  a god ; that  tawdry  man  of  genius,  Jules 
Janin,  who  writes  theatrical  reviews  for  the  Debats , has 
divine  intimations  ; and  there  is  scarce  a beggarly,  beard- 
less scribbler  of  poems  and  prose,  but  tells  you,  in  his 
preface,  of  the  saint  ete  of  the  sacerdoce  litter  air  e ; or  a 
dirty  student,  sucking  tobacco  and  beer,  and  reeling  home 
with  a grisette  from  the  chaumiere,  who  is  not  convinced 
of  the  necessity  of  a new  “ Messianism,”  and  will  hiccup, 
to  such  as  will  listen,  chapters  of  his  own  drunken  Apoca- 
lypse. Surely,  the  negatives  of  the  old  days  were  far  less 
dangerous  than  the  assertions  of  the  present ; and  you  may 
fancy  what  a religion  that  must  be,  which  has  such  high 
priests. 

There  is  no  reason  to  trouble  the  reader  with  details  of 
the  lives  of  many  of  these  prophets  and  expounders  of  new 
revelations.  Madame  Sand,  for  instance,  I do  not  know 
personally,  and  can  only  speak  of  her  from  report.  True 
-orTakoyddie  history,  at  any  rate,  is  not  very  edifying ; and 
so  may  be  pkss^d  over  : but,  as  a certain  great  philosopher 
told  us,  in  very  humble  and  simple  words,  that  we  are  not 
to  expect  to  gather  grapes  from  thorns,  or  figs  from  this- 
tles, we  may,  at  least, \lemand,  in  all  persons  assuming  the 
character  of  moralist  oiNphilosopher — order,  soberness,  and 
regularity  of  life  ; for  w\  are  apt  to  distrust  the  intellect 
that  we  fancy  can  be  swayed  by  circumstance  or  passion  ; 
and  we  know  how  circumstance  and  passion  will  sway  the 


MADAME  SAND. 


223 


intellect : liow  mortified  vanity  will  form  excuses  for  itself ; 
and  how  temper  turns  angrily  upon  conscience,  that  re- 
proves it.  How  often  have  we  called  our  judge  our  enemy, 
because  he  has  given  sentence  against  us  ! — How  often  have 
we  called  the  right  wrong,  because  the  right  condemns  us  ! 
And  in  the  lives  of  many  of  the  bitter  foes  of  the  Christian 
doctrine,  can  we  find  no  personal  reason  for  their  hostility  ? 
The  men  in  Athens  said  it  was  out  of  regard  for  religion 
that  they  murdered  Socrates ; but  we  have  had  time  since, 
then,  to  reconsider  the  verdict ; and  Socrates’  character  is 
pretty  pure  now,  in  spite  of  the  sentence  and  the  jury  of 
those  days. 

The  Parisian  philosophers  will  attempt  to  explain  to  you 
the  changes  through  which  Madame  Sand’s  mind  has  passed, 
— the  initiatory  trials,  labors,  and  sufferings  which  she  has 
had  to  go  through,  — before  she  reached  her  present  happy 
state  of  mental  illumination.  She  teaches  her  wisdom  in 
parables,  that  are,  mostly,  a couple  of  volumes  long;  and 
began,  first,  by  an  eloquent  attack  on  marriage,  in  the 
charming  novel  of  “ Indiana.  ” “ Pity,  ” cried  she,  “ for 

the  poor  woman  who,  united  to  a being  whose  brute  force 
makes  him  her  superior,  should  venture  to  break  the  bond- 
age which  is  imposed  on  her,  and  allow  her  heart  to  be 
free.  ” 

In  support  of  this  claim  of  pity,  she  writes  two  volumes 
of  the  most  exquisite  prose.  What  a tender,  suffering 
creature  is  Indiana ; how  little  her  husband  appreciates 
that  gentleness  which  he  is  crushing  by  his  tyranny  and 
brutal  scorn ; how  natural  it  is  that,  in  the  absence  of  his 
sympathy,  she,  poor  clinging  confiding  creature,  should  seek 
elsewhere  for  shelter ; how  cautious  should  we  be,  to  call 
criminal — to  visit  with  too  heavy  a censure  — an  act  which 
is  one  of  the  natural  impulses  of  a tender  heart,  that  seeks 
but  for  a worthy  object  of  love.  But  why  attempt  to  tell  the 
tale  of  beautiful  Indiana  ? Madame  Sand  has  written  it  so 
well,  that  not  the  hardest-hearted  husband  in  Christendom 
can  fail  to  be  touched  by  her  sorrows,  though  he  may 
refuse  to  listen  to  her  argument.  Let  us  grant,  for  argu- 
ment’s sake,  that  the  laws  of  marriage,  especially  the 
French  laws  of  marriage,  press  very  cruelly  upon  unfort- 
unate women. 

But  if  one  wants  to  have  a question  of  this,  or  any  nat- 
ure, honestly  argued,  it  is  better,  surely,  to  apply  to  an  in- 
different person  for  an  umpire.  For  instance,  the  stealing 


224 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK. 


of  pocket-handkerchiefs  or  snuff-boxes  may  or  may  not 
be  vicious  ; but  if  we,  who  have  not  the  wit,  or  will  not 
take  the  trouble  to  decide  the  question  ourselves,  want  to 
hear  the  real  rights  of  the  matter,  we  should  not,  surely, 
apply  to  a pickpocket  to  know  what  he  thought  on  the 
point.  It  might  naturally  be  presumed  that  he  would  be 
rather  a prejudiced  person  — particularly  as  his  reasoning, 
if  successful,  might  get  him  out  of  gaol.  This  is  a homely 
illustration,  no  doubt ; all  we  would  urge  by  it  is,  that 
Madame  Sand  having,  according  to  the  French  newspapers, 
had  a stern  husband,  and  also  having,  according  to  the 
newspapers  sought  “ sympathy  ” elsewhere,  her  arguments 
may  be  considered  to  be  somewhat  partial,  and  received 
with  some  little  caution. 

And  tell  us  who  have  been  the  social  reformers?' — the 
haters,  that  is,  of  the  present  system,  according  to  which 
we  live,  love,  marry,  have  children,  educate  them,  and 
endow  them  — are  they  pure  themselves?  I do  believe  not 
one ; and  directly  a man  begins  to  quarrel  with  the  world 
and  its  ways,  and  to  lift  up,  as  he  calls  it,  the  voice  of  his 
despair,  and  preach  passionately  to  mankind  about  this  tyr- 
anny of  faith,  customs,  laws ; if  we  examine  what  the  per- 
sonal character  of  the  preacher  is,  we  begin  pretty  clearly  to 
understand  the  value  of  the  doctrine.  Any  one  can  see 
why  Bousseau  should  be  such  a whimpering  reformer,  and 
Byron  such  a free  and  easy  misanthropist,  and  why  our 
accomplished  Madame  Sand,  who  has  a genius  and  elo- 
quence inferior  to  neither,  should  take  the  present  condition 
of  mankind  ( French-kind  ) so  much  to  heart,  and  labor  so 
hotly  to  set  it  right. 

After  “ Indiana”  (which,  we  presume,  contains  the  lady’s 
notions  upon  wives  and  husbands)  came  “ Valentine,  ” 
which  may  be  said  to  exhibit  her  doctrine,  in  regard  of 
young  men  and  maidens,  to  whom  the  author  would  accord, 
as  we  fancy,  the  same  tender  license.  “ Valentine  ” was 
followed  by  “ Lelia,  ” a wonderful  book  indeed,  gorgeous 
in  eloquence,  and  rich  in  magnificent  poetry : a regular 
topsyturvyfication  of  morality,  a thieves’  and  prostitutes’ 
apotheosis.  This  book  has  received  some  late  enlarge- 
ments and  emendations  by  the  writer ; it  contains  her 
notions  on  morals,  which,  as  we  have  said,  are  so  peculiar, 
that,  alas  ! they  only  can  be  mentioned  here,  not  particular- 
ized : but  of  “ Spiridion  ” we  may  write  a few  pages,  as  it 
is  her  religious  manifesto. 


MADAME  SAND. 


225 


In  this  work,  the  lady  asserts  her  pantheistical  doctrine, 
and  openly  attacks  the  received  Christian  creed.  She 
declares  it  to  be  useless  now,  and  unfitted  to  the  exigencies 
and  the  degree  of  culture  of  the  actual  world ; and,  though 
it  would  be  hardly  worth  while  to  combat  her  opinions  in 
due  form,  it  is,  at  least,  worth  while  to  notice  them,  not 
merely  from  the  extraordinary  eloquence  and  genius  of  the 
woman  herself,  but  because  they  express  the  opinions  of  a 
great  number  of  people  besides  : for  she  not  only  produces 
her  own  thoughts,  but  imitates  those  of  others  very 
eagerly ; and  one  finds  in  her  writings  so  much  similarity 
with  others,  or,  in  others,  so  much  resemblance  to  her,  that 
the  book  before  us  may  pass  for  the  expression  of  the 
sentiments  of  a certain  French  party. 

“ Dieu  est  mort,  ” says  another  writer  of  the  same  class, 
and  of  great  genius  too.  — “ Dieu  est  mort, ” writes  Mr. 
Henry  Heine,  speaking  of  the  Christian  God;  and  he 
adds,  in  a daring  figure  of  speech,  — “ N’entendez-vous  pas 
sonner  la  Clochette  ? — on  porte  les  sacremens  a un  Dieu 
qui  se  meurt ! ” Another  of  the  pantheist  poetical  philoso- 
phers, Mr.  Edgar  Quinet,  has  a poem,  in  which  Christ  and 
the  Virgin  Mary  are  made  to  die  similarly,  and  the  former 
is  classed  with  Prometheus.  This  book  of  “ Spiridion  ” is 
a continuation  of  the  theme,  and  perhaps  you  will  listen  to 
some  of  the  author’s  expositions  of  it. 

It  must  be  confessed  that  the  controversialists  of  the 
present  day  have  an  eminent  advantage  over  their  predeces- 
sors in  the  days  of  folios ; it  required  some  learning  then 
to  write  a book,  and  some  time,  at  least — for  the  very  labor 
of  writing  out  a thousand  such  vast  pages  would  demand  a 
considerable  period.  But  now,  in  the  age  of  duodecimos, 
the  system  is  reformed  altogether : a male  or  female  con- 
troversialist draws  upon  his  imagination,  and  not  his  learn- 
ing; makes  a story  instead  of  an  argument,  and,  in  the 
course  of  150  pages  ( where  the  preacher  has  it  all  his  own 
way)  will  prove  or  disprove  you  anything.  And,  to  our 
shame  be  it  said,  we  Protestants  have  set  the  example  of 
this  kind  of  proselytism  — those  detestable  mixtures  of 
truth,  lies,  false  sentiment,  false  reasoning,  bad  grammar, 
correct  and  genuine  philanthropy  and  piety  — I mean  our 
religious  tracts,  which  any  woman  or  man,  be  he  ever  so 
silly,  can  take  upon  himself  to  write,  and  sell  for  a penny, 
as  if  religious  instruction  were  the  easiest  thing  in  the 
world.  We,  I say,  have  set  the  example  in  this  kind  of 
15 


226 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK. 


composition,  and  all  tlie  sects  of  the  earth  will,  doubtless, 
speedily  follow  it.  I can  point  you  out  blasphemies  in 
famous  pious  tracts  that  are  as  dreadful  as  those  above 
mentioned ; but  this  is  no  place  for  such  discussions,  and 
we  had  better  return  to  Madame  Sand.  As  Mrs.  Sherwood 
expounds,  by  means  of  many  touching  histories  and  anec- 
dotes of  little  boys  and  girls,  her  notions  of  church  history, 
church  catechism,  church  doctrine;  — as  the  author  of 
“ Father  Clement,  a Roman  Catholic  Story,  ” demolishes 
the  stately  structure  of  eighteen  centuries,  the  mighty  and 
beautiful  Roman  Catholic  faith,  in  whose  bosom  repose  so 
many  saints  and  sages,  — by  the  means  of  a three-and- 
sixpenny  duodecimo  volume,  which  tumbles  over  the  vast 
fabric,  as  David’s  pebble-stone  did  Goliath ; — as,  again, 
the  Roman  Catholic  author  of  “ Geraldine 99  falls  foul  of 
Luther  and  Calvin,  and  drowns  the  awful  echoes  of  their 
tremendous  protest  by  the  sounds  of  her  little  half-crown 
trumpet : in  like  manner,  by  means  of  pretty  sentimental 
tales,  and  cheap  apologues,  Mrs.  Sand  proclaims  her  truth 
— that  we  need  a new  Messiah,  and  that  the  Christian 
religion  is  no  more  ! 0 awful,  awful  name  of  God  ! Light 

unbearable ! Mystery  unfathomable ! Vastness  immeasur- 
able ! — Who  are  these  who  come  forward  to  explain  the 
mystery,  and  gaze  unblinking  into  the  depths  of  the  light, 
and  measure  the  immeasurable  vastness  to  a hair  ? 0 

name,  that  God’s  people  of  old  did  fear  to  utter  ! 0 light, 

that  God’s  prophet  would  have  perished  had  he  seen ! 
Who  are  these  that  are  now  so  familiar  with  it  ? — Women, 
truly  ; for  the  most  part  weak  women  — weak  in  intellect, 
weak  mayhap  in  spelling  and  grammar,  but  marvellously 
strong  in  faith  : — women,  who  step  down  to  the  people 
with  stately  step  and  voice  of  authority,  and  deliver  their 
twopenny  tablets,  as  if  there  were  some  Divine  authority, 
for  the  wretched  nonsense  recorded  there ! 

With  regard  to  the  spelling  and  grammar,  our  Parisian 
Pythoness  stands,  in  the  goodly  fellowship,  remarkable. 
Her  style  is  a noble,  and,  as  far  as  a foreigner  can  judge,  a 
strange  tongue,  beautifully  rich  and  pure.  She  has  a very 
exuberant  imagination,  and,  with  it,  a very  chaste  style  of 
expression.  She  never  scarcely  indulges  in  declamation,  as 
other  modern  prophets  do,  and  yet  her  sentences  are  exqui- 
sitely melodious  and  full.  She  seldom  runs  a thought  to 
death  ( after  the  manner  of  some  prophets,  who,  when  they 
catch  a little  one,  toy  with  it  until  they  kill  it),  but  she 


MADAME  SAND . 


227 


leaves  you  at  the  end  of  one  of  her  brief,  rich,  melancholy 
sentences,  with  plenty  of  food  for  future  cogitation.  I 
can’t  express  to  you  the  charm  of  them ; they  seem  to  me 
like  the  sound  of  country  bells  — provoking  I don’t  know 
what  vein  of  musing  and  meditation,  and  falling  sweetly 
and  sadly  on  the  ear. 

This  wonderful  power  of  language  must  have  been  felt 
by  most  people  who  read  Madame  Sand’s  first  books,  “Val- 
entine ” and  “ Indiana : ” in  “ Spiridion  ” it  is  greater,  I think 
than  ever ; and  for  those  who  are  not  afraid  of  the  matter 
of  the  novel,  the  manner  will  be  found  most  delightful. 
The  author’s  intention,  I presume,  is  to  describe,  in  a para- 
ble, her  notions  of  the  downfall  of  the  Catholic  church; 
and,  indeed,  of  the  whole  Christian  scheme  : she  places  her 
hero  in  a monastery  in  Italy,  where,  among  the  characters 
about  him,  and  the  events  which  occur,  the  particular  tenets 
of  Madame  Dudevant’s  doctrine  are  not  inaptly  laid  down. 
Innocent,  faithful,  tender-hearted,  a young  monk,  by  name 
Angel,  finds  himself,  when  he  has  pronounced  his  vows,  an 
object  of  aversion  and  hatred  to  the  godly  men  whose  lives 
he  so  much  respects,  and  whose  love  he  would  make  any 
sacrifice  to  win.  After  enduring  much,  he  flings  himself 
at  the  feet  of  his  confessor,  and  begs  for  his  sympathy  and 
counsel ; but  the  confessor  spurns  him  away,  and  accuses 
him,  fiercely,  of  some  unknown  and  terrible  crime  — bids 
him  never  return  to  the  confessional  until  contrition  has 
touched  his  heart,  and  the  stains  which  sully  his  spirit  are, 
by  sincere  repentance,  washed  away. 

“ Thus  speaking,”  says  Angel,  “ Father  Hegesippus  tore 
away  his  robe,  which  I was  holding  in  my  supplicating 
hands.  In  a sort  of  wildness  I still  grasped  it  tighter ; he 
pushed  me  fiercely  from  him,  and  I fell  with  my  face 
towards  the  ground.  He  quitted  me,  closing  violently  after 
him  the  door  of  the  sacristy,  in  which  this  scene  had 
passed.  I was  left  alone  in  the  darkness.  Either  from  the 
violence  of  my  fall,  or  the  excess  of  my  grief,  a vein  had 
burst  in  my  throat,  and  a haemorrhage  ensued.  I had  not 
the  force  to  rise ; I felt  my  senses  rapidly  sinking,  and, 
presently,  I lay  stretched  on  the  pavement,  unconscious, 
and  bathed  in  my  blood.” 

[Now  the  wonderful  part  of  the  story  begins.  ] 

“ I know  not  how  much  time  I passed  in  this  way.  As 
I came  to  myself  I felt  an  agreeable  coolness.  It  seemed 
as  if  some  harmonious  air  was  playing  round  about  me, 


228 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK 


stirring  gently  in  my  hair,  and  drying  the  drops  of  perspira- 
tion on  my  brow.  It  seemed  to  approach,  and  then  again 
to  withdraw,  breathing  now  softly  and  sweetly  in  the  dis- 
tance, and  now  returning,  as  if  to  give  me  strength  and 
courage  to  rise. 

“ I would  not,  however,  do  so  as  yet ; for  I felt  myself, 
as  I lay,  under  the  influence  of  a pleasure  quite  new  to  me, 
and  listened,  in  a kind  of  peaceful  aberration,  to  the  gentle 
murmurs  of  the  summer  wind,  as  it  breathed  on  me  through 
the  closed  window-blinds  above  me.  Then  T fancied  I heard 


a voice  that  spoke  to  me  from  the  end  of  the  sacristy : it 
whispered  so  low  that  I could  not  catch  the  words.  I 
remained  motionless,  and  gave  it  my  whole  attention.  At 
last  I heard,  distinctly,  the  following  sentence  : — ‘ Spirit 
of  Truth , raise  up  these  victims  of  ignorance  and  imposture I 
‘Father  Hegesippus, ; said  I,  in  a weak  voice,  ‘is  that 
you  who  are  returning  to  me  ? ’ But  no  one  answered.  I 
lifted  myself  on  my  hands  and  knees,  I listened  again,  but 
I heard  nothing.  I got  up  completely,  and  looked  about 
me  : I had  fallen  so  near  to  the  only  door  in  this  little  room, 


MADAME  SAND . 


229 


that  none,  after  the  departure  of  the  confessor,  could  have 
entered  it  without  passing  over  me ; besides,  the  door  was 
shut,  and  only  opened  from  the  inside  by  a strong  lock  of 
the  ancient  shape.  I touched  it,  and  assured  myself  that 
it  was  closed.  I was  seized  with  terror,  and,  for  some 
moments,  did  not  dare  to  move.  Leaning  against  the  door, 
I looked  round,  and  endeavored  to  see  into  the  gloom  in 
which  the  angles  of  the  room  were  enveloped.  A pale 
light,  which  came  from  an  upper  window,  half  closed,  was 
seen  to  be  trembling  in  the  midst  of  the  apartment.  The 
wind  beat  the  shutter  to  and  fro,  and  enlarged  or  dimin- 
ished the  space  through  which  the  light  issued.  The 
objects  which  were  in  this  half  light  — the  praying-desk, 
surmounted  by  its  skull  — a few  books  lying  on  the  benches 
— a surplice  hanging  against  the  wall  — seemed  to  move 
with  the  shadow  of  the  foliage  that  the  air  agitated  behind 
the  window.  When  I thought  I was  alone  I felt  ashamed 
of  my  former  timidity  ; I made  the  sign  of  the  cross,  and 
was  about  to  move  forward  in  order  to  open  the  shutter  al- 
together, but  a deep  sigh  came  from  the  praying-desk,  and 
kept  me  nailed  to  my  place.  And  yet  I saw  the  desk 
distinctly  enough  to  be  sure  that  no  person  was  near  it. 
Then  I had  an  idea  which  gave  me  courage.  Some  person, 
I thought,  is  behind  the  shutter,  and  has  been  saying  his 
prayers  outside  without  thinking  of  me.  But  who  would 
be  so  bold  as  to  express  such  wishes  and  utter  such  a 
prayer  as  I had  just  heard  ? 

“ Curiosity,  the  only  passion  and  amusement  permitted 
in  a cloister,  now  entirely  possessed  me,  and  I advanced 
towards  the  window.  But  I had  not  made  a step  when  a 
black  shadow,  as  it  seemed  to  me,  detaching  itself  from  the 
praying-desk,  traversed  the  room,  directing  itself  towards 
the  window,  and  passed  swiftly  by  me.  The  movement 
was  so  rapid  that  I had  not  time  to  avoid  what  seemed  a 
body  advancing  towards  me,  and  my  fright  was  so  great 
that  I thought  I should  faint  a second  time.  But  I felt 
nothing,  and,  as  if  the  shadow  had  passed  through  me,  I 
saw  it  suddenly  disappear  to  my  left. 

“ I rushed  to  the  window,  I pushed  back  the  blind  with 
precipitation,  and  looked  around  the  sacristy : I was  there, 
entirely  alone.  I looked  into  the  garden  — it  was  deserted,, 
and  the  mid-day  wind  was  wandering  among  the  flowers.  I 
took  courage,  1 examined  all  the  corners  of  the  room ; I 
looked  behind  the  praying-desk,  which  was  very  large,  and 


230 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK 


I shook  all  the  sacerdotal  vestments  which  were  hanging 
on  the  walls,  everything  was  in  its  natural  condition,  and 
could  give  me  no  explanation  of  what  had  just  occurred. 
The  sight  of  all  the  blood  I had  lost  led  me  to  fancy  that 
my  brain  had,  probably,  been  weakened  by  the  haemorrhage, 
and  that  I had  been  a prey  to  some  delusion.  I retired  to 
my  cell,  and  remained  shut  up  there  until  the  next  day.  ” 

I don’t  know  whether  the  reader  has  been  as  much  struck 
with  the  above  mysterious  scene  as  the  writer  has ; but  the 
fancy  of  it  strikes  me  as  very  fine  ; and  the  natural  super- 
naturalness  is  kept  up  in  the  best  style.  The  shutter 
swaying  to  and  fro,  the  fitful  light  appearing  over  the 
furniture  of  the  room,  and  giving  it  an  air  of  strange 
motion  — the  awful  shadow  which  passed  through  the  body 
of  the  timid  young  novice  — are  surely  very  finely  painted. 
“ I rushed  to  the  shutter,  and  flung  it  back  : there  was  no 
one  in  the  sacristy.  I looked  into  the  garden;  it  was 
deserted,  and  the  mid-da}^  wind  was  roaming  among  the 
flowers.  ” The  dreariness  is  wonderfully  described  : only 
the  poor  pale  boy  looking  eagerly  out  from  the  window  of 
the  sacristy,  and  the  hot  mid-day  wind  walking  in  the  soli- 
tary garden.  How  skilfully  is  each  of  these  little  strokes 
dashed  in,  and  how  well  do  all  together  combine  to  make  a 
picture ! But  we  must  have  a little  more  about  Spiridion’s 
wonderful  visitant. 

“ As  I entered  into  the  garden,  I stepped  a little  on  one 
side,  to  make  way  for  a person  whom  I saw  before  me.  He 
was  a young  man  of  surprising  beauty,  and  attired  in  a 
foreign  costume.  Although  dressed  in  the  large  black  robe 
which  the  superiors  of  our  order  wear,  he  had,  underneath, 
a short  jacket  of  fine  cloth,  fastened  round  the  waist  by  a 
leathern  belt,  and  a buckle  of  silver,  after  the  manner  of  the 
old  German  students.  Like  them,  he  wore,  instead  of  the 
sandals  of  our  monks,  short  tight  boots  ; and  over  the 
collar  of  his  shirt,  which  fell  on  his  shoulders,  and  was  as 
white  as  snow,  hung,  in  rich  golden  curls,  the  most  beauti- 
ful hair  I ever  saw.  He  was  tall,  and  his  elegant  posture 
seined  to  reveal  to  me  that  lie  was  in  the  habit  of  com- 
manding. With  much  respect,  and  yet  uncertain,  I half 
saluted  him.  He  did  not  return  my  salute;  but  he  smiled  on 
me  with  so  benevolent  an  air,  and  at  the  same  time,  his  eyes 
severe  and  blue,  looked  towards  me  with  an  expression 
of  such  compassionate  tenderness,  that  his  features  have 


MADAME  SAND. 


231 


never  since  then  passed  away  from  my  recollection.  I 
stopped,  hoping  he  would  speak  to  me,  and  persuading 
myself,  from  the  majesty  of  his  aspect,  that  he  had  the 
power  to  protect  me ; but  the  monk,  who  was  walking 
behind  me,  and  who  did  not  seem  to  remark  him  in  the 
least,  forced  him  brutally  to  step  aside  from  the  walk,  and 
pushed  me  so  rudely  as  almost  to  cause  me  to  fall.  Not 
wishing  to  engage  in  a quarrel  with  this  coarse  monk,  I 
moved  away;  but,  after  having  taken  a few  steps  in  the 
garden,  I looked  back,  and  saw  the  unknown  still  gazing  on 
me  with  looks  of  the  tenderest  solicitude.  The  sun  shone 
full  upon  him,  and  made  his  hair  look  radiant.  He  sighed, 
and  lifted  his  fine  eyes  to  heaven,  as  if  to  invoke  its  justice 
in  my  favor,  and  to  call  it  to  bear  witness  to  my  misery ; 
he  turned  slowly  towards  the  sanctuary,  entered  into  the 
quire,  and  was  lost,  presently,  in  the  shade.  I longed  to 
return,  spite  of  the  monk,  to  follow  this  noble  stranger,  and 
to  tell  him  my  afflictions ; but  who  was  he,  that  I imagined 
he  would  listen  to  them,  and  cause  them  to  cease  ? I felt, 
even  while  his  softness  drew  me  towards  him,  that  he  still 
inspired  me  with  a kind  of  fear  ; for  I saw  in  his  physiog- 
nomy as  much  austerity  as  sweetness.  ” 

Who  was  he  ? — we  shall  see  that.  He  was  somebody 
very  mysterious  indeed : but  our  author  has  taken  care,  after 
the  manner  of  her  sex,  to  make  a very  pretty  fellow  of  him, 
and  to  dress  him  in  the  most  becoming  costumes  possible. 

The  individual  in  tight  boots  and  a rolling  collar,  with 
the  copious  golden  locks,  and  the  solemn  blue  eyes,  who 
had  just  gazed  on  Spiridion,  and  inspired  him  with  such  a 
feeling  of  tender  awe,  is  a much  more  important  personage 
than  the  reader  might  suppose  at  first  sight.  This  beauti- 
ful, mysterious,  dandy  ghost,  whose  costume,  with  a true 
woman’s  coquetry,  Madame  Dudevant  has  so  rejoiced  to 
describe — is  her  religious  type,  a mystical  representation  of 
Faith  struggling  up  towards  Truth,  through  superstition, 
doubt,  fear,  reason,  — in  tight  inexpressibles,  with  “ a belt 
such  as  is  worn  by  the  old  German  students.”  You  will 
pardon  me  for  treating  such  an  awful  person  as  this  some- 
what lightly  ; but  there  is  always,  I think,  such  a dash  of 
the  ridiculous  in  the  French  sublime,  that  the  critic  should 
try  and  do  justice  to  both,  or  he  may  fail  in  giving  a fair 
account  of  either.  This  character  of  Hebronius,  the  type 


232 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK 


of  Mrs.  Sand's  convictions  — if  convictions  they  may  be 
called  — or,  at  least,  the  allegory  under  which  her  doubts 
are  represented,  is,  in  parts,  very  finely  drawn;  contains 
many  passages  of  truth,  very  deep  and  touching,  by  the  side 
of  others  so  entirely  absurd  and  unreasonable,  that  the 
reader’s  feelings  are  continually  swaying  between  admira- 
tion and  something  very  like  contempt  — always  in  a kind 
of  wonder  at  the  strange  mixture  before  him.  But  let  us 
hear  Madame  Sand  : — 

“ Peter  Hebronius,  ” says  our  author,  “ was  not  originally 
so  named.  His  real  name  was  Samuel.  He  was  a Jew, 
and  born  in  a little  village  in  the  neighborhood  of  Inns- 
priick.  His  family,  which  possessed  a considerable  fortune, 
left  him,  in  his  early  youth,  completely  free  to  his  own 
pursuits.  From  infancy  he  had  shown  that  these  were 
serious.  He  loved  to  be  alone ; and  passed  his  days,  and 
sometimes  his  nights,  wandering  among  the  mountains  and 
valleys  in  the  neighborhood  of  his  birthplace.  He  would 
often  sit  by  the  brink  of  torrents,  listening  to  the  voice  of 
their  waters,  and  endeavoring  to  penetrate  the  meaning 
which  Nature  had  hidden  in  those  sounds.  As  he  advanced 
in  years,  his  inquiries  became  more  curious  and  more  grave. 
It  was  necessary  that  he  should  receive  a solid  education, 
and  his  parents  sent  him  to  study  in  the  German  universi- 
ties. Luther  had  been  dead  only  a century,  and  his  words 
and  his  memory  still  lived  in  the  enthusiasm  of  his  disci- 
ples. The  new  faith  was  strengthening  the  conquests  it 
had  made  ; the  Reformers  were  as  ardent  as  in  the  first 
days,  but  their  ardor  was  more  enlightened  and  more 
measured.  Proselytism  was  still  carried  on  with  zeal,  and 
new  converts  were  made  every  day.  In  listening  to  the 
morality  and  to  the  dogmas  which  Lutheranism  had  taken 
from  Catholicism,  Samuel  was  filled  with  admiration.  His 
bold  and  sincere  spirit  instantly  compared  the  doctrines 
which  were  now  submitted  to  him,  with  those  in  the  belief 
of  which  he  had  been  bred  ; and,  enlightened  by  the  com- 
parison, was  not  slow  to  acknowledge  the  inferiority  of 
Judaism.  He  said  to  himself,  that  a religion  made  for  a 
single  people,  to  the  exclusion  of  all  others,  — which  only 
offered  a barbarous  justice  for  rule  of  conduct,  — which 
neither  rendered  the  present  intelligible  nor  satisfactory, 
and  left  the  future  uncertain,  — could  not  be  that  of  noble 
souls  and  lofty  intellects  ; and  that  he  could  not  be  the  God 
of  truth  who  had  dictated,  in  the  midst  of  thunder,  his 


MADAME  SAND. 


233 


vacillating  will,  and  had  called  to  the  performance  of  his 
narrow  wishes  the  slaves  of  a vulgar  terror.  Always  con- 
versant with  himself,  Samuel,  who  had  spoken  what  he 
thought,  now  performed  what  he  had  spoken ; and,  a year 
after  his  arrival  in  Germany,  solemnly  abjured  Judaism, 
and  entered  into  the  bosom  of  the  Reformed  Church.  As 
he  did  not  wish  to  do  things  by  halves,  and  desired  as  much 
as  was  in  him  to  put  off  the  old  man  and  lead  a new  life, 
he  changed  his  name  of  Samuel  to  that  of  Peter.  Some 
time  passed,  during  which  he  strengthened  and  instructed 
himself  in  his  new  religion.  Very  soon  he  arrived  at  the 
point  of  searching  for  objections  to  refute,  and  adversaries 
to  overthrow.  Bold  and  enterprising,  he  went  at  once  to 
the  strongest,  and  Bossuet  was  the  first  Catholic  author 
that  he  set  himself  to  read.  He  commenced  with  a kind 
of  disdain ; believing  that  the  faith  which  he  had  just 
embraced  contained  the  pure  truth,  he  despised  all  the 
attacks  which  could  be  made  against  it,  and  laugh  ed  already 
at  the  irresistible  arguments  which  he  was  to  find  in  the 
works  of  the  Eagle  of  Meaux.  But  his  mistrust  and  irony 
soon  gave  place  to  wonder  first,  and  then  to  admiration : he 
thought  that  the  cause  pleaded  by  such  an  advocate  must, 
at  least,  be  respectable ; and,  by  a natural  transition,  came 
to  think  that  great  geniuses  would  only  devote  themselves 
to  that  which  was  great.  He  then  studied  Catholicism 
with  the  same  ardor  and  impartiality  which  he  had  be- 
stowed on  Lutheranism.  He  went  into  France  to  gain 
instruction  from  the  professors  of  the  Mother  Church,  as 
he  had  from  the  Doctors  of  the  reformed  creed  in  Germany. 
He  saw  Arnauld  Fenelon,  that  second  Gregory  of  Nazian- 
zen,  and  Bossuet  himself.  Guided  by  these  masters,  whose 
virtues  made  him  appreciate  their  talents  the  more,  he 
rapidly  penetrated  to  the  depth  of  the  mysteries  of  the 
Catholic  doctrine  and  morality.  He  found,  in  this  religion, 
all  that  had  for  him  constituted  the  grandeur  and  beauty  of 
Protestantism, — the  dogmas  of  the  Unity  and  Eternity  of 
God,  which  the  two  religions  had  borrowed  from  Judaism; 
and,  what  seemed  the  natural  consequence  of  the  last  doc- 
trine — a doctrine,  however,  to  which  the  Jews  had  not 
arrived — the  doctrine  of  the  immortality  of  the  soul ; free 
will  in  this  life  ; in  the  next,  recompense  for  the  good,  and 
punishment  for  the  evil.  He  found,  more  pure,  perhaps, 
and  more  elevated  in  Catholicism  than  in  Protestantism, 
that  sublime  morality  which  preaches  equality  to  man, 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK 


234 

fraternity,  love,  charity,  renouncement  of  self,  devotion  to 
your  neighbor  : Catholicism,  in  a word,  seemed  to  possess 
that  vast  formula,  and  that  vigorous  unity,  which  Luther- 
anism wanted.  The  latter  had,  indeed,  in  its  favor,  the 
liberty  of  inquiry,  which  is  also  a want  of  the  human 
mind;  and  had  proclaimed  the  authority  of  individual 
reason : but  it  had  so  lost  that  which  is  the  necessary  basis 
and  vital  condition  of  all  revealed  religion  — the  principle 
of  infallibility ; because  nothing  can  live  except  in  virtue 
of  the  laws  that  presided  at  its  birth ; and,  in  consequence, 
one  revelation  cannot  be  continued  and  confirmed  without 
another.  Now,  infallibility  is  nothing  but  revelation  con- 
tinued by  God,  or  the  Word,  in  the  person  of  his  vicars. 

“ At  last,  after  much  reflection,  Hebronius  acknowledged 
himself  entirely  and  sincerely  convinced,  and  received  bap- 
tism from  the  hands  of  Bossuet.  He  added  the  name  of 
Spiridion  to  that  of  Peter,  to  signify  that  he  had  been 
twice  enlightened  by  the  Spirit.  Besolved  thenceforward 
to  consecrate  his  life  to  the  worship  of  the  new  God  who 
had  called  him  to  Him,  and  the  study  of  His  doctrines, 
he  passed  into  Italy,  and,  with  the  aid  of  a large  fortune, 
which  one  of  his  uncles,  a Catholic  like  himself,  had  left  to 
him,  he  built  this  convent  where  we  now  are.” 

A friend  of  mine,  who  has  just  come  from  Italy,  says 

that  he  has  there  left  Messrs.  Sp r,  P 1,  and  W. 

Dr d,  who  were  the  lights  of  the  great  church  in  New- 

man Street,  who  were  themselves  apostles,  and  declared 
and  believed  that  every  word  of  nonsense  which  fell  from 
their  lips  was  a direct  spiritual  intervention.  These  gen- 
tlemen have  become  Puseyites  already,  and  are,  my  friend 
states,  in  the  high  way  to  Catholicism.  Madame  Sand 
herself  was  a Catholic  some  time  since : having  been  con- 
verted to  that  faith  along  with  M.  N , of  the  Academy 

of  Music ; Mr.  L , the  piano-forte  player ; and  one  or 

two  other  chosen  individuals,  by  the  famous  Abbe  de  la 

M . Abbe  de  la  M ( so  told  me  in  the  Diligence,  a 

priest,  who  read  his  breviary  and  gossiped  alternately  very 
curiously  and  pleasantly)  is  himself  a ame  perdue : the  man 
spoke  of  his  brother  clergyman  with  actual  horror ; and 
it  certainly  appears  that  the  Abbe’s  works  of  conversion 
have  not  prospered;  for  Madame  Sand,  having  brought 
her  hero  ( and  herself,  as  we  may  presume  ) to  the  point  of 


MADAME  SAND . 


235 


Catholicism,  proceeds  directly  to  dispose  of  that  as  he  has 
done  of  Judaism  and  Protestantism,  and  will  not  leave, 
of  the  whole  fabric  of  Christianity,  a single  stone  standing. 

I think  the  fate  of  our  English  Newman  Street  apostles, 
and  of  M.  de  la  M , the  mad  priest,  and  his  congrega- 

tion of  mad  converts,  should  be  a warning  to  such  of  us  as 
are  inclined  to  dabble  in  religious  speculations  ; for,  in 
them,  as  in  all  others,  our  flighty  brains  soon  lose  them- 
selves, and  we  find  our  reason  speedily  lying  prostrated  at 
the  mercy  of  our  passions ; and  I think  that  Madame  Sand's 
novel  of  Spiridion  may  do  a vast  deal  of  good,  and  bears  a 
good  moral  with  it;  though  not  such  an  one,  perhaps,  as 
our  fair  philosopher  intended.  For  anything  he  learned, 
Samuel-Peter-Spiridion-Hebronius  might  have  remained  a 
Jew  from  the  beginning  to  the  end.  Wherefore  be  in 
such  a hurry  to  set  up  new  faiths  ? Wherefore,  Madame 
Sand,  try  and  be  so  preternaturally  wise  ? Wherefore  be 
so  eager  to  jump  out  of  one  religion,  for  the  purpose  of 
jumping  into  another  ? See  what  good  this  philosophical 
friskiness  has  done  you,  and  on  what  sorb  of  ground  you  are 
come  at  last.  You  are  so  wonderfully  sagacious,  that  you 
flounder  in  mud  at  every  step ; so  amazingly  clear-sighted, 
that  your  eyes  cannot  see  an  inch  before  you,  having  put  out, 
with  that  extinguishing  genius  of  yours,  every  one  of  the 
lights  that  are  sufficient  for  the  conduct  of  common  men. 
And  for  what  ? Let  our  friend  Spiridion  speak  for  himself. 
After  setting  up  his  convent,  and  filling  it  with  monks, 
who  entertain  an  immense  respect  for  his  wealth  and 
genius,  Father  Hebronius,  unanimously  elected  prior,  gives 
himself  up  to  further  studies,  and  leaves  his  monks  to 
themselves.  Industrious  and  sober  as  they  were,  orig- 
inally, they  grew  quickly  intemperate  and  idle  ; and  He- 
bronius, who  does  not  appear  among  his  flock  until  he  has 
freed  himself  of  the  Catholic  religion,  as  he  has  of  the  Jew- 
ish and  the  Protestant,  sees,  with  dismay,  the  evil  condi- 
tion of  his  disciples,  and  regrets,  too  late,  the  precipitancy 
by  which  he  renounced,  then  and  forever,  Christianity. 
“ But,  as  he  had  no  new  religion  to  adopt  in  its  place, 
and  as,  grown  more  prudent  and  calm,  he  did  not  wish  to 
accuse  himself  unnecessarily,  once  more,  of  inconstancy  and 
apostasy,  he  still  maintained  all  the  exterior  forms  of  the 
worship  which  inwardly  he  had  abjured.  But  it  was  not 
enough  for  him  to  have  quitted  error,  it  was  necessary  to 
discover  truth.  But  Hebronius  had  well  looked  round  to 


236 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK. 


discover  it ; he  could  not  find  anything  that  resembled  it. 
Then  commenced  for  him  a series  of  sufferings,  unknown 
and  terrible.  Placed  face  to  face  with  doubt,  this  sincere 
and  religious  spirit  was  frightened  at  its  own  solitude ; and 
as  it  had  no  other  desire  nor  aim  on  earth  than  truth,  and 
nothing  else  here  below  interested  it,  he  lived  absorbed  in 
his  own  sad  contemplations,  looked  ceaselessly  into  the 
vague  that  surrounded  him  like  an  ocean  without  bounds, 
and  seeing  the  horizon  retreat  and  retreat  as  ever  he  wished 
to  near  it.  Lost  in  this  immense  uncertainty,  he  felt  as  if 
attacked  by  vertigo,  and  his  thoughts  whirled  within  his 
brain.  Then,  fatigued  with  his  vain  toils  and  hopeless 
endeavors,  he  would  sink  down  depressed,  unmanned,  life- 
wearied,  only  living  in  the  sensation  of  that  silent  grief 
which  he  felt  and  could  not  comprehend.  ” 

It  is  a pity  that  this  hapless  Spiridion,  so  eager  in  his 
passage  from  one  creed  to  another,  and  so  loud  in  his  pro- 
fession of  the  truth,  wherever  he  fancied  that  he  had  found 
it,  had  not  waited  a little,  before  he  avowed  himself  either 
Catholic  or  Protestant,  and  implicated  others  in  errors  and 
follies  which  might,  at  least,  have  been  confined  to  his  own 
bosom,  and  there  have  lain  comparatively  harmless.  In 

what  a pretty  state,  for  instance,  will  Messrs.  Dr d 

and  P 1 have  left  their  Newman  Street  congregation. 

who  are  still  plunged  in  their  old  superstitions,  from  which 
their  spiritual  pastors  and  masters  have  been  set  free ! 
In  what  a state,  too,  do  Mrs.  Sand  and  her  brother  and 
sister  philosophers,  Templers,  Saint  Simonians,  Fourierites, 
Lerouxites,  or  whatever  the  sect  may  be,  leave  the  unfort- 
unate people  who  have  listened  to  their  doctrines,  and 
who  have  not  the  opportunity,  or  the  fiery  versatility  of 
belief,  which  carries  their  teachers  from  one  creed  to 
another,  leaving  only  exploded  lies  and  useless  recanta- 
tions behind  them ! I wish  the  State  would  make  a law 
that  one  individual  should  not  be  allowed  to  preach  more 
than  one  doctrine  in  his  life,  or,  at  any  rate,  should  be 
soundly  corrected  for  every  change  of  creed.  How  many 
charlatans  would  have  been  silenced,  — how  much  conceit 
would  have  been  kept  within  bounds, — how  many  fools, 
who  are  dazzled  by  fine  sentences,  and  made  drunk  by 
declamation,  would  have  remained  quiet  and  sober,  in  that 
quiet  and  sober  way  of  faith  which  their  fathers  held  be- 
fore them.  However,  the  reader  will  be  glad  to  learn  that, 
after  all  his  doubts  and  sorrows,  Spiridion  does  discover  the 


MADAME  SAND . 


237 


truth  ( the  truth,  what  a wise  Spiridion  ! ) and  some  discre- 
tion with  it ; for,  having  found  among  his  monks,  who  are 
dissolute,  superstitious  — and  all  hate  him  — one  only 
being,  Fulgentius,  who  is  loving,  candid,  and  pious,  he  says 
to  him,  — “ If  you  were  like  myself,  if  the  first  want  of 
your  nature  were,  like  mine,  to  know,  I would,  without 
hesitation,  lay  bare  to  you  my  entire  thoughts.  I would 
make  you  drink  the  cup  of  truth,  which  I myself  have 
filled  with  so  many  tears,  at  the  risk  of  intoxicating  you 
with  the  draught.  But  it  is  not  so,  alas  ! you  are  made  to 
love  rather  than  to  know,  and  your  heart  is  stronger  than 
your  intellect.  You  are  attached  to  Catholicism, — I 
believe  so,  at  least,  — by  bonds  of  sentiment  which  you 
could  not  break  without  pain,  and  which,  if  you  were  to 
break,  the  truth  which  I could  lay  bare  to  you  in  return 
would  not  repay  you  for  what  you  had  sacrificed.  Instead 
of  exalting,  it  would  crush  you,  very  likely.  It  is  a food 
too  strong  for  ordinary  men,  and  which,  when  it  does  not 
revivify,  smothers.  I will  not,  then,  reveal  to  you  this 
doctrine,  which  is  the  triumph  of  my  life,  and  the  consola- 
tion of  my  last  days ; because  it  might,  perhaps,  be  for  you 

only  a cause  of  mourning  and  despair Of  all  the 

works  which  my  long  studies  have  produced,  there  is  one 
alone  which  I have  not  given  to  the  flames ; for  it  alone  is 
complete.  In  that  you  will  find  me  entire,  and  there  lies 
the  truth.  And,  as  the  sage  has  said  you  must  not  bury 
your  treasures  in  a well,  I will  not  confide  mine  to  the 
brutal  stupidity  of  these  monks.  But  as  this  volume 
should  only  pass  into  hands  worthy  to  touch  it,  and  be  laid 
open  for  eyes  that  are  capable  of  comprehending  its  mys- 
teries, I shall  exact  from  the  reader  one  condition,  which, 
at  the  same  time,  shall  be  a proof : I shall  carry  it  with 
me  to  the  tomb,  in  order  that  he  who  one  day  shall  read  it, 
may  have  courage  enough  to  brave  the  vain  terrors  of  the 
grave,  in  searching  for  it  amid  the  dust  of  my  sepulchre. 
As  soon  as  I am  dead,  therefore,  place  this  writing  on  my 

breast Ah ! when  the  time  comes  for  reading  it,  I 

think  my  withered  heart  will  spring  up  again,  as  the  frozen 
grass  at  the  return  of  the  sun,  and  that,  from  the  midst 
of  its  infinite  transformations,  my  spirit  will  enter  into 
immediate  communication  with  thine  ! ” 

Does  not  the  reader  long  to  be  at  this  precious  manu- 
script, which  contains  the  truth  ; and  ought  he  not  to  be 


238 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK. 


very  much  obliged  to  Mrs.  Sand,  for  being  so  good  as  to 
print  it  for  him  ? We  leave  all  the  story  aside  : how 
Fulgentius  had  not  the  spirit  to  read  the  manuscript,  but 
left  the  secret  to  Alexis ; how  Alexis,  a stern  old  philo- 
sophical unbelieving  monk  as  ever  was,  tried  in  vain  to  lift 
up  the  gravestone,  but  was  taken  with  fever,  and  obliged  to 
forego  the  discovery  ; and  how,  finally,  Angel,  his  disciple, 
a youth  amiable  and  innocent  as  his  name,  was  the  destined 
person  who  brought  the  long-buried  treasure  to  light. 
Trembling  and  delighted,  the  pair  read  this  tremendous 

MANUSCRIPT  OF  SPIRIDION. 

Will  it  be  believed,  that  of  all  the  dull,  vague,  windy 
documents  that  mortal  ever  set  eyes  on,  this  is  the  dullest  ? 
If  this  be  absolute  truth,  ct  quoi  bon  search  for  it,  since  we 
have  long,  long  had  the  jewel  in  our  possession,  or  since, 
at  least,  it  has  been  held  up  as  such  by  every  sham  philos- 
opher who  has  had  a mind  to  pass  off  his  wares  on  the 
public  ? Hear  Spiridion  : — 

“ How  much  have  I wept,  how  much  have  I suffered,  how 
much  have  I prayed,  how  much  have  I labored,  before  I 
understood  the  cause  and  the  aim  of  my  passage  on  this 
earth  ! After  many  incertitudes,  after  much  remorse,  after 
many  scruples,  I have  comprehended  that  I was  a martyr  ! 
— But  why  my  martyrdom  ? said  I;  what  crime  did  I com- 
mit before  I was  born,  thus  to  be  condemned  to  labor  and 
groaning,  from  the  hour  when  I first  saw  the  day  up  to  that 
when  I am  about  to  enter  into  the  night  of  the  tomb  ? 

“At  last,  by  dint  of  imploring  God  — by  dint  of  inquiry 
into  the  history  of  man,  a ray  of  the  truth  has  descended 
on  my  brow,  and  the  shadows  of  the  past  have  melted  from 
before  my  eyes.  I have  lifted  a corner  of  the  curtain : I 
have  seen  enough  to  know  that  my  life,  like  that  of  the 
rest  of  the  human  race,  has  been  a series  of  necessary 
errors,  yet,  to  speak  more  correctly,  of  incomplete  truths, 
conducting,  more  or  less  slowly  and  directly,  to  absolute 
truth  and  ideal  perfection.  But  when  will  they  rise  on  the 
face  of  the  earth  — when  will  they  issue  from  the  bosom 
of  the  Divinity — those  generations  who  shall  salute  the 
august  countenance  of  Truth,  and  proclaim  the  reign  of 
the  ideal  on  earth  ? I see  well  how  humanity  marches,  but 
I neither  can  see  its  cradle  nor  its  apotheosis.  Man  seems 
to  me  a transitory  race,  between  the  beast  and  the  angel ; 
but  I know  not  how  many  centuries  have  been  required, 
that  he  might  pass  from  the  state  of  brute  to  the  state  of 


MADAME  SAND. 


239 


man , and  I cannot  tell  how  many  ages  are  necessary  that  he 
may  pass  from  the  state  of  man  td  the  state  of  angel  ! 

“ Yet  I hope,  and  I feel  within  me,  at  the  approach  of 
death,  that  which  warns  me  that  great  destinies  await 
humanity.  In  this  life  all  is  over  for  me.  Much  have  I 
striven,  to  advance  but  little : I have  labored  without 
ceasing,  and  have  done  almost  nothing.  Yet,  after  pains  im- 
measurable, I die  content,  for  I know  that  I have  done  all  I 
could,  and  am  sure  that  the  little  I have  done  will  not  be  lost. 

“ What,  then,  have  I done  ? this  wilt  thou  demand  of 
me,  man  of  a future  age,  who  will  seek  for  truth  in  the 
testaments  of  the  past.  Thou  wilt  be  no  more  Catholic  — 
no  more  Christian,  thou  wilt  ask  of  the  poor  monk,  lying 
in  the  dust,  an  account  of  his  life  and  death.  Thou 
wouldst  know  wherefore  were  his  vows,  why  his  austerities, 
his  labors,  his  retreat,  his  prayers  ? 

“ You  who  turn  back  to  me,  in  order  that  I may  guide 
you  on  your  road,  and  that  you  may  arrive  more  quickly  at 
the  goal  which  it  has  not  been  my  lot  to  attain,  pause,  yet, 
for  a moment,  and  look  upon  the  past  history  of  humanity. 
Foil  will  see  that  its  fate  has  been  ever  to  choose  between 
the  least  of  two  evils,  and  ever  to  commit  great  faults  in 
order  to  avoid  others  still  greater.  You  will  see  ....  on 
one  side,  the  heathen  mythology,  that  debased  the  spirit, 
in  its  efforts  to  deify  the  flesh  ; on  the  other,  the  austere 
Christian  principle,  that  debased  the  flesh  too  much,  in 
order  to  raise  the  worship  of  the  spirit.  You  will  see, 
afterwards,  how  the  religion  of  Christ  embodies  itself  in 
a church,  and  raises  itself  a generous  democratic  power 
against  the  tyranny  of  princes.  Later  still,  you  will  see 
how  that  power  has  attained  its  end,  and  passed  beyond  it. 
You  will  see  it,  having  chained  and  conquered  princes, 
league  itself  with  them,  in  order  to  oppress  the  people,  and 
seize  on  temporal  power.  Schism,  then,  raises  up  against 
it  the  standard  of  revolt,  and  preaches  the  bold  and  legiti- 
mate principle  of  liberty  of  conscience:  but,  also,  you  will 
see  how  this  liberty  of  conscience  brings  religious  anar- 
chy in  its  train ; or,  worse  still,  religious  indifference  and 
disgust.  And  if  your  soul,  shattered  in  the  tempestuous 
changes  which  you  behold  humanity  undergoing,  would 
strike  out  for  itself  a passage  through  the  rocks,  amidst 
which,  like  a frail  bark,  lies  tossing  trembling  truth,  you 
will  be  embarrassed  to  choose  between  the  new  philoso- 
phers— who,  in  preaching  tolerance,  destroy  religious  and 


240 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK 


social  unity  — and  the  last  Christians,  who,  to  preserve  so- 
ciety, that  is,  religion  and  philosophy,  are  obliged  to  brave 
the  principle  of  toleration.  Man  of  truth ! to  whom  I ad- 
dress, at  once,  my  instruction  and  my  justification,  at  the 
time  when  you  shall  live,  the  science  of  truth  no  doubt  will 
have  advanced  a step.  Think,  then,  of  all  your  fathers 
have  suffered,  as,  bending  beneath  the  weight  of  their  igno- 
rance and  uncertainty,  they  have  traversed  the  desert 
across  which,  with  so  much  pain,  they  have  conducted  thee  ! 
And  if  the  pride  of  thy  young  learning  shall  make  thee 
contemplate  the  petty  strifes  in  which  our  life  has  been 
consumed,  pause  and  tremble,  as  you  think  of  that  which 
is  still  unknown  to  yourself,  and  of  the  judgment  that 
your  descendants  will  pass  on  you.  Think  of  this,  and 
learn  to  respect  all  those  who,  seeking  their  way  in  all 
sincerity,  have  wandered  from  the  path,  frightened  by  the 
storm,  and  sorely  tried  by  the  severe  hand  of  the  All- 
Powerful.  Think  of  this,  and  prostrate  yourself ; for  all 
these,  even  the  most  mistaken  among  them,  are  saints  and 
martyrs. 

“ Without  their  conquests  and  their  defeats,  thou  wert 
in  darkness  still.  Yes,  their  failures,  their  errors  even, 

have  a right  to  your  respect ; for  man  is  weak Weep 

then,  for  us  obscure  travellers  — unknown  victims,  who,  by 
our  mortal  sufferings  and  unheard-of  labors,  have  prepared 
the  way  before  you.  Pity  me,  who  have  passionately  loved 
justice,  and  perseveringly  sought  for  truth,  only  opened  my 
eyes  to  shut  them  again  for  ever,  and  saw  that  I had  been 
in  vain  endeavoring  to  support  a ruin,  to  take  refuge  in  a 
vault  of  which  the  foundations  were  worn  away.”  .... 

The  rest  of  the  book  of  Spiridion  is  made  up  of  a history 
of  the  rise,  progress,  and  ( what  our  philosopher  is  pleased 
to  call ) decay  of  Christianity  — of  an  assertion,  that  the 
“ doctrine  of  Christ  is  incomplete;”  that  “ Christ  may, 
nevertheless,  take  his  place  in  the  Pantheon  of  divine 
men ! ” and  of  a long,  disgusting,  absurd,  and  impious 
vision,  in  which  the  Saviour,  Moses,  David,  and  Elijah  are 
represented,  and  in  which  Christ  is  made  to  say  — “ We  are 
all  Messiahs , when  we  wish  to  bring  the  reign  of  truth 
upon  earth ; we  are  all  Christs,  when  we  suffer  for  it ! ” 

And  this  is  the  ultimatum,  the  supreme  secret,  the  abso- 
lute truth ! and  it  has  been  published  by  Mrs.  Sand,  for  so 
many  napoleons  per  sheet,  in  the  Revue  des  Deux  Mondes  ; 
and  the  Deux  Mondes  are  to  abide  by  it  for  the  future. 


MADAME  SAND. 


241 


After  having  attained  it,  are  we  a whit  wiser  ? “ Man  is 

between  an  angel  and  a beast : I don’t  know  how  long  it  is 
since  he  was  a brute  — I can’t  say  how  long  it  will  be 
before  he  is  an  angel.”  Think  of  people  living  by  their 
wits,-  and  living  by  such  a wit  as  this  ! Think  of  the  state 
of  mental  debauch  and  disease  which  must  have  been 
passed  through,  ere  such  words  could  be  written,  and  could 
be  popular  ! 

When  a man  leaves  our  dismal,  smoky  London  atmos- 
phere, and  breathes,  instead  of  coal-smoke  and  yellow  fog, 
this  bright,  clear,  French  air,  he  is  quite  intoxicated  by  it 
at  first,  and  feels  a glow  in  his  blood,  and  a joy  in  his 
spirits,  which  scarcely  thrice  a year,  and  then  only  at  a dis- 
tance from  London,  he  can  attain  in  England.  Is  the  in- 
toxication, I wonder,  permanent  among  the  natives  ? and 
may  we  not  account  for  the  ten  thousand  frantic  freaks  of 
these  people  by  the  peculiar  influence  of  French  air  and 
sun  ? The  philosophers  are  from  night  to  morning  drunk, 
the  politicians  are  drunk,  the  literary  men  reel  and  stagger 
from  one  absurdity  to  another,  and  how  shall  we  under- 
stand their  vagaries  ? Let  us  suppose,  charitabty,  that 
Madame  Sand  had  inhaled  a more  than  ordinary  quantity 
of  this  laughing  gas  when  she  wrote  for  us  this  precious 
manuscript  of  Spiridion . That  great  destinies  are  in  pros- 
pect for  the  human  race  we  may  fancy,  without  her  lady- 
ship’s word  for  it : but  more  liberal  than  she,  and  having  a 
little  retrospective  charity,  as  well  as  that  easy  prospective 
benevolence  which  Mrs.  Sand  adopts,  let  us  try  and  think 
there  is  some  hope  for  our  fathers  ( who  were  nearer  bru- 
tality than  ourselves,  according  to  the  Sandean  creed  ),  or 
else  there  is  a very  poor  chance  for  us,  who,  great  philoso- 
phers as  we  are,  are  yet,  alas ! far  removed  from  that 
angelic  consummation  which  all  must  wish  for  so  devoutly. 
She  cannot  say  — is  it  not  extraordinary?  — how  many 
centuries  have  been  necessary  before  man  could  pass  from 
the  brutal  state  to  his  present  condition,  or  how  many  ages 
will  be  required  ere  we  may  pass  from  the  state  of  man  to 
the  state  of  angels  ? What  the  deuce  is  the  use  of  chro- 
nology or  philosophy  ? We  were  beasts,  and  we  can’t  tell 
when  our  tails  dropped  off : we  shall  be  angels ; but  when 
our  wings  are  to  begin  to  sprout,  who  knows  ? In  the 
meantime,  0 man  of  genius,  follow  our  counsel : lead  an 
easy  life,  don’t  stick  at  trifles ; never  mind  about  diity,  it  is 
only  made  for  slaves ; if  the  world  reproach  you,  reproach 
16 


242 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK. 


the  world  in  return,  you  have  a good  loud  tongue  in  your 
head:  if  your  straight-laced  morals  injure  your  mental 
respiration,  fling  off  the  old-fashioned  stays,  and  leave  your 
free  limbs  to  rise  and  fall  as  Nature  pleases ; and  when  you 
have  grown  pretty  sick  of  your  liberty,  and  yet  unfit  to  re- 
turn to  restraint,  curse  the  world,  and  scorn  it,  and  be 
miserable,  like  my  Lord  Byron  and  other  philosophers  of 
his  kidney  ; or  else  mount  a step  higher,  and,  with  conceit 
still  more  monstrous,  and  mental  vision  still  more  wretch- 
edly debauched  and  weak,  begin  suddenly  to  find  yourself 
afflicted  with  a maudlin  compassion  for  the  human  race,  and 
a desire  to  set  them  right  after  your  own  fashion.  There 
is  the  quarrelsome  stage  of  drunkenness,  when  a man  can  as 
yet  walk  and  speak,  when  he  can  call  names,  and  fling 
plates  and  wine-glasses  at  his  neighbor’s  head  with  a pretty 
good  aim  ; after  this  comes  the  pathetic  stage,  when  the 
patient  becomes  wondrous  philanthropic,  and  weeps  wildly, 
as  he  lies  in  the  gutter,  and  fancies  he  is  at  home  in  bed  — 
where  he  ought  to  be ; but  this  is  an  allegory. 

I don’t  wish  to  carry  this  any  farther,  or  to  say  a word 
in  defence  of  the  doctrine  which  Mrs.  Dude  van t has  found 
“ incomplete  ; ” — here,  at  least,  is  not  the  place  for  discuss- 
ing its  merits,  any  more  than  Mrs.  Sand’s  book  was  the 
place  for  exposing,  forsooth,  its  errors : our  business  is  only 
with  the  day  and  the  new  novels,  and  the  clever  or  silly 
people  who  write  them.  Oh  ! if  they  but  knew  their  places, 
and  would  keep  to  them,  and  drop  their  absurd  philosophi- 
cal jargon  ! Not  all  the  big  words  in  the  world  can  make 
Mrs.  Sand  talk  like  a philosopher  : when  will  she  go  back 
to  her  old  trade,  of  which  she  was  the  very  ablest  practi- 
tioner in  France  ? 

I should  have  been  glad  to  give  some  extracts  from  the 
dramatic  and  descriptive  parts  of  the  novel,  that  cannot,  in 
point  of  style  and  beauty,  be  praised  too  highly.  One 
must  suffice,  — it  is  the  descent  of  Alexis  to  seek  that 
unlucky  manuscript,  Spiridion. 

“It  seemed  to  me,”  he  begins,  “that  the  descent  was 
eternal ; and  that  I was  burying  myself  in  the  depths  of 
Erebus  : at  last,  I reached  a level  place,  — and  I heard  a 
mournful  voice  deliver  these  words,  as  it  were,  to  the  secret 
centre  of  the  earth  — ‘ He  will  mount  that  ascent  no  more  P 
— Immediately  I heard  arise  towards  me,  from  the  depth 
of  invisible  abysses,  a myriad  of  formidable  voices  united 
in  a strange  chant  — ( Let  us  destroy  him ! Let  him  be 


MADAME  SAND. 


243 


destroyed ! Wliat  does  he  here  among  the  dead?  Let  him  be 
delivered  back  to  torture  ! Let  him  be  given  again  to  life  ! 9 
“ Then  a feeble  light  began  to  pierce  the  darkness,  and  I 
perceived  that  I stood  on  the  lowest  step  of  a staircase, 
vast  as  the  foot  of  a mountain.  Behind  me  were  thousands 
of  steps  of  lurid  iron  ; before  me,  nothing  but  a void  — an 
abyss,  and  ether ; the  blue  gloom  of  midnight  beneath  my 
feet,  as  above  my  head.  I became  delirious,  and  quitting 
that  staircase,  which  methought  it  was  impossible  for  me 
to  reascend,  I sprung  forth  into  the  void  with  an  execra- 
tion. But,  immediately,  when  I had  uttered  the  curse,  the 
void  began  to  be  filled  with  forms  and  colors,  and  I pres- 
ently perceived  that  I was  in  a vast  gallery,  along  which  I 
advanced,  trembling.  There  was  still  darkness  round  me  ; 
but  the  hollows  of  the  vaults  gleamed  with  a red  light,  and 
showed  me  the  strange  and  hideous  forms  of  their  building. 

. . . . I did  not  distinguish  the  nearest  objects;  but 

those  towards  which  I advanced  assumed  an  appearance 
more  and  more  ominous,  and  my  terror  increased  with 
every  step  I took.  The  enormous  pillars  which  supported 
the  vault,  and  the  tracery  thereof  itself,  were  figures  of 
men,  of  supernatural  stature,  delivered  to  tortures  without 
a name.  Some  hung  by  their  feet,  and,  locked  in  the  coils 
of  monstrous  serpents,  clenched  tlieir  teeth  in  the  marble 
of  the  pavement;  others,  fastened  by  their  waists,  were 
dragged  upwards,  these  by  their  feet,  those  by  their  heads, 
towards  capitals,  where  other  figures  stooped  towards  them, 
eager  to  torment  them.  Other  pillars,  again,  represented 
a struggling  mass  of  figures  devouring  one  another ; each 
of  which  only  offered  a trunk  severed  to  the  knees  or  to 
the  shoulders,  the  fierce  heads  whereof  retained  life  enough 
to  seize  and  devour  that  which  was  near  them.  There 
were  some  who,  half  hanging  down,  agonized  themselves 
by  attempting,  with  their  upper  limbs,  to  flay  the  lower 
moiety  of  their  bodies,  which  drooped  from  the  columns,  or 
were  attached  to  the  pedestals ; and  others,  who,  in  their 
fight  with  each  other,  were  dragged  along  by  morsels  of 
flesh,  — grasping  which,  they  clung  to  each  other  with  a 
countenance  of  unspeakable  hate  and  agony.  Along,  or 
rather  in  place  of,  the  frieze,  there  were  on  either  side  a 
range  of  unclean  beings,  wearing  the  human  form,  but  of 
a loathsome  ugliness,  busied  in  tearing  human  corpses  to 
pieces  — in  feasting  upon  their  limbs  and  entrails.  From 
the  vault,  instead  of  bosses  and  pendants,  hung  the  crushed 


244 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK. 


and  wounded  forms  of  children ; as  if  to  escape  these  eaters 
of  man’s  flesh,  they  would  throw  themselves  downwards, 

and  be  dashed  to  pieces  on  the  pavement The 

silence  and  motionlessness  of  the  whole  added  to  its  awful- 
ness. I became  .so  faint  with  terror,  that  I stopped,  and 
would  fain  have  returned.  But  at  that  moment  I heard, 
from  the  depths  of  the  gloom  through  which  I had  passed, 
confused  noises,  like  those  of  a multitude  on  its  march. 
And  the  sounds  soon  became  more  distinct,  and  the  clamor 
fiercer,  and  the  steps  came  hurrying  on  tumultuously  — at 
every  new  burst  nearer,  more  violent,  more  threatening.  I 
thought  that  I was  pursued  by  this  disorderly  crowd ; and 
I strove  to  advance,  hurrying  into  the  midst  of  those  dis- 
mal sculptures.  Then  it  seemed  as  if  those  figures  began 
to  heave,  — and  to  sweat  blood,  — and  their  beady  eyes  to 
move  in  their  sockets.  At  once  I beheld  that  they  were  all 
looking  upon  me,  that  they  were  all  leaning  towards  me,  — 
some  with  frightful  derision,  others  with  furious  aversion. 
Every  arm  was  raised  against  me,  and  they  made  as  though 
they  would  crush  me  with  the  quivering  limbs  they  had 
torn  one  from  the  other.  ” . . . . 

It  is,  indeed,  a pity  that  the  poor  fellow  gave  himself  the 
trouble  to  go  down  into  damp,  unwholesome  graves,  for 
the  purpose  of  fetching  up  a few  trumpery  sheets  of  man- 
uscript ; and  if  the  public  has  been  rather  tired  with  their 
contents,  and  is  disposed  to  ask  why  Mrs.  Sand’s  religious 
or  irreligious  notions  are  to  be  brought  forward  to  people 
who  are  quite  satisfied  with  their  own,  we  can  only  say 
that  this  lady  is  the  representative  of  a vast  class  of  her 
countrymen,  whom  the  wits  and  philosophers  of  the  eigh- 
teenth century  have  brought  to  this  condition.  The  leaves 
of  the  Diderot  and  Kousseau  tree  have  produced  this 
goodly  fruit : here  it  is,  ripe,  bursting,  and  ready  to  fall ; — 
and  how  to  fall  ? Heaven  send  that  it  may  drop  easily, 
for  all  can  see  that  the  time  is  come. 


THE  CASE  OF  PEYTEL: 


IN  A LETTER  TO  EDWARD  BRIEFLESS,  ESQUIRE,  OF  PUMP 
COURT,  TEMPLE. 


Paris,  November,  1839. 

Z DEAR  BRIEFLESS,  — Two 
months  since,  when  the  act  of  accu- 
sation first  appeared,  containing  the 
sum  of  the  charges  against  Sebastian 
Peytel,  all  Paris  was  in  a fervor  on 
the  subject.  The  man’s  trial  speed- 
ily followed,  and  kept  for  three  days 
the  public  interest  wound  up  to  a 
painful  point.  He  was  found  guilty 
of  double  murder  at  the  beginning 
of  September  ; and,  since  that  time, 
what  with  Maroto’s  disaffection  and  Turkish  news,  we  have 
had  leisure  to  forget  Monsieur  Peytel,  and  to  occupy  our- 
selves with  tl  veov.  Perhaps  Monsieur  de  Balzac  helped 
to  smother  what  little  sparks  of  interest  might  still  have 
remained  for  the  murderous  notary.  Balzac  put  forward  a 
letter  in  his  favor,  so  very  long,  so  very  dull,  so  very 
pompous,  promising  so  much,  and  performing  so  little,  that 
the  Parisian  public  gave  up  Peytel  and  his  case  altogether; 
nor  was  it  until  to-day  that  some  small  feeling  was  raised 
concerning  him,  when  the  newspapers  brought  the  account 
how  Peytel’s  head  had  been  cut  off  at  Bourg. 

He  had  gone  through  the  usual  miserable  ceremonies  and 
delays  which  attend  what  is  called,  in  this  country,  the 
march  of  justice.  He  had  made  his  appeal  to  the  Court  of 
Cassation,  which  had  taken  time  to  consider  the  verdict  of 
the  Provincial  Court,  and  had  confirmed  it.  He  had  made 
his  appeal  for  mercy  ; his  poor  sister  coming  up  all  the 

245 


246 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK. 


way  from  Bourg  (a  sad  journey,  poor  thing!)  to  have  an 
interview  with  the  King,  who  had  refused  to  see  her.  Last 
Monday  morning,  at  nine  o’clock,  an  hour  before  Peytel’s 
breakfast,  the  Greffier  of  Assize  Court,  in  company  with 
the  Cure  of  Bourg,  waited  on  him,  and  informed  him  that 
he  had  only  three  hours  to  live.  At  twelve  o’clock,  Peytel’s 
head  was  off  his  body : an  executioner  from  Lyons  had 
come  over  the  night  before,  to  assist  the  professional 
throat-cutter  of  Bourg. 

I am  not  going  to  entertain  you  with  any  sentimental 
lamentations  for  this  scoundrel’s  fate,  or  to  declare  my  be- 
lief in  his  innocence,  as  Monsieur  de  Balzac  has  done.  As 
far  as  moral  conviction  can  go,  the  man’s  guilt  is  pretty 
clearly  brought  home  to  him.  But  any  man  who  has  read 
the  “ Causes  Celebres,  ” knows  that  men  have  been  convicted 
and  executed  upon  evidence  ten  times  more  powerful  than 
that  which  was  brought  against  Peytel.  His  own  account 
of  his  horrible  case  may  be  true ; there  is  nothing  adduced 
in  the  evidence  which  is  strong  enough  to  overthrow  it. 
It  is  a serious  privilege,  God  knows,  that  society  takes  upon 
itself,  at  any  time,  to  deprive  one  of  God’s  creatures  of 
existence.  But  when  the  slightest  doubt  remains,  what  a 
tremendous  risk  does  it  incur ! In  England,  thank  heaven, 
the  law  is  more  wise  and  more  merciful : an  English  jury 
would  never  have  taken  a man’s  blood  upon  such  testimony  : 
an  English  judge  and  Crown  advocate  would  never  have 
acted  as  these  Frenchmen  have  done ; the  latter  inflaming 
the  public  mind  by  exaggerated  appeals  to  their  passions : 
the  former  seeking,  in  every  way,  to  draw  confessions  from 
the  prisoner,  to  perplex  and  confound  him,  to  do  away,  by 
fierce  cross-questioning  and  bitter  remarks  from  the  bench, 
with  any  effect  that  his  testimony  might  have  on  the  jury. 
I don’t  mean  to  say  that  judges  and  lawyers  have  been 
more  violent  and  inquisitorial  against  the  unhappy  Peytel 
than  against  any  one  else;  it  is  the  fashion  of  the  country: 
a man  is  guilty  until  he  proves  himself  to  be  innocent ; and 
to  batter  down  his  defence,  if  he  have  any,  there  are 
lawyers,  with  all  their  horrible  ingenuity,  and  their  capti- 
vating passionate  eloquence.  It  is  hard  thus  to  set  the 
skilful  and  tried  champions  of  the  law  against  men  unused 
to  this  kind  of  combat ; nay,  give  a man  all  the  legal  aid 
that  he  can  purchase  or  procure,  still,  by  this  plan,  you 
take  him  at  a cruel,  unmanly  disadvantage ; he  has  to  fight 
against  the  law,  clogged  with  the  dreadful  weight  of  his 


THE  CASE  OF  FEY  TEL. 


247 


presupposed  guilt.  Thank  God  that,  in  England,  things 
are  not  managed  so. 

However,  I am  not  about  to  entertain  you  with  ignorant 
disquisitions  about  the  law.  Peytel’s  case  may,  neverthe- 
less, interest  you ; for  the  tale  is  a very  stirring  and  mys- 
terious one  ; and  you  may  see  how  easy  a thing  it  is  for  a 
man’s  life  to  be  talked  away  in  France,  if  ever  he  should 
happen  to  fall  under  the  suspicion  of  a crime.  The  French 
“ Acte  d’ accusation  ” begins  in  the  following  manner  : — 

“Of  all  the  events  which,  in  these  latter  times,  have 
afflicted  the  department  of  the  Ain,  there  is  none  which 
has  caused  a more  profound  and  lively  sensation  than  the 
tragical  death  of  the  lady,  Felicite  Alcazar,  wife  of  Sebastian 
Benedict  Peytel,  notary,  at  Belley.  At  the  end  of  October, 
1838,  Madame  Peytel  quitted  that  town,  with  her  husband, 
and" their  servant  Louis  Key,  in  order  to  pass  a few  days  at 
Macon : at  midnight,  the  inhabitants  of  Belley  were  sud- 
denly awakened  by  the  arrival  of  Monsieur  Peytel,  by  his 
cries,  and  by  the  signs  which  he  exhibited  of  the  most 
lively  agitation  : he  implored  the  succors  of  all  the  physi- 
cians in  the  town ; knocked  violently  at  their  doors ; rung 
at  the  bells  of  their  houses  with  a sort  of  frenzy,  and  an- 
nounced that  his  wife,  stretched  out,  and  dying,  in  his 
carriage,  had  just  been  shot,  on  the  Lyons  road,  by  his 
domestic,  whose  life  Peytel  himself  had  taken. 

“ At  this  recital  a number  of  persons  assembled,  and  what 
a spectacle  was  presented  to  their  eyes. 

“A  young  woman  lay  at  the  bottom  of  a carriage, 
deprived  of  life  ; her  whole  body  was  wet,  and  seemed  as  if 
it  had  just  been  plunged  into  the  water.  She  appeared  to 
be  severely  wounded  in  the  face;  and  her  garments,  which 
were  raised  up,  in  spite  of  the  cold  and  rainy  weather,  left 
the  upper  part  of  her  knees  almost  entirely  exposed.  At 
the  sight  of  this  half-naked  and  inanimate  body,  all  the 
spectators  were  affected.  People  said  that  the  first  duty  to 
pay  to  a dying  woman  was,  to  preserve  her  from  the  cold, 
to  cover  her.  A physician  examined  the  body ; he  declared 
that  all  remedies  were  useless ; that  Madame  Peytel  was 
dead  and  cold. 

“ The  entreaties  of  Peytel  were  redoubled;  he  demanded 
fresh  succors,  and,  giving  no  heed  to  the  fatal  assurance 
which  had  just  been  given  him,  required  that  all  the  phy- 
sicians in  the  place  should  be  sent  for.  A scene  so  strange 
and  so  melancholy  ; the  incoherent  account  given  by  Peytel 


248 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK 


of  the  murder  of  his  wife  ; his  extraordinary  movements ; 
and  the  avowal  which  he  continued  to  make,  that  he  had 
despatched  the  murderer,  Key,  with  strokes  of  his  hammer, 
excited  the  attention  of  Lieutenant  Wolf,  commandant  of 
gendarmes : that  officer  gave  orders  for  the  immediate 
arrest  of  Key  tel ; but  the  latter  threw  himself  into  the 
arms  of  a friend,  who  interceded  for  him,  and  begged  the 
police,  not  immediately  to  seize  upon  his  person. 

“ The  corpse  of  Madame  Peytel  was  transported  to  her 
apartment;  the  bleeding  body  of  the  domestic  was  likewise 
brought  from  the  road,  where  it  lay ; and  Peytel,  asked  to 
explain  the  circumstance,  did  so.  ” . . . . 

Now,  as  there  is  little  reason  to  tell  the  reader,  when  an 
English  counsel  has  to  prosecute  a prisoner  on  the  part  of 
the  Crown  for  a capital  offence,  he  produces  the  articles  of 
his  accusation  in  the  most  moderate  terms,  and  especially 
warns  the  jury  to  give  the  accused  person  the  benefit  of 
every  possible  doubt  that  the  evidence  may  give,  or  may 
leave.  See  how  these  things  are  managed  in  Prance,  and 
how  differently  the  French  counsel  for  the  Crown  sets 
about  his  work. 

He  first  prepares  his  act  of  accusation,  the  opening  of 
which  we  have  just  read;  it  is  published  six  days  before 
the  trial,  so  that  an  unimpassioned,  unprejudiced  jury  has 
ample  time  to  study  it,  and  to  form  its  opinions  accordingly, 
and  to  go  into  court  with  a happy,  just  prepossession 
against  the  prisoner. 

Kead  the  first  part  of  the  Peytel  act  of  accusation  ; it  is 
as  turgid  and  declamatory  as  a bad  romance ; and  as  in- 
flated as  a newspaper  document,  by  an  unlimited  penny-a- 
liner  : — “ The  department  of  the  Ain  is  in  a dreadful  state 
of  excitement;  the  inhabitants  of  Belley  come  trooping 
from  their  beds,  — and  what  a sight  do  they  behold ; a 
young  woman  at  the  bottom  of  a carriage,  toute  ruisselante , 
just  out  of  a river;  her  garments,  in  spite  of  the  cold  and 
rain,  raised,  so  as  to  leave  the  upper  part  of  her  knees 
entirely  exposed,  at  which  all  the  beholders  were  affected, 
and  cried,  that  the  first  duty  was  to  cover  her  from  the 
cold.  ” This  settles  the  case  at  once ; the  first  duty  of  a 
man  is  to  cover  the  legs  of  the  sufferer ; the  second  to  call 
for  help.  The  eloquent  “ Substitut  du  Procureur  du  Koi  ” 
has  prejudged  the  case,  in  the  course  of  a few  sentences. 
He  is  putting  his  readers,  among  whom  his  future  jury  is 
to  be  found,  into  a proper  state  of  mind  ; he  works  on  them 


THE  CASE  OF  PE Y TEL. 


249 


with  pathetic  description,  just  as  a romance-writer  would: 
the  rain  pours  in  torrents ; it  is  a dreary  evening  in 
November ; the  young  creature’s  situation  is  neatly  de- 
scribed ; the  distrust  which  entered  into  the  breast  of  the 
keen  old  officer  of  gendarmes  strongly  painted,  the  suspi- 
cions which  might,  or  might  not,  have  been  entertained  by 
the  inhabitants,  eloquently  argued.  How  did  the  advocate 
know  that  the  people  had  such  ? did  all  the  bystanders 
say  aloud,  “ I suspect  that  this  is  a case  of  murder  by  Mon- 
sieur Peytel,  and  that  his  story  about  the  domestic  is  all 
deception  ? ” or  did  they  go  off  to  the  mayor,  and  register 
their  suspicion  ? or  was  the  advocate  there  to  hear  them  ? 
Not  he;  but  he  paints  you  the  whole  scene,  as  though  it 
had  existed,  and  gives  full  accounts  of  suspicions,  as  if  they 
had  been  facts,  positive,  patent,  staring,  that  everybody 
could  see  and  swear  to. 

Having  thus  primed  his  audience,  and  prepared  them  for 
the  testimony  of  the  accused  party,  “Now, ” says  he,  with  a 
fine  show  of  justice,  “ let  us  hear  Monsieur  Peytel ; *’  and 
that  worthy’s  narrative  is  given  as  follows  : — 

“ He  said  that  he  had  left  Macon  on  the  31st  of  October, 
at  eleven  o’clock  in  the  morning,  in  order  to  return  to 
Belley,  with  his  wife  and  servant.  The  latter  drove,  or  led, 
an  open  car ; he  himself  was  driving  his  wife  in  a four- 
wheeled  carriage,  drawn  by  one  horse  : they  reached  Bourg 
at  five  o’clock  in  the  evening;  left  it  at  seven,  to  sleep 
at  Pont  d’Ain,  where  they  did  not  arrive  before  midnight. 
During  the  journey,  Peytel  thought  that  he  remarked  that 
Bey  had  slackened  his  horse’s  pace.  When  they  alighted 
at  the  inn,  Peytel  bade  him  deposit  in  his  chamber  7,500 
francs,  which  he  carried  with  him ; but  the  domestic  re- 
fused to  do  so,  saying  that  the  inn  gates  were  secure,  and 
there  was  no  danger.  Peytel  was,  therefore,  obliged  to 
carry  his  money  up  stairs  himself.  The  next  day,  the  1st 
November,  they  set  out  on  their  journey  again,  at  nine 
o’clock  in  the  morning ; Louis  did  not  come,  according  to 
custom,  to  take  his  master’s  orders.  They  arrived  at  Tenay 
about  three,  stopped  there  a couple  of  hours  to  dine,  and 
it  was  eight  o’clock  when  they  reached  the  bourg  of  Bos- 
sillon,  where  they  waited  half  an  hour  to  bait  the  horses. 

“ As  they  left  Bossillon,  the  weather  became  bad,  and  the 
rain  began  to  fall : Peytel  told  his  domestic  to  get  a cover^ 
ing  for  the  articles  in  the  open  chariot ; but  Bey  refused  to 
do  so,  adding,  in  an  ironical  tone,  that  the  weather  was  fine. 


250 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK. 


For  some  days  past,  Peytel  had  remarked  that  his  servant 
was  gloomy,  and  scarcely  spoke  at  all. 

“ After  they  had  gone  about  500  paces  beyond  the  bridge 
of  Andert,  that  crosses  the  river  Furans,  and  ascended  to  the 
least  steep  part  of  the  hill  of  Darde,  Peytel  cried  out  to  his 
servant,  who  was  seated  in  the  car,  to  come  down  from  it, 
and  finish  the  ascent  on  foot. 

“ At  this  moment  a violent  wind  was  blowing  from  the 
south,  and  the  rain  was  falling  heavily  : Peytel  was  seated 
back  in  the  right  corner  of  the  carriage,  and  his  wife,  who 
was  close  to  him,  was  asleep,  with  her  head  on  his  left 
shoulder.  All  of  a sudden  he  heard  the  report  of  a fire-arm 
( he  had  seen  the  light  of  it  at  some  paces’  distance  ),  and 
Madame  Peytel  cried  out,  ‘ My  poor  husband,  take  your 
pistols  ; ’ the  horse  was  frightened,  and  began  to  trot. 
Peytel  immediately  drew  the  pistol,  and  fired,  from  the 
interior  of  the  carriage,  upon  an  individual  wThom  he  saw 
running  by  the  side  of  the  road. 

“Not  knowing,  as  yet  that  his  wife  had  been  hit,  he 
jumped  out  on  one  side  of  the  carriage,  while  Madame 
Peytel  descended  from  the  other;  and  he  fired  a second  pis- 
tol at  his  domestic,  Louis  Key,  whom  he  had  just  recognized. 
Redoubling  his  pace,  he  came  up  with  Rey,  and  struck  him, 
from  behind,  a blow  with  the  hammer.  Rey  turned  at  this, 
and  raised  up  his  arm  to  strike  his  master  with  the  pistol 
which  he  had  just  discharged  at  him ; but  Peytel,  more 
quick  than  he,  gave  the  domestic  a blow  with  the  hammer, 
which  felled  him  to  the  ground  ( he  fell  his  face  forwards  ), 
and  then  Peytel,  bestriding  the  body,  dispatched  him, 
although  the  brigand  asked  for  mercy. 

“ He  now  began  to  think  of  his  wife  ; and  ran  back,  call- 
ing out  her  name  repeatedly,  and  seeking  for  her,  in  vain, 
on  both  sides  of  the  road.  Arrived  at  the  bridge  of  Andert, 
he  recognized  his  wife,  stretched  in  a field,  covered  with 
water,  which  bordered  the  Furans.  This  horrible  discovery 
had  so  much  the  more  astonished  him,  because  he  had  no 
idea,  until  now,  that  his  wife  had  been  wounded:  he  endeav- 
ored to  draw  her  from  the  water;  and  it  was  only  after  con- 
siderable exertions  that  he  was  enabled  to  do  so,  and  to  place 
her,  with  her  face  towards  the  ground,  on  the  side  of  the 
road.  Supposing  that,  here,  she  would  be  sheltered  from 
any  farther  danger,  and  believing,  as  yet,  that  she  was  only 
wounded,  he  determined  to  ask  for  help  at  a lone  house, 
situated  on  the  road  towards  Rossillon  ; and  at  this  instant 


THE  CASE  OF  PE Y TEL. 


251 


he  perceived,  without  at  all  being  able  to  explain  how,  that 
his  horse  had  followed  him  back  to  the  spot,  having  turned 
back  of  its  own  accord,  from  the  road  to  Belley. 

“ The  house  at  which  he  knocked  was  inhabited  by  two 
men,  of  the  name  of  Thannet,  father  and  son,  who  opened 
the  door  to  him,  and  whom  he  entreated  to  come  to  his  aid, 
saying  that  his  wife  had  just  been  assassinated  by  his  ser- 
vant. The  elder  Thannet  approached  to,  and  examined  the 
body,  and  told  Peytel  that  it  was  quite  dead ; he  and  his 
son  took  up  the  corpse,  and  placed  it  in  the  bottom  of  the 
carriage,  which  they  all  mounted  themselves,  and  pursued 
their  route  to  Belley.  In  order  to  do  so,  they  had  to  pass 
by  Bey’s  body,  on  the  road,  which  Peytel  wished  to  crush 
under  the  wheels  of  his  carriage.  It  was  to  rob  him  of 
7,500  francs,  said  Peytel,  that  the  attack  had  been  made.  ” 

Our  friend,  the  Procureur’s  Substitut,  has  dropped,  here, 
the  eloquent  and  pathetic  style  altogether,  and  only  gives 
the  unlucky  prisoner’s  narrative  in  the  baldest  and  most 
unimaginative  style.  How  is  a jury  to  listen  to  such  a 
fellow  ? they  ought  to  condemn  him,  if  but  for  making 
such  an  uninteresting  statement.  Why  not  have  helped 
poor  Peytel  with  some  of  those  rhetorical  graces  which 
have  been  so  plentifully  bestowed  in  the  opening  part  of 
the  act  of  accusation  ? He  might  have  said : — 

“ Monsieur  Peytel  is  an  eminent  notary  at  Belley  ; he  is 
a man  distinguished  for  his  literary  and  scientific  acquire- 
ments ; he  has  lived  long  in  the  best  society  of  the  capital; 
he  had  been  but  a few  months  married  to  that  young  and 
unfortunate  lady,  whose  loss  has  plunged  her  bereaved 
husband  into  despair  — almost  into  madness.  Some  early 
differences  had  marked,  it  is  true,  the  commencement  of 
their  union ; but  these,  — which,  as  can  be  proved  by  evi- 
dence, were  almost  all  the  unhappy  lady’s  fault,  — had 
happily  ceased,  to  give  place  to  sentiments  far  more  de- 
lightful and  tender.  Gentlemen,  Madame  Peytel  bore  in 
her  bosom  a sweet  pledge  of  future  concord  between  her- 
self and  her  husband  : in  three  brief  months  she  was  to 
become  a mother. 

“In  the  exercise  of  his  honorable  profession,  — in  which 
to  succeed,  a man  must  not  only  have  high  talents,  but 
undoubted  probity,  — and,  gentlemen,  Monsieur  Peytel  did 
succeed  — did  inspire  respect  and  confidence,  as  you,  his 
neighbors,  well  know ; — in  the  exercise,  I say,  of  his  high 
calling,  Monsieur  Peytel,  towards  the  end  of  October  last, 


252 


THE  PABIS  SKETCH  BOOK. 


had  occasion  to  make  a journey  in  the  neighborhood,  and 
visit  some  of  his  many  clients. 

u He  travelled  in  his  own  carriage,  his  young  wife  beside 
him.  Does  this  look  like  want  of  affection,  gentlemen?  or 
is  it  not  a mark  of  love  — of  love  and  paternal  care  on  his 
part  towards  the  being  with  whom  his  lot  in  life  was 
linked,  — the  mother  of  his  coming  child,  — the  young  girl 
who  had  everything  to  gain  from  the  union  with  a man  oi 
his  attainments  of  intellect,  his  kind  temper,  his  great 
experience,  and  his  high  position  ? In  this  manner  they 
travelled,  side  by  side,  lovingly  together.  Monsieur  Peytel 
was  not  a lawyer  merely,  but  a man  of  letters  and  varied 
learning;  of  the  noble  and  sublime  science  of  geology  he 
was,  especially,  an  ardent  devotee.  ” 

( Suppose,  here,  a short  panegyric  upon  geology.  Allude 
to  the  creation  of  this  mighty  world,  and  then,  naturally, 
to  the  Creator.  Fancy  the  conversations  which  Peytel,  a 
religious  man,  * might  have  with  his  young  wife  upon  the 
subject.) 

“ Monsieur  Peytel  had  lately  taken  into  his  service  a 
man  named  Louis  Key.  Rey  was  a foundling,  and  had 
passed  many  years  in  a regiment  — a school,  gentlemen, 
where  much  besides  bravery,  alas  ! is  taught ; nay,  where 
the  spirit  which  familiarizes  one  with  notions  of  battle  and 
death,  I fear,  may  familiarize  one  with  ideas,  too,  of  murder. 
Rey,  a dashing  reckless  fellow,  from  the  army,  had  lately 
entered  Peytel’s  service  ; was  treated  by  him  with  the  most 
singular  kindness ; accompanied  him  ( having  charge  of 
another  vehicle ) upon  the  journey  before  alluded  to;  and 
knew  that  his  master  carried  with  him  a considerable  sum 
of  money ; for  a man  like  Rey  an  enormous  sum,  7,500 
francs.  At  midnight  on  the  1st  of  November,  as  Madame 
Peytel  and  her  husband  were  returning  home,  an  attack 
was  made  upon  their  carriage.  Remember,  gentlemen,  the 
hour  at  which  the  attack  was  made  ; remember  the  sum  of 
money  that  was  in  the  carriage  ; and  remember  that  the 
Savoy  frontier  is  ivithin  a league  of  the  spot  where  the 
desperate  deed  was  done.  ” 

Now,  my  dear  Briefless,  ought  not  Monsieur  Procureur, 
in  common  justice  to  Peytel,  after  he  had  so  eloquently 
proclaimed,  not  the  facts,  but  the  suspicions,  which  weighed 
against  that  worthy,  to  have  given  a similar  florid  account 


* He  always  went  to  mass ; it  is  in  the  evidence. 


THE  CASE  OF  PE Y TEL. 


253 


of  the  prisoner’s  case  ? Instead  of  this,  you  will  remark, 
that  it  is  the  advocate’s  endeavor  to  make  Peytel’s  state- 
ments as  uninteresting  in  style  as  possible ; and  then  he 
demolishes  them  in  the  following  way  : — 

“ Scarcely  was  Peytel’s  statement  known,  when  the 
common  sense  of  the  public  rose  against  it.  Peytel  had 
commenced  his  story  upon  the  bridge  of  Andert,  over  the 
cold  body  of  his  wife.  On  the  2nd  November  he  had  devel- 
oped it  in  detail,  in  the  presence  of  the  physicians,  in  the 
presence  of  the  assembled  neighbors  — of  the  persons  who, 
on  the  day  previous  only,  were  his  friends.  Finally,  he 
had  completed  it  in  his  interrogatories,  his  conversations, 
his  writings,  and  letters  to  the  magistrates ; and  everywhere 
these  words,  repeated  so  often,  were  only  received  with  a 
painful  incredulity.  The  fact  was  that,  besides  the  singu- 
lar character  which  Peytel’s  appearance,  attitude,  and  talk 
had  worn  ever  since  the  event,  there  was  in  his  narrative 
an  inexplicable  enigma;  its  contradictions  and  impossibili- 
ties were  such,  that  calm  persons  were  revolted  at  it,  and 
.that  even  friendship  itself  refused  to  believe  it.  ” 

Thus  Mr.  Attorney  speaks,  not  for  himself  alone,  but  for 
the  whole  French  public;  whose  opinions,  of  course,  he 
knows.  Peytel’s  statement  is  discredited  everywhere  ; the 
statement  which  he  had  made  over  the  cold  body  of  his 
wife  — the  monster ! It  is  not  enough  simply  to  prove 
that  the  man  committed  the  murder,  but  to  make  the  jury 
violently  angry  against  him,  and  cause  them  to  shudder  in 
the  jury-box,  as  he  exposes  the  horrid  details  of  the  crime. 

“ J ustice,  ” goes  on  Mr.  Substitute  (who  answers  for  the 
feelings  of  everybody  ),  “ disturbed  by  the  pre-occupations  of 
public  opinion , commenced,  without  delay,  the  most  active 
researches.  The  bodies  of  the  victims  were  submitted  to 
the  investigations  of  men  of  art ; the  wounds  and  projectiles 
were  examined ; the  place  where  the  event  took  place  ex- 
plored with  care.  The  morality  of  the  author  of  this  fright- 
ful scene  became  the  object  of  rigorous  examination ; the 
exigeances  of  the  prisoner,  the  forms  affected  by  him,  his 
calculating  silence,  and  his  answers,  coldly  insulting,  were 
feeble  obstacles  ; and  justice  at  length  arrived,  by  its  pru- 
dence, and  by  the  discoveries  it  made,  to  the  most  cruel 
point  of  certainty.  ” 

You  see  that  a man’s  demeanor  is  here  made  a crime 
against  him  ; and  that  Mr.  Substitute  Avishes  to  consider 
him  guilty,  because  he  has  actually  the  audacity  to  hold 


254 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK 


his  tongue.  Now  follows  a touching  description  of  the 
domestic,  Louis  Key  : — 

“ Louis  Key,  a child  of  .the  Hospital  at  Lyons,  was  con- 
fided, at  a very  early  age,  to  some  honest  country  people, 
with  whom  he  stayed  until  he  entered  the  army.  At  their 
house,  and  during  this  long  period  of  time,  his  conduct,  his 
intelligence,  and  the  sweetness  of  his  manners  were  such, 
that  the  family  of  his  guardians  became  to  him  as  an 
adopted  family  ; and  his  departure  caused  them  the  most 
sincere  affliction.  When  Louis  quitted  the  army,  he 
returned  to  his  benefactors,  and  was  received  as  a son. 
They  found  him  just  as  they  had  ever  known  him”  ( I ac- 
knowledge that  this  pathos  beats  my  humble  defence  of 
Peytel  entirely  ),  “ except  that  he  had  learned  to  read  and 
write ; and  the  certificates  of  his  commander,  proved  him 
to  be  a good  and  gallant  soldier. 

“ The  necessity  of  creating  some  resources  for  himself, 
obliged  him  to  quit  his  friends,  and  to  enter  the  service  of 
Monsieur  de  Montrichard,  a lieutenant  of  gendarmerie,  * 
from  whom  he  received  fresh  testimonials  of  regard. 
Louis,  it  is  true,  might  have  a fondness  for  wine  and 
a passion  for  women  ; but  he  had  been  a soldier,  and  these 
faults  were,  according  to  the  witnesses,  amply  compensated 
for  by  his  activity,  his  intelligence,  and  the  agreeable 
manner  in  which  he  performed  his  service.  In  the  month 
of  July,  1839,  Key  quitted,  voluntarily,  the  service  of  M. 
de  Montrichard;  and  Peytel,  about  this  period,  meeting 
him  at  Lyons,  did  not  hesitate  to  attach  him  to  his  service, 
Whatever  may  be  the  prisoner’s  present  language,  it  is  cer- 
tain that  up  to  the  day  of  Louis’s  death,  he  served  Peytel 
with  diligence  and  fidelity. 

“ More  than  once  his  master  and  mistress  spoke  well  of 
him.  Everybody  who  has  worked,  or  been  at  the  house  of 
Madame  Peytel,  has  spoken  in  praise  of  his  character ; and, 
indeed,  it  may  be  said,  that  these  testimonials  were  general. 

“ On  the  very  night  of  the  1st  of  November,  and  imme- 
diately after  the  catastrophe,  we  remark  how  Peytel  begins 
to  make  insinuations  against  his  servant;  and  how  art- 
fully, in  order  to  render  them  more  sure,  he  disseminates 
them  through  the  different  parts  of  his  narrative.  But,  in 
the  course  of  the  proceeding,  these  charges  have  met  with 
a most  complete  denial.  Thus  we  find  the  disobedient  ser- 
vant who,  at  Pont  d’Ain,  refused  to  carry  the  money-chest 


THE  CASE  OF  PE Y TEL, 


255 


to  his  master’s  room,  under  the  pretext  that  the  gates  of 
the  inn  were  closed  securely,  occupied  with  tending  the 
horses  after  their  long  journey : meanwhile  Peytel  was 
standing  by,  and  neither  master  nor  servant  exchanged  a 
word,  and  the  witnesses  who  beheld  them  both  have  borne 
testimony  to  the  zeal  and  care  of  the  domestic. 

“In  like  manner,  we  find  that  the  servant,  who  was  so 
remiss  in  the  morning  as  to  neglect  to  go  to  his  master  for 
orders,  was  ready  for  departure  before  seven  o’clock,  and 
had  eagerly  informed  himself  whether  Monsieur  and  Ma- 
dame Peytel  were  awake;  learning  from  the  maid  of  the  inn, 
that  they  had  ordered  nothing  for  their  breakfast.  This 
man,  who  refused  to  carry  with  him  a covering  for  the  car, 
was,  on  the  contrary,  ready  to  take  off  his  own  cloak,  and 
with  it  shelter  articles  of  small  value ; this  man,  who  had 
been  for  many  days  so  silent  and  gloomy,  gave,  on  the  con- 
trary, many  proofs  of  his  gayety  — almost  of  his  indiscre- 
tion, speaking,  at  all  the  inns,  in  terms  of  praise  of  his 
master  and  mistress.  The  waiter  at  the  inn  at  Dauphin, 
says  he  was  a tall  young  fellow,  mild  and  goodnatured ; 

4 we  talked  for  some  time  about  horses,  and  such  things ; 
he  seemed  to  be  perfectly  natural,  and  not  pre-occupied  at 
all.’  At  Pont  d’Ain,  he  talked  of  his  being  a foundling ; of 
the  place  where  he  had  been  brought  up,  and  where  he  had 
served  ; and  finally,  at  Possillon,  an  hour  before  his  death, 
he  conversed  familiarly  with  the  master  of  the  port,  and 
spoke  on  indifferent  subjects. 

“ All  Peytel’s  insinuations  against  his  servant  had  no 
other  end  than  to  show,  in  every  point  of  Rey’s  conduct, 
the  behavior  of  a man  who  was  premeditating  attack.  Of 
what,  in  fact,  does  he  accuse  him  ? Of  wishing  to  rob  him 
of  7,500  francs,  and  of  having  had  recourse  to  assassina- 
tion, in  order  to  effect  the  robbery.  But,  for  a premedi- 
tated crime,  consider  what  singular  improvidence  the  person 
showed  who  had  determined  on  committing  it ; what  folly 
and  what  weakness  there  is  in  the  execution  of  it. 

“How  many  insurmountable  obstacles  are  there  in  the 
way  of  committing  and  profiting  by  crime  ! On  leaving 
Belley,  Louis  Rey,  according  to  Peytel’s  statement,  know- 
ing that  his  master  would  return  with  money,  provided 
himself  with  a holster  pistol,  which  Madame  Peytel  had 
once  before  perceived  among  his  effects.  In  Peytel’s  cabi- 
net there  were  some  balls  ; four  of  these  were  found  in 
Rey’s  trunk,  on  the  6th  of  November.  And,  in  order  to 


256 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK . 


commit  the  crime,  this  domestic  had  brought  away  with 
him  a pistol,  and  no  ammunition ; for  Peytel  has  informed 
us  that  Key,  an  hour  before  his  departure  from  Macon, 
purchased  six  balls  at  a gunsmith’s.  To  gain  his  point, 
the  assassin  must  immolate  his  victims ; for  this,  he  has 
only  one  pistol,  knowing,  perfectly  well,  that  Peytel,  in  all 
his  travels,  had  two  on  his  person ; knowing  that,  at  a late 
hour  of  the  night,  his  shot  might  fail  of  effect ; and  that, 
in  this  case,  he  would  be  left  to  the  mercy  of  his  opponent. 

“The  execution  of  the  crime  is,  according  to  Peytel’ s 
account,  still  more  singular.  Louis  does  not  get  off  the 
carriage,  until  Peytel  tells  him  to  descend.  He  does  not 
think  of  taking  his  master’s  life  until  he  is  sure  that  the 
latter  has  his  eyes  open.  It  is  dark,  and  the  pair  are 
covered  in  one  cloak  ; and  Key  only  fires  at  them  at  six 
paces’  distance : he  fires  at  hazard,  without  disquieting 
himself  as  to  the  choice  of  his  victim  ; and  the  soldier, 
who  was  bold  enough  to  undertake  this  double  murder,  has 
not  force  nor  courage  to  consummate  it.  He  flies,  carrying 
in  his  hand  a useless  whip,  with  a heavy  mantle  on  his 
shoulders,  in  spite  of  the  detonation  of  two  pistols  at  his 
ears,  and  the  rapid  steps  of  an  angry  master  in  pursuit, 
which  ought  to  have  set  him  upon  some  better  means  of 
escape.  And  we  find  this  man,  full  of  youth  and  vigor, 
lying  with  his  face  to  the  ground,  in  the  midst  of  a public 
road,  falling  without  a struggle,  or  resistance,  under  the 
blows  of  a hammer  ! 

“And  suppose  the  murderer  had  succeeded  in  his  crim- 
inal projects,  what  fruit  could  he  have  drawn  from  them  ? 
— Leaving,  on  the  road,  the  two  bleeding  bodies  ; obliged 
to  lead  two  carriages  at  a time,  for  fear  of  discovery ; not 
able  to  return  himself,  after  all  the  pains  he  had  taken  to 
speak,  at  every  place  at  which  they  had  stopped,  of  the 
money  which  his  master  was  carrying  with  him ; too  pru- 
dent to  appear  alone  at  Belley  ; arrested  at  the  frontier,  by 
the  excise  officers,  who  would  present  an  impassable  barrier 
to  him  till  morning,  — what  could  he  do,  or  hope  to  do  ? 
The  examination  of  the  car  has  shown  that  Key,  at  the  mo- 
ment of  the  crime,  had  neither  linen,  nor  clothes,  nor  effects 
of  any  kind.  There  was  found  in  his  pockets,  when  the 
body  was  examined,  no  passport,  nor  certificate  ; one  of  his 
pockets  contained  a ball,  of  large  calibre,  which  he  had 
shown,  in  play,  to  a girl,  at  the  inn  at  Macon,  a little  horn- 
handled  knife,  a snuff-box,  a little  packet  of  gunpowder, 


THE  CASE  OF  PE Y TEL. 


257 


and  a purse,  containing  only  a halfpenny  and  some  string. 
Here  is  all  the  baggage,  with  which,  after  the  execution  of 
his  homicidal  plan,  Louis  Bey  intended  to  take  refuge  in  a 
foreign  country.*  Beside  these  absurd  contradictions,  there 
is  another  remarkable  fact,  which  must  not  be  passed  over  ; 
it  is  this  : — the  pistol  found  by  Eey  is  of  antique  form, 
and  the  original  owner  of  it  has  been  found.  He  is  a curi- 
osity-merchant at  Lyons  ; and,  though  he  cannot  affirm  that 
Peytel  was  the  person  who  bought  this  pistol  of  him,  he 
perfectly  recognizes  Peytel  as  having  been  a frequent  cus- 
tomer at  his  shop ! 

“ No,  we  may  fearlessly  affirm  that  Louis  Eey  was  not 
guilty  of  the  crime  which  Peytel  lays  to  his  charge.  If,  to 
those  who  knew  him,  his  mild  and  open  disposition,  his 
military  career,  modest  and  without  a stain,  the  touching 
regrets  of  his  employers,  are  sufficient  proofs  of  his  inno- 
cence,— the  calm  and  candid  observer,  who  considers  how 
the  crime  was  conceived,  was  executed,  and  what  conse- 
quences would  have  resulted  from  it,  will  likewise  acquit 
him,  and  free  him  of  the  odious  imputation  which  Peytel 
endeavors  to  cast  upon  his  memory. 

“ But  justice  has  removed  the  veil,  with  which  an  im- 
pious hand  endeavored  to  cover  itself.  Already,  on  the 
night  of  the  1st  of  November,  suspicion  was  awakened  by 
the  extraordinary  agitation  of  Peytel ; by  those  excessive 
attentions  towards  his  wife,  which  came  so  late ; by  that 
excessive  and  noisy  grief,  and  by  those  calculated  bursts  of 
sorrow,  which  are  such  as  Nature  does  not  exhibit.  The 
criminal,  whom  the  public  conscience  had  fixed  upon;  the 
man  whose  frightful  combinations  have  been  laid  bare,  and 
whose  falsehoods,  step  by  step,  have  been  exposed,  during 
the  proceedings  previous  to  the  trial;  the  murderer,  at 
whose  hands  a heart-stricken  family,  and  society  at  large, 
demands  an  account  of  the  blood  of  a wife ; — that  mur- 
derer is  Peytel.” 

When,  my  dear  Briefless,  you  are  a judge  ( as  I make  no 
doubt  you  will  be,  when  you  have  left  off  the  club  all  night, 
cigar-smoking  of  mornings,  and  reading  novels  in  bed),  will 
you  ever  find  it  in  your  heart  to  order  a fellow-sinner’s 
head  off  upon  such  evidence  as  this  ? Because  a romantic 
Substitut  du  Procureur  de  Eoi  chooses  to  compose  and 
recite  a little  drama,  and  draw  tears  from  juries,  let  us 

* This  sentence  is  taken  from  another  part  of  the  “ Acte  d'accu- 
sation.” 


17 


258 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK . 


hope  that  severe  Bhadamanthine  judges  are  not  to  be 
melted  by  such  trumpery.  One  wants  but  the  description 
of  the  characters  to  render  the  piece  complete,  as  thus  : — 


Personages. 
Skbastien  Peytel  . . . 


Costumes. 

( Habillement  complet  de 
Meurtrier  . . . . 1 notarie  perfide  : figure  pale, 
barbe  noire,  cheveux  noirs. 
bon, 

Costume  ordinaire;  il 
portesur  sesepaulesune 
couverture  de  eheval. 


Soldat  retire 
brave,  franc,  jovial  aiin- 
Louis  Key  ....  ant  le  vin,  les  femmes,  la 
gaiete,  ses  maitres  sur- 
tout;  vrai Fran5ais,enfin 

Wolf Lieutenant  de  gendarmerie 

Felicite  d’Alcazar  . . Femme  et  victime  de  Peytel. 


Medecins,  Villageois,  Filles  d’Auberge,  Gar9ons  d’Ecurie,  &c.  &c. 
La  scene  se  passe  sur  le  pont  dAndert,  entre  Macon  et  Belley.  II 

Le  ciel  est  couvert  de  nuages, 


est  minuit. 

La  pluie  tombe  : les  tonnerres  grondent. 
et  sillonne  d’eciairs. 


All  these  personages  are  brought  into  play  in  the  Procu- 
rers drama ; the  villagers  come  in  with  their  chorus  ; the 
old  lieutenant  of  gendarmes  with  his  suspicions ; Bey’s 
frankness  and  gayety,  the  romantic  circumstances  of  his 
birth,  his  gallantry  and  fidelity,  are  all  introduced,  in  order 
to  form  a contrast  with  Peytel,  and  to  call  down  the  jury’s 
indignation  against  the  latter.  But  are  these  proofs  ? or 
anything  like  proofs  ? And  the  suspicions,  that  are  to 
serve  instead  of  proofs,  what  are  they  ? 

“ My  servant,  Louis  Bey,  was  very  sombre  and  reserved,” 
says  Peytel;  “he  refused  to  call  me  in  the  morning,  to  carry 
my  money-chest  to  my  room,  to  cover  the  open  car  when  it 
rained.  ” The  Prosecutor  disproves  this  by  stating  that 
Bey  talked  with  the  inn  maids  and  servants,  asked  if  his 
master  was  up,  and  stood  in  the  inn-yard,  grooming  the 
horses,  with  his  master  by  his  side,  neither  speaking  to  the 
other.  Might  he  not  have  talked  to  the  maids,  and  yet 
been  sombre  when  speaking  to  his  master  ? Might  he  not 
have  neglected  to  call  his  master,  and  yet  have  asked 
whether  he  was  awake  ? Might  he  not  have  said  that  the 
inn-gates  were  safe,  out  of  hearing  of  the  ostler  witness  ? 
Mr.  Substitute’s  answers  to  Peytel’s  statements  are  no 
answer  at  all.  Every  word  Peytel  said  might  be  true,  and 
yet  Louis  Bey  might  not  have  committed  the  murder ; or 
every  word  might  have  been  false,  and  yet  Louis  Bey  might 
have  committed  the  murder. 


THE  CASE  OF  PE Y TEL. 


259 


“ Then,  ” says  Mr.  Substitute,  “ how  many  obstacles  are 
there  to  the  commission  of  the  crime  ? And  these  are  — 

“1.  Rey  provided  himself  with  one  holster  pistol,  to  kill 
two  people,  knowing  well  that  one  of  them  had  always  a 
brace  of  pistols  about  him. 

“ 2.  He  does  not  think  of  firing  until  his  master’s  eyes 
are  open : fires  at  six  paces,  not  caring  at  whom  he  fires, 
and  then  runs  away. 

“ 3.  He  could  not  have  intended  to  kill  his  master,  be- 
cause he  had  no  passport  in  his  pocket,  and  no  clothes  ; 
and  because  he  must  have  been  detained  at  the  frontier 
until  morning;  and  because  he  would  have  had  to  drive  two 
carriages,  in  order  to  avoid  suspicion. 

“4.  And,  a most  singular  circumstance,  the  very  pistol 
which  was  found  by  his  side  had  been  bought  at  the  shop 
of  a man  at  Lyons,  who  perfectly  recognized  Peytel  as  one 
of  his  customers,  though  he  could  not  say  he  had  sold  that 
particular  weapon  to  Peytel.  ” 

Does  it  follow,  from  this,  that  Louis  Rey  is  not  the  mur- 
derer, much  more,  that  Peytel  is  ? Look  at  argument  No. 

1.  Rey  had  no  need  to  kill  two  people  : he  wanted  the 
money,  and  not  the  blood.  Suppose  he  had  killed  Peytel, 
would  he  not  have  mastered  Madame  Peytel  easily  ? — a 
weak  woman,  in  an  excessively  delicate  situation,  incapable 
of  much  energy,  at  the  best  of  times. 

2.  “He  does  not  fire  till  he  knows  his  master’s  eyes 
are  open.  ” Why,  on  a stormy  night,  does  a man  driving 
a carriage  go  to  sleep  ? Was  Rey  to  wait  until  his  mas- 
ter snored?  “He  fires  at  six  paces,  not  caring  whom 
he  hits  ; ” — and  might  not  this  happen  too  ? The  night  is 
not  so  ,dark  but  that  he  can  see  his  master,  in  his  usual 
place , driving.  He  fires  and  hits  — whom  ? Madame 
Peytel,  who  had  left  her  place,  and  was  wrapped  up  with 
Peytel  in  his  cloak.  She  screams  out,  “Husband,  take 
your  pistols.  ” Rey  knows  that  his  master  has  a brace, 
thinks  that  he  has  hit  the  wrong  person,  and,  as  Peytel 
fires  on  him,  runs  away.  Peytel  follows,  hammer  in  hand ; 
as  he  comes  up  with  the  fugitive,  he  deals  him  a blow 
on  the  back  of  the  head,  and  Rey  falls  — his  face  to  the 
ground.  Is  there  anything  unnatural  in  this  story  ? — 
anything  so  monstrously  unnatural,  that  is,  that  it  might 
not  be  true  ? 

3.  These  objections  are  absurd.  Why  need  a man  have 
change  of  linen  ? If  he  had  taken  none  for  the  journey, 


260 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK. 


why  should  he  want  any  for  the  escape  ? Why  need  he 
drive  two  carriages  ? — He  might  have  driven  both  into 
the  river,  and  Mrs.  Peytel  in  one.  Why  is  he  to  go  to  the 
douane,  and  thrust  himself  into  the  very  jaws  of  danger? 
Are  there  not  a thousand  ways  for  a man  to  pass  a frontier? 
Do  smugglers,  when  they  have  to  pass  from  one  country 
to  another,  choose  exactly  those  spots  where  a police  is 
placed  ? 

And,  finally,  the  gunsmith  of  Lyons,  who  knows  Peytel 
quite  well,  cannot  say  that  he  sold  the  pistol  to  him : that 
is,  he  did  not  sell  the  pistol  to  him  ; for  you  have  only  one 
man’s  word,  in  this  case  ( Peytel’s  ),  to  the  contrary ; and 
the  testimony,  as  far  as  it  goes,  is  in  his  favor.  I say,  my 
lud,  and  gentlemen  of  the  jury,  that  these  objections  of  my 
learned  friend,  who  is  engaged  for  the  Crown,  are  absurd, 
frivolous,  monstrous  ; that  to  suspect  away  the  life  of  a man 
upon  such  suppositions  as  these,  is  wicked,  illegal,  and  in- 
human ; and,  what  is  more,  that  Louis  Bey,  if  he  wanted  to 
commit  the  crime  — if  he  wanted  to  possess  himself  of  a 
large  sum  of  money,  chose  the  best  time  and  spot  for  so 
doing;  and,  no  doubt,  would  have  succeeded,  if  Fate  had 
not,  in  a wonderful  manner,  caused  Madame  Peytel  to  take 
her  husband’s  place , and  receive  the  ball  intended  for  him 
in  her  own  head. 

But  whether  these  suspicions  are  absurd  or  not,  hit  or 
miss,  it  is  the  advocate’s  duty,  as  it  appears,  to  urge  them. 
He  wants  to  make  as  unfavorable  an  impression  as  possible 
with  regard  to  Peytel’s  character ; he,  therefore,  must,  for 
contrast’s  sake,  give  all  sorts  of  praise  to  his  victim,  and 
to  awaken  every  sympathy  in  the  poor  fellow’s  favor. 
Having  done  this,  as  far  as  lies  in  his  power,  having  exag- 
gerated every  circumstance  that  can  be  unfavorable  to 
Peytel,  and  given  his  own  tale  in  the  baldest  manner 
possible  — having  declared  that  Peytel  is  the  murderer 
of  his  wife  and  servant,  the  Crown  now  proceeds  to  back 
this  assertion,  by  showing  what  interested  motives  he  had, 
and  by  relating,  after  its  own  fashion,  the  circumstances  of 
his  marriage. 

They  may  be  told  briefly  here.  Peytel  was  of  a good 
family,  of  Macon,  and  entitled,  at  his  mother’s  death,  to  a 
considerable  property.  He  had  been  educated  as  a notary, 
and  had  lately  purchased  a business,  in  that  line,  in  Belley, 
for  which  he  had  paid  a large  sum  of  money  ; part  of  the 
sum,  15,000  francs,  for  which  he  had  given  bills,  was  still 
due. 


THE  CASE  OF  PE Y TEL. 


261 


Near  Belley,  Peytel  first  met  Felicite  Alcazar,  who  was 
residing  with  her  brother-in-law,  Monsieur  de  Montrichard  ; 
and,  knowing  that  the  young  lady’s  fortune  was  consider- 
able, he  made  an  offer  of  marriage  to  the  brother-in-law, 
who  thought  the  match  advantageous,  and  communicated 
on  the  subject  with  Felicite’s  mother,  Madame  Alcazar,  at 
Paris.  After  a time  Peytel  went  to  Paris,  to  press  his  suit, 
and  was  accepted.  There  seems  to  have  been  no  affectation 
of  love  on  his  side ; and  some  little  repugnance  on  the  part 
of  the  lady,  who  yielded,  however,  to  the  wishes  of  her 
parents,  and  was  married.  The  parties  began  to  quarrel  on 
the  very  day  of  the  marriage,  and  continued  their  disputes 
almost  to  the  close  of  the  unhappy  connection.  Felicite  was 
half  blind,  passionate,  sarcastic,  clumsy  in  her  person  and 
manners,  and  ill  educated ; Peytel,  a man  of  considerable 
intellect  and  pretensions,  who  had  lived  for  some  time  at 
Paris,  where  he  had  mingled  with  good  literary  society. 
The  lady  was,  in  fact,  as  disagreeable  a person  as  could 
well  be,  and  the  evidence  describes  some  scenes  which  took 
place  between  her  and  her  husband,  showing  how  deeply 
she  must  have  mortified  and  enraged  him. 

A charge  very  clearly  made  out  against  Peytel,  is  that 
of  dishonesty ; he  procured  from  the  notary  of  whom 
he  bought  his  place  an  acquittance  in  full,  whereas  there 
were  15,000  francs  owing,  as  we  have  seen.  He  also,  in  the 
contract  of  marriage,  which  was  to  have  resembled,  in  all 
respects,  that  between  Monsieur  Broussais  and  another 
Demoiselle  Alcazar,  caused  an  alteration  to  be  made  in  his 
favor,  which  gave  him  command  over  his  wife’s  funded 
property,  without  furnishing  the  gurantees  by  which  the 
other  son-in-law  was  bound.  And,  almost  immediately 
after  his  marriage,  Peytel  sold  out  of  the  funds  a sum  of 
50,000  francs,  that  belonged  to  his  wife,  and  used  it  for  his 
own  purposes. 

About  two  months  after  his  marriage,  Peytel  pressed  his 
wife  to  make  her  will.  He  had  made  his,  he  said,  leaving 
everything  to  her,  in  case  of  his  death  : after  some  parley, 
the  poor  thing  consented.*  This  is  a cruel  suspicion 


* " Peytel/’  says  the  act  of  accusation,  “ did  not  fail  to  see  the  danger 
which  would  menace  him,  if  this  will  (which  had  escaped  the  mag- 
istrates in  their  search  of  Peytel’s  papers)  was  discovered.  He,  there- 
fore, instructed  his  agent  to  take  posession  of  it,  which  he  did,  and  the 
fact  was  not  mentioned  for  several  months  afterwards.  Peytel  and  his 
agent  were  called  upon  to  explain  the  circumstance,  but  refused,  and 


262 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK 


against  him ; and  Mr.  Substitute  has  no  need  to  enlarge 
upon  it.  As  for  the  previous  fact,  the  dishonest  statement 
about  the  15,000  francs,  there  is  nothing  murderous  in  that 
— nothing  which  a man  very  eager  to  make  a good  marriage 
might  not  do.  The  same  may  be  said  of  the  suppression, 
in  Peytel’s  marriage  contract,  of  the  clause  to  be  found  in 
Broussais’s,  placing  restrictions  upon  the  use  of  the  wife’s 
money.  Mademoiselle  d’ Alcazar’s  friends  read  the  contract 
before  they  signed  it,  and  might  have  refused  it,  had  they 
so  pleased. 

After  some  disputes,  which  took  place  between  Peytel 
and  his  wife  ( there  were  continual  quarrels,  and  continual 
letters  passing  between  them  from  room  to  room),  the 
latter  was  induced  to  write  him  a couple  of  exaggerated 
letters,  swearing  “ by  the  ashes  of  her  father  ” that  she 
would  be  an  obedient  wife  to  him,  and  entreating  him  to 
counsel  and  direct  her.  These  letters  were  seen  by  mem- 
bers of  the  lady’s  family,  who,  in  the  quarrels  between  the 
couple,  always  took  the  husband’s  part.  They  were  found  in 
Peytel’s  cabinet,  after  he  had  been  arrested  for  the  murder, 
and  after  he  had  had  full  access  to  all  his  papers,  of  which 
he  destroyed  or  left  as  many  as  he  pleased.  The  accusation 
makes  it  a matter  of  suspicion  against  Peytel,  that  he 
should  have  left  these  letters  of  his  wife’s  in  a conspicuous 
situation. 

“All  these  circumstances,  ” says  the  accusation,  “throw 
a frightful  light  upon  Peytel’s  plans.  The  letters  and  will 
of  Madame  Peytel  are  in  the  hands  of  her  husband.  Three 
months  pass  away,  and  this  poor  woman  is  brought  to  her 
home,  in  the  middle  of  the  night,  with  two  balls  in  her 
head,  stretched  at  the  bottom  of  her  carriage,  by  the  side 
of  a peasant.” 

“ What  other  than  Sebastian  Peytel  could  have  commit- 
ted this  murder  ? — whom  could  it  profit  ? — who  but  him- 
self had  an  odious  chain  to  break,  and  an  inheritance  to 


their  silence  for  a long  time  interrupted  the  4 instruction  * ” (getting  up 
of  the  evidence).  “All  that  could  be  obtained  from  them  was  an 
avowal,  that  such  a will  existed,  constituting  Peytel  his  wife’s  sole 
legatee ; and  a promise,  on  their  parts,  to  produce  it  before  the  court 
gave  its  sentence.”  But  why  keep  the  will  secret?  The  anxiety  about 
it  was  surely  absurd  and  unnecessary : the  whole  of  Madame  Peytel’s 
family  knew  that  such  a will  was  made.  She  had  consulted  her  sister 
concerning  it,  who  said  — “If  there  is  no  other  way  of  satisfying  him, 
make  the  will  ; ” and  the  mother,  when  she  heard  of  it,  cried  out  — 
“Does  he  intend  to  poison  her?  ” 


THE  CASE  OF  FEY  TEL. 


268 


receive  ? Why  speak  of  the  servant’s  projected  robbery  ? 
The  pistols  found  by  the  side  of  Louis’s  body,  the  balls 
bought  by  him  at  Macon,  and  those  discovered  at  Belley 
among  his  effects,  were  only  the  result  of  a perfidious  com- 
bination. The  pistol,  indeed,  which  was  found  on  the  hill 
of  Darde,  on  the  night  of  the  1st  of  November,  could  only 
have  belonged  to  Peytel,  and  must  have  been  thrown  by 
him,  near  the  body  of  his  domestic  with  the  paper  which 
had  before  enveloped  it.  Who  had  seen  this  pistol  in  the 
hands  of  Louis  ? Among  all  the  gendarmes,  work-women, 
domestics,  employed  by  Peytel  and  his  brother-in-law,  is 
there  one  single  witness  who  had  seen  this  weapon  in 
Louis’s  possession  ? It  is  true  that  Madame  Peytel  did, 
on  one  occasion,  speak  to  M.  de  Montrichard  of  a pistol ; 
which  had  nothing  to  do,  however,  with  that  found  near 
Louis  Rey.” 

Is  this  justice,  or  good  reason  ? Just  reverse  the  argu- 
ment, and  apply  it  to  Rey.  “ Who  but  Rey  could  have 
committed  this  murder?  — who  but  Rey  had  a large  sum 
of  money  to  sieze  upon  ? — a pistol  is  found  by  his  side, 
balls  and  powder  in  his  pocket,  other  balls  in  his  trunks 
at  home.  The  pistol  found  near  his  body  could  not, 
indeed,  have  belonged  to  Peytel : did  any  man  ever  see 
it  in  his  possession  ? The  very  gunsmith  who  sold  it,  and 
who  knew  Peytel,  would  he  not  have  known  that  he  had 
sold  him  this  pistol  ? At  his  own  house,  Peytel  has  a collec- 
tion of  weapons  of  all  kinds ; everybody  has  seen  them  — 
a man  who  makes  such  collections  is  anxious  to  display 
them.  Did  any  one  ever  see  this  weapon  ? — Notone.  And 
Madame  Peytel  did  in  her  lifetime,  remark  a pistol  in  the 
valet’s  possession.  She  was  short  sighted,  and  could  not 
particularize  what  kind  of  a pistol  it  was ; but  she  spoke 
of  it  to  her  husband  and  her  brother-in-law.”  This  is  not 
satisfactory  if  you  please  ; but,  at  least,  it  is  as  satisfac- 
tory as  the  other  set  of  suppositions.  It  is  the  very  chain 
of  argument  which  would  have  been  brought  against  Louis 
Rey  by  this  very  same  compiler  of  the  act  of  accusation, 
had  Rey  survived,  instead  of  Peytel,  and  had  he,  as  most 
undoubtedly  would  have  been  the  case,  been  tried  for  the 
murder. 

This  argument  was  shortly  put  by  Peytel’s  counsel ; — 
“ If  Peytel  had  been  hilled  by  Bey  in  the  struggle , would  you 
not  have  found  Bey  guilty  of  the  murder  of  his  master  and 
mistress  ? ” It  is  such  a dreadful  dilemma,  that  I wonder 


264 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  ROOK 


how  judges  and  lawyers  could  have  dared  to  persecute  Pey- 
tel  in  the  manner  which  they  did. 

After  the  act  of  accusation,  which  lays  down  all  the  sup- 
positions against  Peytel  as  facts,  which  will  not  admit 
the  truth  of  one  of  the  prisoner’s  allegations  in  his  own 
defence,  comes  the  trial.  The  judge  is  quite  as  impartial 
as  the  preparer  of  the  indictment,  as  will  be  seen  by  the 
following  specimens  of  his  interrogatories  : — 

Judge.  “ The  act  of  accusation  finds  in  your  statement 
contradictions,  improbabilities,  impossibilities.  Thus  your 
domestic,  who  had  determined  to  assassinate  you,  in  order 
to  rob  you,  and  who  must  have  calculated  upon  the  conse- 
quence of  a failure , had  neither  passport  nor  money  upon 
him.  This  is  very  unlikely ; because  he  could  not  have 
gone  far  with  only  a single  halfpenn}^  which  was  all  he 
had.” 

Prisoner . “ My  servant  was  known,  and  o^ten  passed 

the  frontier  without  a passport.” 

Judge.  “ Your  domestic  had  to  assassinate  two  persons , 
and  had  no  weapon  but  a single  pistol.  He  had  no  dagger  ; 
and  the  only  thing  found  on  him  was  a knife.” 

Prisoner.  “ In  the  car  there  were  several  turner’s  imple- 
ments, which  he  might  have  used.” 

Judge.  “But  he  had  not  those  arms  upon  him,  because 
you  pursued  him  immediately.  He  had,  according  to  you, 
only  this  old  pistol.” 

Prisoner.  “ I have  nothing  to  say.” 

Judge.  “Your  domestic,  instead  of  flying  into  woods 
which  skirt  the  road,  ran  straight  forward  on  the  road 
itself : this , again , is  very  unlikely .” 

Prisoner.  “ This  is  a conjecture  I could  answer  by  an- 
other conjecture : I can  only  reason  on  the  facts.” 

Judge.  “ How  far  did  you  pursue  him  ? ” 

Prisoner.  “ I don’t  know  exactly.” 

Judge.  “ You  said  ‘ two  hundred  paces.’  ” 

No  answer  from  the  prisoner. 

Judge.  “ Your  domestic  was  young,  active,  robust,  and 
tall.  He  was  ahead  of  you.  You  were  in  a carriage,  from 
which  you  had  to  descend  : you  had  to  take  your  pistols 
from  a cushion,  and  then  your  hammer;  — how  are  we  to 
believe  that  you  could  have  caught  him,  if  he  ran  ? It  is 
impossible .” 

Prisoner.  “I  can’t  explain  it:  I think  that  Bey  had 
some  defect  in  one  leg.  I,  for  my  part,  run  tolerably  fast.” 


THE  CASE  OF  PE Y TEL. 


265 


Judge.  “ At  what  distance  from  him  did  you  lire  your 
first  shot  ? ” 

Prisoner.  “ I can’t  tell.” 

Judge.  “ Perhaps  he  was  not  running  when  you  fired.” 
Prisoner.  “ I saw  him  running.” 

Judge.  “ In  what  position  was  your  wife  ? ” 

Prisoner.  “ She  was  leaning  on  my  left  arm,  and  the 
man  was  on  the  right  side  of  the  carriage.” 

Judge.  “ The  shot  must  have  been  fired  d bout  portant , 
because  it  burned  the  eyebrows  and  lashes  entirely.  The 
assassin  must  have  passed  his  pistol  across  your  breast.” 
Prisoner.  “ The  shot  was  not  fired  so  close ; I am  con- 
vinced of  it : professional  gentlemen  will  prove  it.” 

Judge.  “ That  is  what  you  pretend,  because  you  under- 
stand perfectly  the  consequences  of  admitting  the  fact.  Your 
wife  was  hit  with  two  balls  — one  striking  downwards,  to 
the  right,  by  the  nose,  the  other  going  horizontally  through 
the  cheek,  to  the  left.” 

Prisoner . “ The  contrary  will  be  shown  by  the  witnesses 

called  for  the  purpose.” 

Judge . “It  is  a very  unlucky  combination  for  you  that 
these  balls,  which  went,  you  say,  from  the  same  pistol, 
should  have  taken  two  different  directions.” 

Prisoner.  “I  can’t  dispute  about  the  various  combina- 
tions of  fire-arms — professional  persons  will  be  heard.” 
Judge.  “ According  to  your  statement,  your  wife  said 
to  you,  ‘My  poor  husband,  take  your  pistols.’” 

Prisoner.  “She  did.” 

Judge.  “ In  a manner  quite  distinct.” 

Prisoner.  “ Yes.” 

Judge.  “ So  distinct  that  you  did  not  fancy  she  was 
hit  ? ” 

Prisoner . “ Yes  : that  is  the  fact.” 

Judge.  “ Here , again , is  an  impossibility  ; and  nothing 
is  more  precise  than  the  declaration  of  the  medical  men. 
They  affirm  that  your  wife  could  not  have  spoken  — their 
report  is  unanimous.” 

Prisoner.  “ I can  only  oppose  to  it  quite  contrary  opin- 
ions from  professional  men,  also  : you  must  hear  them.” 
Judge.  “ What  did  your  wife  do  next  ? ” 

Judge.  “ You  deny  the  statements  of  the  witnesses ; ” 
(they  related  to  Peytel’s  demeanor  and  behavior,  which 
the  judge  wishes  to  show  were  very  unusual ; — and  what 


2 66 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK 


if  they  were  ? ) “ Here,  however,  are  some  mute  witnesses, 

whose  testimony,  you  will  not  perhaps  refuse.  Near  Louis 
Ley’s  body  was  found  a horse-cloth,  a pistol,  and  a whip. 

. . . . Your  domestic  must  have  had  this  cloth  upon  him 
when  he  went  to  assassinate  you : it  was  wet  and  heavy. 
An  assassin  disencumbers  himself  of  anything  that  is 
likely  to  impede  him,  especially  when  he  is  going  to 
struggle  with  a man  as  young  as  himself.” 

Prisoner.  “My  servant  had,  I believe,  this  covering  on 
his  body ; it  might  be  useful  to  him  to  keep  the  priming  of 
his  pistol  dry.” 

The  president  caused  the  cloth  to  be  opened,  and  showed 
that  there  was  no  hook,  or  tie,  by  which  it  could  be  held 
together ; and  that  Ley  must  have  held  it  with  one  hand, 
and,  in  the  other,  his  whip,  and  the  pistol  with  which  he 
intended  to  commit  the  crime  ; which  was  impossible. 

Prisoner.  “These  are  only  conjectures.  ” 

And  what  conjectures,  my  God ! upon  which  to  take 
away  the  life  of  a man.  Jeffreys,  or  Fouquier  Tinville, 
could  scarcely  have  dared  to  make  such.  Such  prejudice, 
such  bitter  persecution,  such  priming  of  the  jury,  such 
monstrous  assumptions  and  unreason  — fancy  them  coming 
from  an  impartial  judge ! The  man  is  worse  than  the 
public  accuser. 

“Ley,”  says  the  Judge,  “could  not  have  committed  the 
murder,  because  lie  had  no  money  in  his  pocket , to  fly , in 
ease  of  failure.  ” And  what  is  the  precise  sum  that  his 
lordship  thinks  necessary  for  a gentleman  to  have,  before 
he  makes  such  an  attempt  ? Are  the  men  who  murder  for 
money,  usually  in  possession  of  a certain  independence 
before  they  begin  ? How  much  money  was  Ley,  a servant, 
who  loved  wine  and  women,  had  been  stopping  at  a score 
of  inns  on  the  road,  and  had,  probably,  an  annual  income 
of  400  francs,  — how  much  money  was  Ley  likely  to  have  ? 

“ Your  servant  had  to  assassinate  two  persons.  ” This  I 
have  mentioned  before.  Why  had  he  to  assassinate  two 
persons,*  when  one  was  enough  ? If  he  had  killed  Peytel, 
could  he  not  have  seized  and  gagged  his  wife  immediately  ? 

“ Your  domestic  ran  straight  forward , instead  of  taking 
to  the  woods , by  the  side  of  the  road : this  is  very  unlikely.  ” 

* M.  Balsac’s  theory  of  the  case  is,  that  Rey  had  intrigued  witli 
Madame  Peytel ; having  known  her  previous  to  her  marriage,  when  she 
was  staying  in  the  house  of  her  brother-in-law,  Monsieur  de  Montri- 
chard, where  Rey  had  been  a servant. 


THE  CASE  OF  PE Y TEL. 


267 


How  does  liis  worship  know  ? Can  any  judge,  however 
enlightened,  tell  the  exact  road  that  a man  will  take,  who 
has  just  missed  a coup  of  murder,  and  is  pursued  by  a man 
who  is  firing  pistols  at  him  ? And  has  a judge  a right  to 
instruct  a jury  in  this  way,  as  to  what  they  shall,  or  shall 
not,  believe  ? 

“ You  have  to  run  after  an  active  man,  who  has  the  start 
of  you : to  jump  out  of  a carriage  ; to  take  your  pistols  ; and 
then,  your  hammer.  This  is  impossible.  ” By  heavens  ! 
does  it  not  make  a man’s  blood  boil,  to  read  such  blundering, 
blood-seeking  sophistry  ? This  man,  when  it  suits  him, 
shows  that  Bey  would  be  slow  in  his  motions ; and  when  it 
suits  him,  declares  that  Bey  ought  to  be  quick ; declares  ex 
cathedra , what  pace  Bey  should  go,  and  what  direction  he 
should  take  ; shows,  in  a breath,  that  he  must  have  run 
faster  than  Peytel ; and  then,  that  he  could  not  run  fast, 
because  the  cloak  clogged  him ; settles  how  he  is  to  be 
dressed  when  he  commits  a murder,  and  what  money  he  is 
to  have  in  his  pocket ; gives  these  impossible  suppositions 
to  the  jury,  and  tells  them  that  the  previous  statements  are 
impossible ; and,  finally,  informs  them  of  the  precise  man- 
ner in  which  Bey  must  have  stood  holding  his  horse-cloth 
in  one  hand,  his  whip  and  pistol  in  the  other,  when  he 
made  the  supposed  attempt  at  murder.  Now,  what  is  the 
size  of  a horse-cloth  ? Is  it  as  big  as  a pocket-handker- 
chief ? Is  there  no  possibility  that  it  might  hang  over  one 
shoulder  ; that  the  whip  should  be  held  under  that  very 
arm  ? Did  you  never  see  a carter  so  carry  it,  his  hands  in 
his  pockets  all  the  while  ? Is  it  monstrous,  abhorrent  to 
nature,  that  a man  should  fire  a pistol  from  under  a cloak 
on  a rainy  day  ? — that  he  should,  after  firing  the  shot,  be 
frightened,  and  run  ; run  straight  before  him,  with  the  cloak 
on  his  shoulders,  and  the  weapon  in  his  hand  ? Peytel’s 
story  is  possible,  and  very  possible ; it  is  almost  proba- 
ble. Allow  that  Bey  had  the  cloth  on,  and  you  allow  that 
lie  must  have  been  clogged  in  his  motions ; that  Peytel 
may  have  come  up  with  him  — felled  him  with  a blow  of 
the  hammer ; the  doctors  say  that  he  would  have  so  fallen 
by  one  blow  — he  would  have  fallen  on  his  face,  as  he  was 
found  : the  paper  might  have  been  thrust  into  his  breast, 
and  tumbled  out  as  he  fell.  Circumstances  far  more  im- 
possible have  occurred  ere  this  ; and  men  have  been  hanged 
for  them,  who  were  as  innocent  of  the  crime  laid  to  their 
charge  as  the  judge  on  the  bench,  who  convicted  them. 


268 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK. 


In  like  manner,  Peytel  may  not  have  committed  the 
crime  charged  to  him ; and  Mr.  Judge,  with  his  arguments 
as  to  possibilities  and  impossibilities,  — Mr.  Public  Pros- 
ecutor, with  his  romantic  narrative  and  inflammatory  ha- 
rangues to  the  jury,  — may  have  used  all  these  powers  to 
bring  to  death  an  innocent  man.  From  the  animus  with 
which  the  case  had  been  conducted  from  beginning  to  end, 
it  was  easy  to  see  the  result.  Here  it  is,  in  the  words  of 
the  provincial  paper  : — 

Bourg,  28  October,  1839 

“The  condemned  Peytel  has  just  undergone  his  punish- 
ment, which  took  place  four  days  before  the  anniversary  of 
his  crime.  The  terrible  drama  of  the  bridge  of  Andert, 
which  cost  the  life  of  two  persons,  has  just  terminated  on 
the  scaffold.  Mid-day  had  just  sounded  on  the  clock  of  the 
Palais : the  same  clock  tolled  midnight  when,  on  the  30th 
of  August,  his  sentence  was  pronounced. 

“ Since  the  rejection  of  his  appeal  in  Cassation,  on  which 
his  principal  hopes  were  founded,  Peytel  spoke  little  of  his 
petition  to  the  King.  The  notion  of  transportation  was 
that  which  he  seemed  to  cherish  most.  However,  he  made 
several  inquiries  from  the  gaoler  of  the  prison,  when  he 
saw  him  at  meal-time,  with  regard  to  the  place  of  execu- 
tion, the  usual  hour,  and  other  details  on  the  subject. 
From  that  period,  the  words  ‘ Champ  de  Foire ? ( the  fair- 
field,  where  the  execution  was  to  be  held),  were  frequently 
used  by  him  in  conversation. 

“Yesterday,  the  idea  that  the  time  had  arrived  seemed  to 
be  more  strongly  than  ever  impressed  upon  him ; especially 
after  the  departure  of  the  cure,  who  latterly  has  been  with 
him  every  day.  The  documents  connected  with  the  trial 
had  arrived  in  the  morning.  He  was  ignorant  of  this  cir- 
cumstance, but  sought  to  discover  from  his  guardians  what 
they  tried  to  hide  from  him ; and  to  find  out  whether  his 
petition  was  rejected,  and  when  he  was  to  die. 

“ Yesterday,  also,  he  had  written  to  denland  the  pres- 
ence of  his  counsel,  M.  Margerand,  in  order  that  he  might 
have  some  conversation  with  him,  and  regulate  his  affairs, 

before  he ; he  did  not  write  down  the  word,  but  left 

in  its  place  a few  points  of  the  pen. 

“ In  the  evening,  whilst  he  was  at  supper,  he  begged  ear- 
nestly to  be  allowed  a little  wax-candle,  to  finish  what  he 
was  writing : otherwise,  he  said,  Time  might  fail.  This 


THE  CASE  OF  PEYTEL . 


269 


was  a new,  indirect  manner  of  repeating  his  ordinary  ques- 
tion. As  light,  up  to  that  evening,  had  been  refused  him, 
it  was  thought  best  to  deny  him  in  this,  as  in  former 
instances ; otherwise  his  suspicions  might  have  been  con- 
firmed. The  keeper  refused  his  demand. 

“ This  morning,  Monday,  at  nine  o’clock,  the  G-reffier  of 
the  Assize  Court,  in  fulfilment  of  the  painful  duty  which 
the  law  imposes  upon  him,  came  to  the  prison,  in  company 
with  the  cure  of  Bourg,  and  announced  to  the  convict  that 
his  petition  was  rejected,  and  that  he  had  only  three  hours 
to  live.  He  received  this  fatal  news  with  a great  deal  of 
calmness,  and  showed  himself  to  be  no  more  affected  than 
he  had  been  on  the  trial.  ‘ I am  ready  ; but  I wish  they 
had  given  me  four-and-twenty  hours’  notice,’  — were  all  the 
words  he  used. 

“ The  Greffier  now  retired,  leaving  Peytel  alone  with  the 
cure,  who  did  not  thenceforth  quit  him.  Peytel  breakfasted 
at  ten  o’clock. 

“At  eleven,  a piquet  of  mounted  gendarmerie  and  in- 
fantry took  their  station  upon  the  place  before  the  prison, 
where  a great  concourse  of  people  had  already  assembled. 
An  open  car  was  at  the  door.  Before  he  went  out  Peytel 
asked  the  gaoler  for  a looking-glass ; and  having  examined 
his  face  for  a moment,  said,  ‘ At  least,  the  inhabitants  of 
Bourg  will  see  that  I have  not  grown  thin.  ’ 

“As  twelve  o’clock  sounded,  the  prison  gates  opened,  an 
aide  appeared,  followed  by  Peytel,  leaning  on  the  arm  of 
the  cure.  Peytel’s  face  was  pale,  he  had  a long  black 
beard,  a blue  cap  on  his  head,  and  his  great-coat  flung  over 
his  shoulders,  and  buttoned  at  the  neck. 

“ He  looked  about  at  the  place  and  the  crowd ; he  asked 
if  the  carriage  would  go  at  a trot ; and  on  being  told  that 
that  would  be  difficult,  he  said  he  would  prefer  walking, 
and  asked  what  the  road  was;  He  immediately  set  out, 
walking  at  a firm  and  rapid  pace.  He  was  not  bound  at  all. 

“ An  immense  crowd  of  people  encumbered  the  two 
streets  through  which  he  had  to  pass  to  the  place  of  execu- 
tion. He  cast  his  eyes  alternately  upon  them  and  upon 
the  guillotine,  which  was  before  him. 

“ Arrived  at  the  foot  of  the  scaffold,  Peytel  embraced  the 
cure,  and  bade  him  adieu.  He  then  embraced  him  again ; 
perhaps,  for  his  mother  and  sister.  He  then  mounted  the 
steps  rapidly,  and  gave  himself  into  the  hands  of  the  exe- 
cutioner, who  removed  his  coat  and  cap.  He  asked  how  he 


270 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK. 


was  to  place  himself,  and  on  a sign  being  made,  he  flung 
himself  briskly  on  the  plank,  and  stretched  his  neck.  In 
another  moment  he  was  no  more. 

“The  crowd,  which  had  been  quite  silent,  retired,  pro- 
foundly moved  by  the  sight  it  had  witnessed.  As  at  all 
executions,  there  was  a very  great  number  of  women 
present. 

“ Under  the  scaffold  there  had  been,  ever  since  the  morn- 
ing, a coffin.  The  family  had  asked  for  his  remains,  and 
had  them  immediately  buried,  privately : and  thus  the 
unfortunate  man’s  head  escaped  the  modellers  in  wax, 
several  of  whom  had  arrived  to  take  an  impression  of  it.  ” 

Down  goes  the  axe ; the  poor  wretch’s  head  rolls  gasping 
into  the  basket ; the  spectators  go  home,  pondering ; and 
Mr.  Executioner  and  his  aides  have,  in  half  an  hour,  re- 
moved all  traces  of  the  august  sacrifice,  and  of  the  altar  on 
which  it  had  been  performed.  Say,  Mr.  Briefless,  do  you 
think  that  any  single  person,  meditating  murder,  would  be 
deterred  therefrom  by  beholding  this  — nay,  a thousand 
more  executions  ? It  is  not  for  moral  improvement,  as  I 
take  it,  nor  for  opportunity  to  make  appropriate  remarks 
upon  the  punishment  of  crime,  that  people  make  a holi- 
day of  a killing-day,  and  leave  their  homes  and  occupa- 
tions, to  flock  and  witness  the  cutting  off  of  a head.  Do 
we  crowd  to  see  Mr.  Macready  in  the  new  tragedy,  or 
Mademoiselle  Elssler  in  her  last  new  ballet  and  flesh- 
colored  stockinnet  pantaloons,  out  of  a pure  love  of  abstract 
poetry  and  beauty ; or  from  a strong  notion  that  we  shall 
be  excited,  in  different  ways,  by  the  actor  and  the  dancer? 
And  so,  as  we  go  to  have  a meal  of  fictitious  terror  at  the 
tragedy,  of  something  more  questionable  in  the  ballet,  we 
go  for  a glut  of  blood  to  the  execution.  The  lust  is  in 
every  man’s  nature,  more  or  less.  Did  you  ever  witness  a 
wrestling  or  boxing  match  ? The  first  {flatter  of  the  kick 
on  the  shins,  or  the  first  drawing  of  blood,  makes  the 
stranger  shudder  a little  ; but  soon  the  blood  is  his  chief 
enjoyment,  and  he  thirsts  for  it  with  a fierce  delight.  It 
is  a fine  grim  pleasure  that  we  have  in  seeing  a man 
killed ; and  I make  no  doubt  that  the  organs  of  destructive- 
ness must  begin  to  throb  and  swell  as  we  witness  the 
delightful  savage  spectacle. 

Three  or  four  years  back,  when  Fieschi  and  Lacenaire 
were  executed,  I made  attempts  to  see  the  execution  of 
both;  but  was  disappointed  in  both  cases.  In  the  first 


THE  CASE  OF  PE Y TEL. 


271 


instance,  the  day  for  Fieschi’s  death  was,  purposely,  kept 
secret;  and  he  was,  if  I remember  rightly,  executed  at 
some  remote  quarter  of  the  town.  But  it  would  have  done 
a philanthropist  good,  to  witness  the  scene  which  we  saw 
on  the  morning  when  his  execution  did  not  take  place. 

It  was  carnival  time,  and  the  rumor  had  pretty  generally 
been  carried  abroad  that  he  was  to  die  on  that  morning.  A 
friend,  who  accompanied  me,  came  many  miles,  through  the 
mud  and  dark,  in  order  to  be  in  at  the  death.  We  set 
out  before  light,  floundering  through  the  muddy  Champs 
Elysees ; where,  besides,  were  many  other  persons  floun- 
dering, and  all  bent  upon  the  same  errand.  We  passed  by 
the  Concert  of  Musard,  then  held  in  the  Rue  St  Honore ; 
and  round  this,  in  the  wet,  a number  of  coaches  were  col- 
lected. The  ball  was  just  up,  and  a crowd  of  people  in 
hideous  masquerade,  drunk,  tired,  dirty,  dressed  in  horrible 
old  frippery,  and  daubed  with  filthy  rouge,  were  trooping  out 
of  the  place  : tipsy  women  and  men,  shrieking,  jabbering, 
gesticulating,  as  French  will  do  ; parties  swaggering,  stag- 
gering forwards,  arm  in  arm,  reeling  to  and  fro  across  the 
street,  and  yelling  songs  in  chorus  : hundreds  of  these  were 
bound  for  the  show,  and  we  thought  ourselves  lucky  in 
finding  a vehicle  to  the  execution  place,  at  the  Barriere 
d’Enfer.  As  we  crossed  the  river  and  entered  the  Enfer 
Street,  crowds  of  students,  black  workmen,  and  more 
drunken  devils  from  more  carnival  balls,  were  filling  it ; 
and  on  the  grand  place  there  were  thousands  of  these 
assembled,  looking  out  for  Fieschi  and  his  cortege.  We 
waited  and  waited  ; but  alas  ! no  fun  for  us  that  morning  : 
no  throat-cutting ; no  august  spectacle  of  satisfied  justice  ; 
and  the  eager  spectators  were  obliged  to  return,  disap- 
pointed of  their  expected  breakfast  of  blood.  It  would  have 
been  a fine  scene,  that  execution,  could  it  but  have  taken 
place  in  the  midst  of  the  mad  mountebanks  and  tipsy 
strumpets  who  had  flocked  so  far  to  witness-  it,  wishing  to 
wind  up  the  delights  of  their  carnival  by  a bonne-bouche  of 
a murder. 

The  other  attempt  was  equally  unfortunate.  We  arrived 
too  late  on  the  ground  to  be  present  at  the  execution  of 
Lacenaire  and  his  co-mate  in  murder,  Avril.  But  as  we 
came  to  the  ground  ( a gloomy  round  space,  within  the 
barrier — three  roads  lead  to  it;  and,  outside,  you  see  the 
wine-shops  and  restaurateurs  of  the  barrier  looking  gay 
and  inviting,)  — as  we  came  to  the  ground,  we  only  found, 
in  the  midst  of  it,  a little  pool  of  ice,  just  partially  tinged 


THE  PAMS  SKETCH  BOOK. 


272 

with  red.  Two  or  three  idle  street-boys  were  dancing  and 
stamping  about  this  pool ; and  when  I asked  one  of  them 
whether  the  execution  had  taken  place,  he  began  dancing 
more  madly  than  ever,  and  shrieked  out  with  a loud  fantas- 
tical, theatrical  voice,  “Venez  tous  Messieurs  et  Dames, 
voyez  ici  le  sang  du  monstre  Lacenaire,  et  de  son  compagnon 
le  traitre  Avril,  ” or  words  to  that  effect ; and  straightway 
all  the  other  gamins  screamed  out  the  words  in  chorus,  and 
took  hands  and  danced  round  the  little  puddle. 

0 august  Justice,  your  meal  was  followed  by  a pretty 
appropriate  grace  ! Was  any  man,  who  saw  the  show, 
deterred,  or  frightened,  or  moralized  in  any  way  ? He  had 
gratified  his  appetite  for  blood,  and  this  was  all.  There  is 
something  singularly  pleasing,  both  in  the  amusement  of 
execution-seeing,  and  in  the  results.  You  are  not  only 
delightfully  excited  at  the  time,  but  most  pleasingly  re- 
laxed afterwards ; the  mind,  which  has  been  wound  up 
painfully  until  now,  becomes  quite  complacent  and  easy. 
There  is  something  agreeable  in  the  misfortunes  of  others, 
as  the  philosopher  has  told  us.  Eemark  what  a good  break- 
fast you  eat  after  an  execution ; how  pleasant  it  is  to  cut 
jokes  after  it,  and  upon  it.  This  merry,  pleasant  mood  is 
brought  on  by  the  blood  tonic. 

But,  for  God’s  sake,  if  we  are  to  enjoy  this,  let  us  do  so 
in  moderation ; and  let  us,  at  least,  be  sure  of  a man’s  guilt 
before  we  murder  him.  To  kill  him,  even  with  the  full 
assurance  that  he  is  guilty,  is  hazardous  enough.  Who 
gave  you  the  right  to  do  so  ? — you,  who  cry  out  against 
suicides,  as  impious  and  contrary  to  Christian  law  ? What 
use  is  there  in  killing  him  ? You  deter  no  one  else  from 
committing  the  crime  by  so  doing : you  give  us,  to  be  sure, 
half  an  hour’s  pleasant  entertainment ; but  it  is  a great  ques- 
tion whether  we  derive  much  moral  profit  from  the  sight. 
If  you  want  to  keep  a murderer  from  farther  inroads  upon 
society,  are  there  not  plenty  of  hulks  and  prisons,  God  wot ; 
treadmills,  galleys,  and  houses  of  correction?  Above  all, 
as  in  the  case  of  Sebastian  Peytel  and  his  family,  there 
have  been  two  deaths  already  ; was  a third  death  abso- 
lutely necessary  ? and,  taking  the  fallibility  of  judges  and 
lawyers  into  his  heart,  and  remembering  the  thousand 
instances  of  unmerited  punishment  that  have  been  suffered, 
upon  similar  and  stronger  evidence  before,  can  any  man 
declare,  positively  and  upon  his  oath,  that  Peytel  was 
guilty,  and  that  this  was  not  the  third  murder  in  the 
family  ? 


FOUR  IMITATIONS  OF 
BERANGER. 


LE  ROI  D’YVETOT. 

Il  etait  un  roi  d’Yvetot, 

Peu  connu  dans  Fhistoire ; 

Se  levant  tard,  se  conchant  tot, 

Dormant  fort  bien  sans  gloire, 

Et  couronne  par  Jeanneton 
D’un  simple  bonnet  de  coton, 

Dit-on. 

Oh  ! oh  ! oh. ! oh  ! ah  ! all ! ah  ! ah  ! 
Quel  bon  petit  roi  c’etait  la  ! 

La,  la. 

II  fesait  ses  quatre  repas 
Dans  son  palais  de  chaume, 

Et  sur  un  ane,  pas  a pas, 

Parcourait  son  royaume. 

Joyeux,  simple  et  croyant  le  bien, 

Pour  toute  garde  il  11’avait  rien 
Qu’un  chien. 

Oh  ! oh  ! oh  ! oh  ! ah  ! ah  ! ah  ! ah  ! &c. 
La,  la. 

Il  n’avait  de  gout  onereux 
Qu’une  soif  un  peu  vive  ; 

Mais,  en  rendant  son  peuple  heureux, 

Il  faux  bien  qu’un  roi  vive. 

Lui-meme  a table,  et  sans  suppot, 

Sur  chaque  muid  levait  un  pot 
D’impot. 

Oh  ! oh  ! oh  ! oh  ! ah  ! ah  ! ah  ! ah  ! &c. 
La,  la. 


18 


273 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK 


274 


Aux  lilies  de  bonnes  maisons 
Comme  il  avait  su  plaire, 

Ses  sujets  avaient  cent  raisons 
De  le  nommer  leiir  pere : 

D’ailleurs-il  ne  levait  de  ban 
Que  pour  tirer  qua t re  fois  ban 
An  blanc. 

Oh  ! oli ! oh  ! oh  ! ah  ! ah  ! ah  ! ah  ! &c. 
La,  la. 


II  n’agrandit  point  ses  etats, 

Fut  un  voisin  commode, 

Et,  modele  des  potentats, 

Frit  le  plaisir  pour  code. 

Ce  11’est  que  lorsqu’il  expira, 

Que  le  peuple  qui  Fenterra 
Pleura. 

Oh  ! oh ! oh!  oh!  ah ! ah  ! ah  ! ah  ! &c. 
La,  la. 

On  conserve  encor  le  portrait 
De  ce  digne  et  bon  prince ; 

C’est  Fenseigne  d’un  .cabaret 
Fameux  dans  la  province. 

Les  jours  de  fete,  bien  souvent, 

La  foule  s’ecrie  en  buvant 
Devant : 

Oh ! oh  ! oh  ! oh. ! ah  ! ah  ! ah  ! ah ! 
Quel  bon  petit  roi  c’etait  la  ! 

La,  la. 


THE  KING  OF  YVETOT. 

There  was  a king  of  Yvetot, 

Of  whom  renown  hath  little  said, 
Who  let  all  thoughts  of  glory  go, 

And  dawdled  half  his  days  a-bed ; 
And  every  night,  as  night  came  round, 
By  Jenny,  with  a nightcap  crowned, 
Slept  very  sound : 

Sing,  ho,  ho,  ho  ! and  he,  he,  he : 
That’s  the  kind  of  king  for  me. 


FOUR  IMITATIONS  OF  BE  RANGER, 


And  every  day  it  came  to  pass, 

That  four  lusty  meals  made  he  ; 

And,  step  by  step,  upon  an  ass, 

Bode  abroad,  his  realms  to  see  ; 

And  wherever  he  did  stir, 

What  think  you  was  his  escort,  sir  ? 

Why,  an  old  cur. 

Sing,  ho,  ho,  ho  ! &c. 

If  e’er  he  went  into  excess, 

’Twas  from  a somewhat  lively  thirst; 

But  he  who  would  his  subjects  bless, 

Odd’s  fish  ! — must  wet  his  whistle  first ; 
And  so  from  every  cask  they  got, 

Our  king  did  to  himself  allot, 

At  least  a pot, 

Sing,  ho,  ho ! &c. 

To  all  the  ladies  of  the  land, 

A courteous  king,  and  kind,  was  he ; 

The  reason  why  you’ll  understand,* 

They  named  him  Pater  Patriae. 

Each  year  he  called  his  fighting  men, 

And  marched  a league  from  home,  and  then 
Marched  back  again. 

Sing,  ho,  ho ! &c. 

Neither  by  force  nor  false  pretence, 

He  sought  to  make  his  kingdom  great, 
And  made  ( 0 princes,  learn  from  hence  ) — 
“ Live  and  let  live,”  his  rule  of  state. 
Twas  only  when  he  came  to  die, 

That  his  people  who  stood  by, 

Were  known  to  cry. 

Sing,  ho,  ho ! &c. 

The  portrait  of  this  best  of  kings 
Is  extant  still,  upon  a sign 
That  on  a village  tavern  swings, 

Earned  in  the  country  for  good  wine. 

The  people,  in  their  Sunday  trim, 

Pilling  their  glasses  to  the  brim, 

Look  up  to  him. 

Singing,  lia,  ha,  ha  ! and  he,  he  he  ! 

That’s  the  sort  of  king  for  me. 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK . 


276 


THE  KING  OF  BRENTFORD. 

ANOTHER  VERSION. 

There  was  a king  in  Brentford,  — of  whom  no  legends 
tell, 

But  who,  without  his  glory,  — could  eat  and  sleep  right 
well. 

His  Polly’s  cotton  nightcap, — it  was  his  crown  of  state, 

He  slept  of  evenings  early,  — and  rose  of  mornings  late. 


All  in  a line  mud  palace,  — each  day  he  took  four  meals, 
And  for  a guard  of  honor,  — a dog  ran  at  his  heels, 
Sometimes,  to  view  his  kingdoms, — rode  forth  this  monarch 
good, 

And  then  a prancing  jackass  — he  royally  bestrode. 


There  were  no  costly  habits  — with  which  this  king  was 
curst, 

Except  (and  where’s  the  harm  on’t?) — a somewhat  lively 
thirst ; 

But  people  must  pay  taxes,  — and  kings  must  have  their 
sport, 

So  out  of  every  gallon  — His  Grace  he  took  a quart. 


He  pleased  the  ladies  round  him,  — with  manners  soft  and 
bland  ; 

With  reason  good,  they  named  him,  — the  father  of  his 
land. 

Each  year  his  mighty  armies  — marched  forth  in  gallant 
show  ; 

Their  enemies  were  targets,  — their  bullets  they  were  tow. 


He  vexed  no  quiet  neighbor,  — no  useless  conquest  made, 

But  by  the  laws  of  pleasure,  — his  peaceful  realm  he 
swayed. 

And  in  the  years  he  reigned,  — through  all  this  country 
wide, 

There  was  no  cause  of  weeping,  — save  when  the  good  man 
died. 


FOUR  IMITATIONS  OF  BE RANGER. 


07' 


The  faithful  men  of  Brentford, — do  still  their  king  deplore, 
His  portrait  yet  is  swinging,  — beside  an  ale-house  door. 
And  topers,  tender-hearted,  — regard  his  honest  phiz, 

And  envy  times  departed,  — that  knew  a reign  like  his. 


LE  GRENIER. 

Je  viens  re  voir  Fasile  oil  ma  jeunesse 
De  la  misere  a subi  les  lemons. 

J’avais  vingt  ans,  une  folle  maitresse, 

De  francs  amis  et  Famour  des  chansons 
Bravant  le  monde  et  les  sots  et  les  sages, 

Sans  avenir,  riche  de  mon  printemps, 

Leste  et  joyeux  je  montais  six  etages. 

Dans  un  grenier  qu’on  est  bien  a vingt  ans  ! 

(Test  un  grenier,  point  ne  veux  qu’on  V ignore. 

La  fut  mon  lit,  bien  chetif  et  bien  dur  ; 

La  fut  ma  table ; et  je  retrouve  encore 
Trois  pieds  d’un  vers  charbonnes  sur  le  mur. 
Apparaissez,  plaisirs  de  mon  bel  age, 

Que  d’un  coup  d’aile  a fustiges  le  temps, 

Vingt  fois  pour  vous  j’ai  mis  ma  montre  en  gage. 
Dans  un  grenier  qiFon  est  bien  a vingt  ans ! 

Lisette  ici  doit  surtout  apparaitre, 

Vive,  jolie,  avec  un  frais  chapeau; 

Deja  sa  main  a Fetroite  fenetre 
Suspend  son  schal,  en  guise  de  rideau. 

Sa  robe  aussi  va  parer  ma  couchette ; 

Respecte,  Amour,  ses  plis  longs  et  hottans. 

J?ai  su  depuis  qui  payait  sa  toilette. 

Dans  un  grenier  qu’on  est  bien  a vingt  ans ! 

A table  un  jour,  jour  de  grande  richesse, 

De  mes  amis  les  voix  brillaient  en  choeur, 

Quand  jusquhci  monte  un  cri  d’allegresse : 

A Marengo  Bonaparte  est  vainqueur. 

Le  canon  gronde  ; un  autre  chant  commence  ; 
Nous  celebrons  taut  de  faits  eclatans. 

Les  rois  jamais  n’envahiront  la  France. 

Dans  un  grenier  qu’on  est  bien  a vingt  ans ! 


278 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK 


Quittons  ce  toit  oil  ma  raison  s'enivre. 

(3h ! qu’ils  sont  loin  ces  jours  si  regrettes ! 
J’echangerais  ce  qu’il  me  reste  a vivre 
Contre  un  des  mois  qu’ici  Dieu  m’a  comptes, 
Pour  rever  gloire,  amour,  plaisir,  folie, 

Pour  depenser  sa  vie  en  peu  d’instans, 

D’un  long  espoir  pour  la  voir  embellie, 

Dans  un  grenier  qu’on  est  bien  a vingt  ans ! 


THE  GARRET. 

With  pensive  eyes  the  little  room  I view, 
Where,  in  my  youth,  I weathered  it  so  long  ; 
With  a wild  mistress,  a stanch  friend  or  two, 
And  a light  heart  still  breaking  into  song : 
Making  a mock  of  life,  and  all  its  cares, 

Rich  in  the  glory  of  my  rising  sun, 

Lightly  I vaulted  up  four  pair  of  stairs, 

In  the  brave  days  when  I was  twenty-one. 


Yes  ; ?tis  a garret  — let  him  know’t  who  will  — 
There  was  my  bed  — full  hard  it  was  and  small. 
My  table  there  — and  I decipher  still 

Half  a lame  couplet  charcoaled  on  the  wall. 

Ye  joys,  that  Time  hath  swept  with  him  awa}r, 
Come  to  mine  eyes,  ye  dreams  of  love  and  fun  ; 

• For  you  I pawned  my  watch  how  many  a day, 

In  the  brave  days  when  I was  twenty -one. 


And  see  my  little  J essy,  first  of  all ; 

She  comes  with  pouting  lips  and  sparkling  eyes 
Behold,  how  roguishly  she  pins  her  shawl 
Across  the  narrow  casement,  curtain-wise  ; 

Now  by  the  bed  her  petticoat  glides  down, 

And  when  did  woman  look  the  worse  in  none  ? 
I have  heard  since  who  paid  for  many  a gown, 

In  the  brave  days  when  I was  twenty -one. 


FOUR  IMITATIONS  OF  HER  ANGER. 


279 


One  jolly  evening,  when  iny  friends  and  I 

Made  happy  music  with  our  songs  and  cheers, 
A shout  of  triumph  mounted  up  thus  high, 

And  distant  cannon  opened  on  our  ears  : 

We  rise,  — we  join  in  the  triumphant  strain,  — 
Napoleon  conquers  — Austerlitz  is  won  — 
Tyrants  shall  never  tread  us  down  again, 

In  the  brave  days  when  I was  twenty-one. 


Let  us  begone  — the  place  is  sad  and  strange  — 
How  far,  far  off,  these  happy  times  appear ; 

All  that  I have  to  live  I’d  gladly  change 

For  one  such  month  as  I have  wasted  here  — 
To  draw  long  dreams  of  beauty,  love,  and  power, 
From  founts  of  hope  that  never  will  outrun, 
And  drink  all  life’s  quintessence  in  an  hour, 

Give  me  the  days  when  I was  twenty-one  ! 


ROGER-BONTEMPS. 

Aux  gens  atrabilaires 
Pour  exemple  donne, 

En  un  temps  de  miseres 
Roger-Bontemps  est  ne. 
Vivre  obscur  a sa  guise, 
Narguer  les  mecontens: 
Eh  gai ! c’est  la  devise 
Du  gros  Roger-Bontemps. 


Du  chapeau  de  son  pere 
Coiffe  dans  le  grands  jours, 
De  roses  ou  de  lierre 
Le  rajeunir  tou jours  ; 
Mettre  un  manteau  de  bure, 
Yieil  ami  de  vingt  ans ; 

Eh  gai  ! c’est  la  parure 
Du  gros  Roger-Bontemps. 


280 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK . 


Posseder  dans  sa  liutte 
Une  table,  un  vieux  lit, 

I)es  cartes,  une  flute, 

Un  broc  que  Dieu  remplit ; 
Un  portrait  de  maitresse, 

Un  coffre  et  rien  dedans  ; 

Eh  gai ! c’est  la  richesse 
Du  gros  Roger-Bontemps. 

Aux  enfans  de  la  ville 
Montrer  de  petits  jeux; 

Etre  fesseur  habile 
De  contes  graveleux ; 

]STe  parler  que  de  danse 
Et  d’almanachs  chantans 
Eh  gai ! c’est  la  science 
Du  gros  Roger-Bontemps. 

Faute  de  vins  d’elite, 

Sable r ceux  du  canton  : 
Preferer  Marguerite 
Aux  dames  du  grand  ton ; 

De  joie  et  de  tendresse 
Remplir  tous  ses  instans  ; 

Eh  gai ! c’est  la  sagesse 
Du  gros  Roger-Bontemps. 

Dire  au  ciel : Je  me  fie, 

Mon  pere,  a ta  bonte ; 

De  ma  philosophie 
Pardonne  le  gaite : 

Que  ma  saison  derniere 
Soit  encore  un  printemps  ; 
Eh  gai ! c’est  la  priere 
Du  gros  Roger-Bontemps. 

Yous,  pauvres  pleins  d’envie, 
Vous,  riches  desireux, 

Vous,  dont  le  char  devie 
Apres  un  cours  heureux  ; 
Vous,  qui  perdrez  peut-etre 
Des  titres  eclatans, 

Eh  gai ! prenez  pour  maitre 
Le  gros  Roger-Bontemps. 


FOUR  IMITATIONS  OF  BE  RANGER. 


JOLLY  JACK. 


When  fierce  political  debate 

Throughout  the  isle  was  storming, 
And  Rads  attacked  the  throne  and  state, 
And  Tories  the  reforming, 

To  calm  the  furious  rage  of  each, 

And  right  the  land  demented, 

Heaven  sent  us  Jolly  Jack,  to  teach 
The  way  to  be  contented. 


Jack’s  bed  was  straw,  ’twas  warm  and  soft 
His  chair,  a three-legged  stool ; 

His  broken  jug  was  emptied  oft, 

Yet,  somehow,  always  full. 

His  mistress’  portrait  decked  the  wall, 

His  mirror  had  a crack  : 

Yet,  gay  and  glad,  though  this  was  all 
His  wealth,  lived  Jolly  Jack. 


To  give  advice  to  avarice, 

Teach  pride  its  mean  condition, 

And  preach  good  sense  to  dull  pretence, 
Was  honest  Jack’s  high  mission. 

Our  simple  statesman  found  his  rule 
Of  moral  in  the  flagon, 

And  held  his  philosophic  school 
Beneath  the  “ George  and  Dragon.” 


When  village  Solons  cursed  the  Lords, 
And  called  the  malt-tax  sinful, 

Jack  heeded  not  their  angry  words, 
But  smiled,  and  drunk  his  skinful. 
And  when  men  wasted  health  and  life, 
In  search  of  rank  and  riches, 

Jack  marked,  aloof,  the  paltry  strife, 
And  wore  his  threadbare  breeches. 


THE  PAR  IE  SKETCH  BOOK. 


“ 1 enter  not  the  church/’’  lie  said, 
“ But  I'll  not  seek  to  rob  it ; ” 

So  worthy  Jack  Joe  Miller  read, 
While  others  studied  Cobbett. 
His  talk  it  was  of  feast  and  fun ; 

His  guide  the  Almanack; 

From  youth  to  age  thus  gayly  run 
The  life  of  Jolly  Jack. 


And  when  J ack  prayed,  as  oft  he  would, 
He  humbly  thanked  his  Maker ; 

“ I am,”  said  he,  “ 0 Father  good ! 

Nor  Catholic  nor  Quaker  : 

Give  each  his  creed,  let  each  proclaim 
His  catalogue  of  curses ; 

I trust  in  Thee,  and  not  in  them, 

In  Thee,  and  in  Thy  mercies  ! 


“ Forgive  me  if,  midst  all  Thy  works, 

No  hint  I see  of  damning ; 

And  think  there’s  faith  among  the  Turks, 
And  hope  for  e’en  the  Brahmin. 
Harmless  my  mind  is,  and  my  mirth. 

And  kindly  is  my  laughter ; 

I cannot  see  the  smiling  earth, 

And  think  there’s  hell  hereafter.” 


Jack  died  ; he  left  no  legacy, 

Save  that  his  story  teaches  : — 
Content  to  peevish  poverty ; 

Humility  to  riches. 

Ye  scornful  great,  ye  envious  small. 
Come,  follow  in  his  track  ; 

We  all  were  happier,  if  we  all 
Would  copy  Jolly  Jack. 


FRENCH  DRAMAS  AND 
MELODRAMAS. 


HERE  are  three  kinds  of 
drama  in  France,  which  you 
may  subdivide  as  much  as 
you  please. 

There  is  the  old  classical 
drama,  well  nigh  dead,  and 
full  time  too : old  trage- 
dies, in  which  half  a 
dozen  characters  appear, 
and  spout  sonorous  Alex- 
andrines for  half  a dozen 
hours.  The  fair  Rachel 
has  been  trying  to  revive 
this  genre , and  to  untomb 
Racine  ; but  be  not  alarmed, 
Racine  will  never  come  to 
life  again,  and  cause  audi- 
ences to  weep  as  of  yore.  Madame  Rachel  can  only  gal- 
vanize the  corpse,  not  revivify  it.  Ancient  French  tragedy, 
red-heeled,  patched,  and  be-periwigged,  lies  in  the  grave ; 
and  it  is  only  the  ghost  of  it  that  we  see,  which  the  fair 
Jewess  has  raised.  There  are  classical  comedies  in  verse, 
too,  wherein  the  knavish  valets,  rakish  heroes,  stolid  old 
guardians,  and  smart,  free-spoken  serving-women,  discourse 
in  Alexandrines,  as  loud  as  the  Horaces  or  the  Cid.  An 
Englishman  will  seldom  reconcile  himself  to  the  roulement 
of  the  verses,  and  the  painful  recurrence  of  the  rhymes ; 
for  my  part,  I had  rather  go  to  Madame  Saqui’s  or  see 
Deburau  dancing  on  a rope  : his  lines  are  quite  as  natural 
and  poetical. 

Then  there  is  the  comedy  of  the  day,  of  which  Monsieur 

283 


284 


THE  PAWS  SKETCH  BOOK. 


Scribe  is  the  father.  Good  heavens  ! with  what  a number 
of  gay  colonels,  smart  widows,  and  silly  husbands  has  that 
man  peopled  the  play -books.  How  that  unfortunate  seventh 
commandment  has  been  maltreated  by  him  and  his  dis- 
ciples. You  will  see  four  pieces,  at  the  Gymnase,  of  a 
night ; and  so  sure  as  you  see  them,  four  husbands  shall  be 
wickedly  used.  When  is  this  joke  to  cease  ? Mon  Dieu  ! 
Play -writers  have  handled  it  for  about  two  thousand  years, 
and  the  public,  like  a great  baby,  must  have  the  tale  repeated 
to  it  over  and  over  again. 

Finally,  there  is  the  drama,  that  great  monster  which 
has  sprung  into  life  of  late  years ; and  which  is  said,  but 
I don’t  believe  a word  of  it,  to  have  Shakspeare  for  a father. 
If  Monsieur  Scribe’s  plays  may  be  said  to  be  so  many 
ingenious  examples  how  to  break  one  commandment,  the 
drcime  is  a grand  and  general  chaos  of  them  all;  nay,  sev- 
eral crimes  are  added,  not  prohibited  in  the  Decalogue, 
which  was  written  before  dramas  were.  Of  the  drama, 
Victor  Hugo  and  Dumas  are  the  well-known  and  respect- 
able guardians.  Every  piece  Victor  Hugo  has  written  since 
“ Hernani,  ” has  contained  a monster  — a delightful  mon- 
ster, saved  by  one  virtue.  There  is  Triboulet,  a foolish 
monster ; Lucrece  Borgia,  a maternal  monster ; Mary  Tudor, 
a religious  monster ; Monsieur  Quasimodo,  a hump-back 
monster  ; and  others,  that  might  be  named,  whose  monstros- 
ities we  are  induced  to  pardon  — nay,  admiringly  to  witness 
— because  they  are  agreeably  mingled  with  some  exquisite 
display  of  affection.  And,  as  the  great  Hugo  has  one  mon- 
ster to  each  play,  the  great  Dumas  has,  ordinarily,  half  a 
dozen,  to  whom  murder  is  nothing  ; common  intrigue,  and 
simple  breakage  of  the  before-mentioned  commandment, 
nothing ; but  who  live  and  move  in  a vast,  delightful  com- 
plication of  crime,  that  cannot  be  easily  conceived  in  Eng- 
land, much  less  described. 

When  I think  over  the  number  of  crimes  that  I have 
seen  Mademoiselle  Georges,  for  instance,  commit,  I am 
filled  with  wonder  at  her  greatness,  and  the  greatness  of 
the  poets  who  have  conceived  these  charming  horrors  for 
her.  I have  seen  her  make  love  to,  and  murder,  her  sons, 
in  the  “Tour  de  Nesle.”  I have  seen  her  poison  a company 
of  no  less  than  nine  gentlemen,  at  Ferrara,  with  an  affec- 
tionate son  in  the  number  ; I have  seen  her,  as  Madame  de 
Brinvilliers,  kill  off  numbers  of  respectable  relations  in  the 
first  four  acts ; and,  at  the  last,  be  actually  burned  at  the 


FRENCH  DRAMAS  AND  MELODRAMAS. 


285 


stake,  to  which  she  comes  shuddering,  ghastly,  barefooted, 
and  in  a white  sheet.  Sweet  excitement  of  tender  sympa- 
thies ! Such  tragedies  are  not  so  good  as  a real,  downright 
execution ; but,  in  point  of  interest,  the  next  thing  to  it : 
with  what  a number  of  moral  emotions  do  they  fill  the 
breast ; with  what  a hatred  for  vice,  and  yet  a true  pity  and 
respect  for  that  grain  of  virtue  that  is  to  be  found  in  us 
all : our  bloody,  daughter-loving  Brinvilliers  ; our  warm- 
hearted, poisonous  Lucretia  Borgia ; above  all,  what  a 
smart  appetite  for  a cool  supper  afterwards,  at  the  Cafe 
Anglais,  when  the  horrors  of  the  play  act  as  a piquant 
sauce  to  the  supper  ! 

Or,  to  speak  more  seriously,  and  to  come,  at  last,  to  the 
point.  After  having  seen  most  of  the  grand  dramas  which 
have  been  produced  at  Paris  for  the  last  half-dozen  years, 
and  thinking  over  all  that  one  has  seen,  — the  ficticious 
murders,  rapes,  adulteries,  and  other  crimes,  by  which  one 
has  been  interested  and  excited,  — a man  may  take  leave 
to  be  heartily  ashamed  of  the  manner  in  which  he  has 
spent  his  time  ; and  of  the  hideous  kind  of  mental  intoxi- 
cation in  which  he  has  permitted  himself  to  indulge. 

Nor  are  simple  society  outrages  the  only  sort  of  crime  in 
which  the  spectator  of  Paris  plays  has  permitted  himself 
to  indulge;  he  has  recreated  himself  with  a deal  of  blas- 
phemy besides,  and  has  passed  many  pleasant  evenings  in 
beholding  religion  defiled  and  ridiculed. 

Allusion  has  been  made,  in  a former  paper,  to  a fashion 
that  lately  obtained  in  France,  and  which  went  by  the 
name  of  Catholic  reaction ; and  as,  in  this  happy  country, 
fashion  is  everything,  we  have  not  merely  Catholic  pictures 
and  quasi  religious  books,  but  a number  of  Catholic  plays 
have  been  produced,  very  edifying  to  the  frequenters  of  the 
theatres  or  the  Boulevards,  who  have  learned  more  about 
religion  from  these  performances  than  they  have  acquired, 
no  doubt,  in  the  whole  of  their  lives  before.  In  the  course 
of  a very  few  years  we  have  seen  — “The  Wandering 
Jew ; ” “ Belshazzar’s  Feast ; ” “Nebuchadnezzar ; ” and  the 
“ Massacre  of  the  Innocents  ; ” “ Joseph  and  his  Brethren 
“ The  Passage  of  the  Bed  Sea ; ” and  “ The  Deluge.” 

The  great  Dumas,  like  Madame  Sand  before  mentioned, 
has  brought  a vast  quantity  of  religion  before  the  foot- 
lights. There  was  his  famous  tragedy  of  “ Caligula,  ” 
which,  be  it  spoken  to  the  shame  of  the  Paris  critics,  was 
coldly  received  ; nay,  actually  hissed,  by  them.  And  why  ? 


286 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK 


Because,  says  Dumas,  it  contained  a great  deal  too  much 
piety  for  the  rogues.  The  public,  he  says,  was  much  more 
religious,  and  understood  him  at  once. 

“As  for  the  critics,”  says  he,  nobly,  “let  those  who 
cried  out  against  the  immorality  of  Antony  and  Margue- 
rite de  Bourgogne,  reproach  me  for  the  chastity  of  Messa- 
lina  .”  ( This  dear  creature  is  the  heroine  of  the  play  of 

“ Caligula.”)  “ It  matters  little  to  me.  These  people  have 
but  seen  the  form  of  my  work  : they  have  walked  round 
the  tent,  but  have  not  seen  the  arch  which  it  covered ; they 
have  examined  the  vases  and  candles  of  the  altar,  but  have 
not  opened  the  tabernacle  ! 

“ The  public  alone  has,  instinctively,  comprehended  that 
there  was,  beneath  this  outward  sign,  an  inward  and  myste- 
rious grace  : it  followed  the  action  of  the  piece  in  all  its 
serpentine  windings ; it  listened  for  four  hours,  with  pious 
attention  ( avec  recueillement  et  religion ),  to  the  sound  of 
this  rolling  river  of  thoughts,  which  may  have  appeared  to 
it  new  and  bold,  perhaps,  but  chaste  and  grave ; and  it 
retired,  with  its  head  on  its  breast,  like  a man  who  had 
just  perceived,  in  a dream,  the  solution  of  a problem  which 
he  has  long  and  vainly  sought  in  his  waking  hours.” 

You  see  that  not  only  Saint  Sand  is  an  apostle,  in  her 
way ; but  Saint  Dumas  is  another.  We  have  people  in 
England  who  write  for  bread,  like  Dumas  and  Sand,  and 
are  paid  so  much  for  their  line  ; but  they  don’t  set  up 
for  prophets.  Mrs.  Trollope  has  never  declared  that  her 
novels  are  inspired  by  heaven  ; Mr.  Buckstone  has  written 
a great  number  of  farces,  and  never  talked  about  the  altar 
and  the  tabernacle.  Even  Sir  Edward  Bulwer  ( who,  on  a 
similar  occasion,  when  the  critics  found  fault  with  a play 
of  his,  answered  them  by  a pretty  decent  declaration  of  his 
own  merits,  ) never  ventured  to  say  that  he  had  received  a 
divine  mission,  and  was  uttering  live-act  revelations. 

All  things  considered,  the  tragedy  of  “ Caligula  ” is  a 
decent  tragedy;  as  decent  as  the  decent  characters  of  the 
hero  and  heroine  can  allow  it  to  be ; it  may  be  almost  said, 
provokingly  decent : but  this,  it  must  be  remembered,  is 
the  characteristic  of  the  modern  French  school  ( nay,  of 
the  English  school  too  ) ; and  if  the  writer  take  the  char- 
acter of  a remarkable  scoundrel,  it  is  ten  to  one  but  he 
turns  out  an  amiable  fellow,  in  whom  we  have  all  the 
warmest  sympathy.  “ Caligula  ” is  killed  at  the  end  of  the 
performance;  Messalina  is  comparatively  well-behaved; 


FRENCH  DRAMAS  AND  MELODRAMAS . 


287 


and  the  sacred  part  of  the  performance,  the  tabernacle- 
characters  apart  from  the  mere  “ vase  ” and  “ candlestick  ” 
personages,  may  be  said  to  be  depicted  in  the  person  of  a 
Christian  convert,  Stella,  who  has  had  the  good  fortune  to 
be  converted  by  no  less  a person  than  Mary  Magdalene, 
when  she,  Stella,  was  staying  on  a visit  to  her  aunt,  near 
Narbonne. 

Stella  (continuant.)  Voila 

Que  je  vois  s’avancer,  sans  pilote  et  sans  rallies, 

Une  barque  portant  deux  liommes  et  deux  femmes, 

Et,  spectacle  inou'i  qui  me  ravit  encor, 

Tous  quatre  avaient  au  front  une  aureole  d’or 
D’oii  partaient  des  rayons  de  si  vive  lumi&re 
Que  je  fus  obligee  a baisser  la  paupiere; 

Et,  lorsque  je  rouvris  les  yeux  avec  effroi, 

Les  voyageurs  divins  etaient  aupres  de  moi. 

Un  jour  de  chacun  d’eux  et  dans  toute  sa  gloire 
Je  te  raconterai  la  marveilleuse  histoire, 

Et  tu  l’adoreras,  j’espere  ; en  ce  moment, 

Ma  mere,  il  te  suffit  de  savoir  seulement 
Que  tous  quatre  venaient  du  fond  de  la  Syrie : 

Un  edit  les  avait  bannis  de  leur  patrie, 

Et,  se  faisant  bourreaux,  des  liommes  irrites, 

Sans  avirons,  sans  eau,  sans  pain  et  garrotes, 

Sur  une  frele  barque  ecliouee  au  rivage, 

Les  avaient  a la  mer  pousses  dans  un  orage. 

Mais  a peine  l’esquif  eut-il  touche  les  flots 
Qu’au  cantique  chante  par  les  saints  matelots, 

L’ouragan  replia  ses  ailes  fremissantes, 

Que  la  mer  aplanit  ses  vagues  mugissantes,  % 

Et  qu’un  soleil  plus  pur,  reparaissant  aux  cieux, 

Enveloppa  Pesquif  d’un  cercle  radieux  ! . . . 

Junia.  — Mais  c’etait  un  prodige 

Stella  — Un  miracle,  ma  mere ! 

Leurs  fers  tomberent  seuls,  Peau  cessa  d’etre  amere, 

Et  deux  fois  chaque  jour  le  bateau  fut  couvert 
D’une  manne  pareille  a celle  du  desert . 

(Pest  ainsi  que,  pousses  par  une  main  celeste, 

Je  les  vis  aborder. 

Junia. — Ob  ! dis  vite  le  reste  ! 

Stella  — A Paube,  trois  d’entre  eux  quitt&rent  la  maison 
Marthe  prit  le  cliemin  qui  mene  a Tarascon, 

Lazare  et  Maximin  celui  de  Massilie, 

Et  celle  qui  resta  c’etait  la  plus  jolie,  ( how  truly  French  ! ) 

Nous  faisant  appeler  vers  le  milieu  du  jour, 

Demanda  si  les  monts  ou  les  bois  d’alentour 
Cachaient  quelque  retraite  inconnue  et  profonde, 

Qui  la  pht  separer  a tout  jamais  du  monde.  ... 

Aquila  se  souvint  qu’il  avait  penetre 
Dans  un  antre  sauvage  et  de  tous  ignore, 

Grotte  creusee  aux  tlancs  de  ces  Alpes  sublime  <? 

Ou  l’aigle  fait  son  aire  au-dessus  des  abimes. 


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THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK. 


II  offrit  cet  asile,  et  des  le  lendemain 

Tous  deux,  pour  Yy  guider,  nous  etions  en  chemin. 

Le  soir  du  second  jour  nous  touehames  sa  base : 

La,  tombant  a genoux  dans  une  sainte  extase, 

Elle  pria  long-temps,  puis  vers  l’antre  inconnu, 

Denouant  se  cliaussure,  elle  marcba  pied  nu. 

Nos  prieres,  nos  cris  resterent  sans  reponses : 

Au  milieu  des  eailloux,  des  epines,  des  ronces, 

Nous  la  vimes  monter,  un  baton  a la  main, 

Et  ce  n’est  qu’arrivee  au  terme  du  chemin, 

Qu’enfin  elle  tomba  sans  force  et  sans  haleine  .... 

Junia.  — Comment  la  nommait-on,  ma  fille  ? 

Stella. — Madeleine. 

Walking,  says  Stella,  by  the  sea-shore,  “A  bark  drew 
near,  that  had  nor  sail  nor  oar ; two  women  and  two  men 
the  vessel  bore  : each  of  that  crew,  ’twas  wondrous  to 
behold,  wore  round  his  head  a ring  of  blazing  gold ; from 
which  such  radiance  glittered  all  around,  that  I was  fain  to 
look  towards  the  ground.  And  when  once  more  I raised 
my  frightened  eyne,  before  me  stood  the  travellers  divine ; 
their  rank,  the  glorious  lot  that  each  befell,  at  better 
season,  mother,  will  I tell.  Of  this  anon : the  time  will 
come  when  thou  shalt  learn  to  worship  as  I worship  now. 
Suffice  it,  that  from  Syria’s  land  they  came ; an  edict 
from  their  country  banished  them.  Fierce,  angry  men  had 
seized  upon  the  four,  and  launched  them  in  that  vessel 
from  the  shore.  They  launched  these  victims  on  the  waters 
rude  ; nor  rudder  gave  to  steer,  nor  bread  for  food.  As 
the  doomed  Vessel  cleaves  the  stormy  main,  that  pious 
crew  uplifts  a sacred  strain  ; the  angry  waves  are  silent  as 
it  sings  ; the  storm,  awe-stricken,  folds  its  quivering  wings. 
A purer  sun  appears  the  heavens  to  light,  and  wraps  the 
little  bark  in  radiance  bright. 

“ Junia.  — Sure,  ’twas  a prodigy. 

“ Stella.  — A miracle.  Spontaneous  from  their  hands 
the  fetters  fell.  The  salt  sea- wave  grew  fresh,  and,  twice 
a day,  manna  ( like  that  which  on  the  desert  lay  ) covered 
the  bark  and  fed  them  on  their  way.  Thus,  hither  led,  at 
heaven’s  divine  behest,  I saw  them  land  — 

“ Junia.  — My  daughter,  tell  the  rest. 

“ Stella.  — Three  of  the  four,  our  mansion  left  at  dawn. 
One,  Martha,  took  the  road  to  Tarascon ; Lazarus  and  Maxi- 
min  to  Massily ; but  one  remained  ( the  fairest  of  the 
three),  who  asked  us,  if  i’  the  woods  or  mountains  near, 
there  chanced  to  be  some  cavern  lone  and  drear;  where 
she  might  hide,  for  ever,  from  all  men.  It  chanced,  my 


FRENCH  DRAMAS  AND  MELODRAMAS . 


289 


cousin  knew  of  such  a den;  deep  hidden  in  a mountain’s 
hoary  breast,  on  which  the  eagle  builds  his  airy  nest.  And 
thither  offered  he  the  saint  to  guide.  Next  day  upon  the 
journey  forth  we  hied ; and  came,  at  the  second  eve,  with 
weary  pace,  unto  the  lonely  mountain’s  rugged  base.  Here 
the  worn  traveller,  falling  on  her  knee,  did  pray  awhile  in 
sacred  ecstasy ; and,  drawing  off  her  sandals  from  her  feet, 
marched,  naked,  towards  that  desolate  retreat.  No  answer 
made  she  to  our  cries  or  groans  ; but  walking  midst  the 
prickles  and  rude  stones,  a staff  in  hand,  we  saw  her 
upwards  toil ; nor  ever  did  she  pause,  nor  rest  the  while, 
save  at  the  entry  of  that  savage  den.  Here,  powerless  and 
panting  fell  she  then. 

“ Junia.  — What  was  her  name,  my  daughter  ? 

“ Stella.  Magdalen.” 

Here  the  translator  must  pause  — having  no  inclination 
to  enter  “ the  tabernacle,”  in  company  with  such  a spotless 
high-priest  as  Monsieur  Dumas. 

Something  “ tabernacular  ” may  be  found  in  Dumas’s 
famous  piece  of  “Don  Juan  de  Marana.  ” The  poet  has 
laid  the  scene  of  his  play  in  a vast  number  of  places : in 
heaven  ( where  we  have  the  Virgin  Mary  and  little  angels, 
in  blue,  swinging  censers  before  her ! ) — on  earth,  under 
the  earth,  and  in  a place  still  lower,  but  not  mentionable  to 
ears  polite  ; and  the  plot,  as  it  appears  from  a dialogue 
between  a good  and  a bad  angel,  and  with  which  the  play 
commences,  turns  upon  a contest  between  these  two  wor- 
thies for  the  possession  of  the  soul  of  a member  of  the 
family  of  Marana. 

“ Don  Juan  de  Marana  ” not  only  resembles  his  name- 
sake, celebrated  by  Mozart  and  Moliere,  in  his  peculiar 
successes  among  the  ladies,  but  possesses  further  qualities 
which  render  his  character  eminently  fitting  for  stage  rep- 
resentation: he  unites  the  virtues  of  Lovelace  and  Lace- 
naire ; he  blasphemes  upon  all  occasions ; he  murders,  at 
the  slightest  provocation,  and  without  the  most  trifling 
remorse  ; he  overcomes  ladies  of  rigid  virtue,  ladies  of  easy 
virtue,  and  ladies  of  no  virtue  at  all ; and  the  poet,  inspired 
by  the  contemplation  of  such  a character,  has  depicted  his 
hero’s  adventures  and  conversation  with  wonderful  feeling 
and  truth. 

The  first  act  of  the  play  contains  a half-dozen  of  mur- 
ders and  intrigues ; which  would  have  sufficed  humbler 
19 


290 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK. 


genius  than  M.  Dumas’s,  for  the  completion  of,  at  least, 
half  a dozen  tragedies.  In  the  second  act  our  hero  flogs  his 
elder  brother,  and  runs  away  with  his  sister-in-law ; in  the 
third,  he  fights  a duel  with  a rival,  and  kills  him : where- 
upon the  mistress  of  his  victim  takes  poison,  and  dies,  in 
great  agonies,  on  the  stage.  In  the  fourth  act,  Don  Juan, 
having  entered  a church  for  the  purpose  of  carrying  off  a 
nun,  with  whom  he  is  in  love,  is  seized  by  the  statue  of  one 
of  the  ladies  whom  he  has  previously  victimized,  and  made 
to  behold  the  ghosts  of  all  those  unfortunate  persons  whose 
deaths  he  has  caused. 

This  is  a most  edifying  spectacle.  The  ghosts  rise  sol- 
emnly, each  in  a white  sheet,  preceded  by  a wax-candle; 
and,  having  declared  their  names  and  qualities,  call  in 


chorus,  for  vengeance  upon  Don  J nan,  as  thus ; — 

Don  Sandoval  loquitur . 

“ I am  Don  Sandoval  d’Ojedo.  I played  against  Don 
Juan  my  fortune,  the  tomb  of  my  fathers,  and  the  heart  of 
my  mistress ; — I lost  all : I played  against  him  my  life, 
and  I lost  it.  Vengeance  against  the  murderer!  ven- 
geance ! ” — ( The  candle  goes  out.  ) 

The  candle  goes  out , and  an  angel  descends  — a flaming 
sword  in  his  hand  — and  asks  : “ Is  there  no  voice  in  favor 
of  Don  Juan  ? ” when  lo ! Don  Juan’s  father  (like  one  of 
those  ingenious  toys  called  “ Jack-in-the-box,  ”)  jumps  up 
from  his  coffin,  and  demands  grace  for  his  son. 


FRENCH  DRAMAS  AND  MELODRAMAS. 


291 


When  Martha  the  nun  returns,  having  prepared  all  things 
for  her  elopement,  she  linds  Don  Juan  fainting  upon  the 
ground.  — “ I am  no  longer  your  husband,  ” says  he,  upon 
coming  to  himself;  “I  am  no  longer  Don  Juan;  I am 
Brother  Juan  the  Trappist.  Sister  Martha,  recollect  that 
you  must  die  ! ” 

This  was  a most  cruel  blow  upon  Sister  Martha,  who  is 
no  less  a person  than  an  angel,  an  angel  in  disguise  — the 
good  spirit  of  the  house  of  Marana,  who  has  gone  to  the 
length  of  losing  her  wings  and  forfeiting  her  place  in 
heaven,  in  order  to  keep  company  with  Don  Juan  on  earth, 
and,  if  possible,  to  convert  him.  Already,  in  her  angelic 
character,  she  had  exhorted  him  to  repentance,  but  in  vain ; 
for  while  she  stood  at  one  elbow,  pouring  not  merely  hints, 
but  long  sermons,  into  his  ear,  at  the  other  elbow  stood  a 
bad  spirit,  grinning  and  sneering  at  all  her  pious  counsels, 
and  obtaining  by  far  the  greater  share  of  the  Don’s  atten- 
tion. 

In  spite,  however,  of  the  utter  contempt  with  which  Don 
Juan  treats  her,  — in  spite  of  his  dissolute  courses,  which 
must  shock  her  virtue,  — and  his  impolite  neglect,  which 
must  wound  her  vanity,  the  poor  creature  ( who,  from  hav- 
ing been  accustomed  to  better  company,  might  have  been 
presumed  to  have  had  better  taste  ),  the  unfortunate  angel 
feels  a certain  inclination  for  the  Don,  and  actually  flies 
up  to  heaven  to  ask  permission  to  remain  with  him  on 
earth. 

And  when  the  curtain  draws  up,  to  the  sound  of  harps, 
and  discovers  white-robed  angels  walking  in  the  clouds,  we 
find  the  angel  of  Marana  upon  her  knees,  uttering  the  fol- 
lowing address  : — 

LE  BON  ANGE. 

Vierge,  a qui  le  calice  a la  liqueur  amere 
Fut  si  souvent  offert, 

Mere,  que  Ton  nomma  la  douloureuse  mere, 

Taut  vous  avez  souffert ! 

Vous,  dont  les  yeux  divins  sur  la  terre  des  hommes 
Ont  verse  plus  de  pleurs 

Que  vos  pieds  n’ont  depuis,  dans  le  ciel  oil  nous  sommes, 

Fait  eclore  de  fleurs. 

Vase  d’eleetion,  etoile  matinale, 

Miroir  de  purete, 

Vous  qui  priez  pour  nous,  d’une  voix  virginale, 

La  supreme  bonte; 


292 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK. 


A mon  tour,  aujourd’hui,  bienheureuse  Marie, 

Je  tombe  a vos  genoux ; 

Daignez  done  m’ecouter,  car  e’est  vous  que  je  prie, 
Vous  qui  priez  pomr  nous. 


Which  may  be  thus  interpreted : — 


0 Virgin  blest ! by  whom  the  bitter  draught 
So  often  lias  been  quaffed, 

That,  for  thy  sorrow,  thou  art  named  by  us 
The  Mother  Dolorous  ! 

Thou,  from  whose  eyes  have  fallen  more  tears  of  woe, 

Upon  the  earth  below. 

Than  ’neath  thy  footsteps,  in  this  heaven  of  ours, 

Have  risen  flowers  ! 

O beaming  morning  star!  O chosen  vase  ! 

O mirror  of  all  grace  ! 

Who,  with  thy  virgin  voice,  dost  ever  pray 
Man’s  sins  away ; 

Bend  down  thine  ear,  and  list,  O blessed  saint ! 

Unto  my  sad  complaint  ; 

Mother ! to  thee  I kneel,  on  thee  I call, 

Who  hearest  all. 

She  proceeds  to  request  that  she  may  be  allowed  to  return 
to  earth,  and  follow  the  fortunes  of  Don  Juan ; and,  as 
there  is  one  difficulty,  or,  to  use  her  own  words,  — 


Mais,  comme  vous  savez  qu’aux  voutes  eternelles, 

Malgre  moi,  tend  mon  vol, 

Soufflez  sur  mon  etoile  et  detachez  mes  ailes , 

Pour  my  enchainer  au  sol ; 

her  request  is  granted,  her  star  is  blown  out  (0  poetic 
allusion  ! ) and  she  descends  to  earth  to  love,  and  to  go 
mad,  and  to  die  for  Don  Juan  ! 

The  reader  will  require  no  further  explanation,  in  order 
to  be  satisfied  as  to  the  moral  of  this  play : but  is  it  not  a 
very  bitter  satire  upon  the  country,  which  calls  itself  the 
politest  nation  in  the  world,  that  the  incidents,  the  inde- 
cency, the  coarse  blasphemy,  and  the  vulgar  wit  of  this 
piece,  should  find  admirers  among  the  public,  and  procure 
reputation  for  the  author  ? Could  not  the  Government, 
which  has  re-established,  in  a manner,  the  theatrical  censor- 
ship, and  forbids  or  alters  plays  which  touch  on  politics, 


FRENCH  DRAMAS  AND  MELODRAMAS. 


293 


exert  the  same  guardianship  over  public  morals  ? The 
honest  English  reader,  who  has  a faith  in  his  clergy- 
man, and  is  a regular  attendant  at  Sunday  worship,  will 
not  be  a little  surprised  at  the  march  of  intellect  among 
our  neighbors  across  the  Channel,  and  -at  the  kind  of 
consideration  in  which  they  hold  their  religion.  Here 
is  a man  who  seizes  upon  saints  and  angels,  merely  to  put 
sentiments  in  their  mouths  which  might  suit  a nymph 
of  Drury  Lane.  He  shows  heaven,  in  order  that  he  may 
carry  debauch  into  it;  and  avails  himself  of  the  most 
sacred  and  sublime  parts  of  our  creed  as  a vehicle  for  a 
scene-painter’s  skill,  or  an  occasion  for  a handsome  actress 
to  wear  a new  dress. 

M.  Dumas’s  piece  of  “Kean”  is  not  quite  so  sublime; 
it  was  brought  out  by  the  author  as  a satire  upon  the 
French  critics,  who,  to  their  credit  be  it  spoken,  had  gener- 
ally attacked  him,  and  was  intended  by  him,  and  received 
by  the  public,  as  a faithful  portraiture  of  English  manners. 
As  such,  it  merits  special  observation  and  praise.  In  the 
first  act  you  find  a Countess  and  an  Ambassadress,  whose 
conversation  relates  purely  to  the  great  actor.  All  the 
ladies  in  London  are  in  love  with  him,  especially  the  two 
present.  As  for  the  Ambassadress,  she  prefers  him  to  her 
husband  ( a matter  of  course  in  all  French  plays  ),  and  to  a 
more  seducing  person  still — no  less  a person  than  the 
Prince  of  W ales  ! who  presently  waits  on  the  ladies,  and 
joins  in  their  conversation  concerning  Kean.  “This  man,” 
says  his  Royal  Highness,  “ is  the  very  pink  of  fashion. 
Brummell  is  nobody  when  compared  to  him  ; and  I myself 
only  an  insignificant  private  gentleman.  He  has  a reputa- 
tion among  ladies,  for  which  I sigh  in  vain ; and  spends  an 
income  twice  as  great  as  mine.”  This  admirable  historic 
touch  at  once  paints  the  actor  and  the  Prince  ; the  estima- 
tion in  which  the  one  was  held,  and  the  modest  economy 
for  which  the  other  was  so  notorious. 

Then  we  have  Kean,  at  a place  called  the  Trou  de  Char - 
bon , “ The  Coal  Hole,”  where,  to  the  edification  of  the  pub- 
lic, he  engages  in  a fisty  combat  with  a notorious  boxer. 
This  scene  was  received  by  the  audience  with  loud  excla- 
mations of  delight,  and  commented  on  by  the  journals,  as 
a faultless  picture  of  English  manners.  “ The  Coal  Hole  ” 
being  on  the  banks  of  the  Thames,  a nobleman  — Lord 
Melbourn  ! — has  chosen  the  tavern  as  a rendezvous  for  a 
gang  of  pirates,  who  are  to  have  their  ship  in  waiting,  in 


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THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK . 


order  to  carry  off  a young  lady  witli  whom  his  lordship  is 
enamored.  It  need  not  be  said  that  Kean  arrives  at  the 
nick  of  time,  saves  the  innocent  Meess  Anna , and  exposes 
the  infamy  of  the  Peer.  A violent  tirade  against  noblemen 
ensues  and  Lord  Melbourn  slinks  away,  disappointed,  to 
meditate  revenge.  Kean’s  triumphs  continue  through  all 
the  acts  : the  Ambassadress  falls  madly  in  love  with  him  ; 
the  Prince  becomes  furious  at  his  ill  success,  and  the  Am- 
bassador dreadfully  jealous.  They  pursue  Kean  to  his 
dressing-room  at  the  theatre ; where,  unluckily,  the  Ambas- 
sadress herself  has  taken  refuge.  Dreadful  quarrels  ensue ; 


the  tragedian  grows  suddenly  mad  upon  the  stage,  and  so 
cruelly  insults  the  Prince  of  Wales  that  his  Koyal  High- 
ness determines  to  send  him  to  Botany  Bay.  His  sentence, 
however,  is  commuted  to  banishment  to  Kew  York  ; whither, 
of  course,  Miss  Anna  accompanies  him ; rewarding  him, 
previously,  with  her  hand  and  twenty  thousand  a year  ! 

This  wonderful  performance  was  gravely  received  and 
admired  by  the  people  of  Paris  : the  piece  was  considered 
to  be  decidedly  moral,  because  the  popular  candidate  was 


FRENCH  DRAMAS  AND  MELODRAMAS. 


295 


made  to  triumph  throughout,  and  to  triumph  in  the  most 
virtuous  manner  ; for  according  to  the  French  code  of  mor- 
als, success  among  women  is,  at  once,  the  proof  and  the 
reward  of  virtue. 

The  sacred  personage  introduced  in  Dumas’s  play  behind 
a cloud,  figures  bodily  in  the  piece  of  the  Massacre  of  the 
Innocents , represented  at  Paris  last  year.  She  appears  un- 
der a different  name,  but  the  costume  is  exactly  that  of 
Carlo  Dolce’s  Madonna ; and  an  ingenious  fable  is  arranged, 
the  interest  of  which  hangs  upon  the  grand  Massacre  of 
the  Innocents,  perpetrated  in  the  fifth  act.  One  of  the 
chief  characters  is  Jean  le  Precurseur , who  threatens  woe 
to  Herod  and  his  race,  and  is  beheaded  by  orders  of  that 
sovereign. 

In  the  Festin  de  Balthazar , we  are  similarly  introduced 
to  Daniel,  and  the  first  scene  is  laid  by  the  waters  of  Baby- 
lon, where  a certain  number  of  captive  Jews  are  seated  in 
melancholy  postures ; a Babylonian  officer  enters,  exclaim- 
ing, “Chantez  nous  quelques  chansons  de  Jerusalem,”  and 
the  request  is  refused  in  the  language  of  the  Psalm.  Bel- 
shazzar’s Feast  is  given  in  a grand  tableau,  after  Martin’s 
picture.  That  painter,  in  like  manner,  furnished  scenes 
for  the  Deluge.  Vast  numbers  of  schoolboys  and  children 
are  brought  to  see  these  pieces ; the  lower  classes  delight 
in  them.  The  famous  Juif  Errant , at  the  theatre  of  the 
Porte  St.  Martin,  was  the  first  of  the  kind,  and  its  prodig- 
ious success,  no  doubt,  occasioned  the  number  of  imitations 
which  the  other  theatres  have  produced. 

The  taste  of  such  exhibitions,  of  course,  every  English 
person  will  question  ; but  we  must  remember  the  manners 
of  the  people  among  whom  they  are  popular;  and,  if  I may 
be  allowed  to  hazard  such  an  opinion,  there  is  in  every  one 
of  these  Boulevard  mysteries,  a kind  of  rude  moral.  The 
Boulevard  writers  don’t  pretend  to  “ tabernacles  ” and  di- 
vine gifts,  like  Madame  Sand  and  Dumas  before  mentioned. 
If  they  take  a story  from  the  sacred  books,  they  garble  it 
without  mercy,  and  take  sad  liberties  with  the  text ; but 
they  do  not  deal  in  descriptions  of  the  agreeably  wicked, 
or  ask  pity  and  admiration  for  tender  hearted  criminals 
and  philanthropic  murderers,  as  their  betters  do.  Vice  is 
vice  on  the  Boulevard ; and  it  is  fine  to  hear  the  audience, 
as  a tyranc  king  roars  out  cruel  sentences  of  death,  or  a 
bereaved  mother  pleads  for  the  life  of  her  child,  making 
their  remarks  on  the  circumstances  of  the  scene.  “ Ah,  le 


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FRENCH  DRAMAS  AND  MELODRAMAS. 


297 


gredin  ! ” growls  an  indignant  countryman.  “ Quel  mom 
stre  ! ” says  a grisette,  in  a fury.  You  see  very  fat  old  men 
crying  like  babies,  and,  like  babies,  sucking  enormous  sticks 
of  barley-sugar.  Actors  and  audience  enter  warmly  into 
the  illusion  of  the  piece ; and  so  especially  are  the  former 
affected,  that  at  Franconi’s,  where  the  battles  of  the 
Empire  are  represented,  there  is  as  regular  gradation  in  the 
ranks  of  the  mimic  army  as  in  the  real  imperial  legions. 
After  a man  has  served,  with  credit,  for  a certain  number  of 
years  in  the  line,  he  is  promoted  to  be  an  officer  — an  act- 
ing officer.  If  he  conducts  himself  well,  he  may  rise  to  be 
a Colonel  or  General  of  Divison ; if  ill,  he  is  degraded  to 
the  ranks  again  ; or,  worst  degradation  of  all,  drafted  into 
a regiment  of  Cossacks  or  Austrians.  Cossacks  is  the  low- 
est depth,  however : nay,  it  is  said  that  the  men  who  per- 
form these  Cossack  parts  receive  higher  wages  than  the 
mimic  grenadiers  and  old  guard.  They  will  not  consent 
to  be  beaten  every  night,  even  in  play ; to  be  pursued  in 
hundreds,  by  a handful  of  French;  to  fight  against  their 
beloved  Emperor.  Surely  there  is  fine  hearty  virtue  in 
this,  and  pleasant  childlike  simplicity. 

So  that  while  the  drama  of  Victor  Hugo,  Dumas,  and  the 
enlightened  classes,  is  profoundly  immoral  and  absurd,  the 
drama  of  the  common  people  is  absurd,  if  you  will,  but 
good  and  right-hearted.  I have  made  notes  of  one  or  two 
of  these  pieces,  which  all  have  good  feeling  and  kindness 
in  them,  which  turn,  as  the  reader  will  see,  upon  one  or 
two  favorite  points  of  popular  morality.  A drama  that 
obtained  a vast  success  at  the  Porte  St.  Martin  was  “La 
Duchesse  de  la  Vauballiere.  ” The  Duchess  is  the  daughter 
of  a poor  farmer,  who  was  carried  off  in  the  first  place,  and 
then  married  by  M.  le  Due  de  la  Vauballiere,  a terrible 
roue,  the  farmer’s  landlord,  and  the  intimate  friend  of 
Philippe  d’Orleans,  the  Eegent  of  France. 

Now  the  Duke,  in  running  away  with  the  lady,  intended 
to  dispense  altogether  with  ceremony,  and  make  of  Julie 
anything  but  his  wife ; but  Georges,  her  father,  and  one 
Morisseau,  a notary,  discovered  him  in  his  dastardly  act, 
and  pursued  him  to  the  very  feet  of  the  Eegent,  who  com- 
pelled the  pair  to  marry  and  make  it  up. 

Julie  complies  ; but  though  she  becomes  a Duchess,  her 
heart  remains  faithful  to  her  old  flame,  Adrian,  the  doctor; 
and  she  declares  that,  beyond  the  ceremony,  no  sort  of  inti- 
macy shall  take  place  between  her  husband  and  herself. 


298 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK . 


Then  the  Duke  begins  to  treat  her  in  the  most  ungentle- 
manlike manner  : he  abuses  her  in  every  possible  way ; he 
introduces  improper  characters  into  her  house ; and,  finally, 
becomes  so  disgusted  with  her,  that  he  determines  to  make 
away  with  her  altogether. 

For  this  purpose,  he  sends  forth  into  the  highways  and 
seizes  a doctor,  bidding  him,  on  pain  of  death,  to  write  a 
poisonous  prescription  for  Madame  la  Duchesse.  She  swal- 
lows the  potion ; and  0 horror ! the  doctor  turns  out  to  be 
Dr.  Adrian ; whose  woe  may  be  imagined,  upon  finding  that 
he  has  been  thus  committing  murder  on  his  true  love ! 

Let  not  the  reader,  however,  be  alarmed  as  to  the  fate  of 
the  heroine  ; no  heroine  of  a tragedy  ever  yet  died  in  the 
third  act ; and,  accordingly,  the  Duchess  gets  up  perfectly 
well  again  in  the  fourth,  through  the  instrumentality  of 
Morisseau,  the  good  lawyer. 

And  now  it  is  that  vice  begins  to  be  really  punished. 
The  Duke,  who,  after  killing  his  wife,  thinks  it  necessary 
to  retreat,  and  take  refuge  in  Spain,  is  tracked  to  the  bor- 
ders of  that  country  by  the  virtuous  notary,  and  there 
receives  such  a lesson  as  he  will  never  forget  to  his  dying 

day- 

Morisseau,  in  the  first  instance,  produces  a deed  ( signed 
by  his  Holiness  the  Pope  ),  which  annuls  the  marriage  of 
Duke  de  la  Vauballiere ; then  another  deed,  by  which  it  is 
proved  that  he  was  not  the  eldest  son  of  old  La  Vauballiere, 
the  former  Duke ; then  another  deed,  by  which  he  shows 
that  old  La  Vauballiere  ( who  seems  to  have  been  a disrepu- 
table old  fellow  ) was  a bigamist,  and  that,  in  consequence, 
the  present  man,  styling  himself  Duke,  is  illegitimate ; and 
finally,  Morisseau  brings  forward  another  document,  which 
proves  that  the  regular  Duke  is  no  other  than  Adrian,  the 
doctor  ! 

Thus  it  is  that  love,  law,  and  physic  combined,  triumph 
over  the  horrid  machinations  of  this  star-and-gartered  lib- 
ertine. 

“ Hermann  PIvrogne”  is  another  piece  of  the  same  order  ; 
and  though  not  very  refined,  yet  possesses  considerable 
merit.  As  in  the  case  of  the  celebrated  Captain  Smith  of 
Halifax,  who  “ took  to  drinking  ratafia,  and  thought  of  poor 
Miss  Bailey,  ” — a woman  and  the  bottle  have  been  the 
cause  of  Hermann’s  ruin.  Deserted  by  his  mistress,  who 
has  been  seduced  from  him  by  a base  Italian  Count,  Her- 
mann, a German  artist,  gives  himself  entirely  up  to  liquor 


FRENCH  DRAMAS  AND  MELODRAMAS . 


299 


and  revenge  : but  when  he  finds  that  force,  and  not  infidel- 
ity, has  been  the  cause  of  his  mistress’s  ruin,  the  reader 
can  fancy  the  indignant  ferocity  with  which  he  pursues  the 
infame  ravisseur.  A scene,  which  is  really  full  of  spirit, 
and  excellently  well  acted,  here  ensues ! Hermann  pro- 
poses to  the  Count,  on  the  eve  of  their  duel,  that  the  sur- 
vivor should  bind  himself  to  espouse  the  unhappy  Marie  ; 
but  the  Count  declares  himself  to  be  already  married,  and 
the  student,  finding  a duel  impossible  (for  his  object  was 
to  restore,  at  all  events,  the  honor  of  Marie),  now  only 
thinks  of  his  revenge,  and  murders  the  Count.  Pres- 
ently, two  parties  of  men  enter  Hermann’s  apartment : one 
is  a company  of  students,  who  bring  him  the  news  that  he 
has  obtained  the  prize  of  painting;  the  other  the  policemen, 
who  carry  him  to  prison,  to  suffer  the  penalty  of  murder. 

I could  mention  many  more  plays  in  which  the  popular 
morality  is  similarly  expressed.  The  seducer,  or  rascal  of 
the  piece,  is  always  an  aristocrat, — a wicked  count,  or  licen- 
tious marquis,  who  is  brought  to  condign  punishment  just 
before  the  fall  of  the  curtain.  And  too  good  reason  have  the 
French  people  had  to  lay  such  crimes  to  the  charge  of  the 
aristocracy,  who  are  expiating  now,  on  the  stage,  the  wrongs 
which  they  did  a hundred  years  since.  The  aristocracy  is 
dead  now  ; but  the  theatre  lives  upon  traditions  ; and  don’t 
let  us  be  too  scornful  at  such  simple  legends  as  are  handed 
down  by  the  people  from  race  to  race.  Vulgar  prejudice 
against  the  great  it  may  be  ; but  prejudice  against  the 
great  is  only  a rude  expression  of  sympathy  with  the  poor ; 
long,  therefore,  may  fat  fynciers  blubber  over  mimic  woes, 
and  honest  proletaires  shake  their  fists,  shouting — “ Gredin, 
scelerat,  monstre  de  marquis  ! ” and  such  republican  cries. 

Remark,  too,  another  development  of  this  same  popular 
feeling  of  dislike  against  men  in  power.  What  a number 
of  plays  and  legends  have  we  ( the  writer  has  submitted  to 
the  public,  in  the  preceding  pages,  a couple  of  specimens ; 
one  of  Trench,  and  the  other  of  Polish  origin, ) in  which 
that  great  and  powerful  aristocrat,  the  Devil,  is  made  to  be 
miserably  tricked,  humiliated,  and  disappointed  ? A play 
of  this  class,  which,  in  the  midst  of  all  its  absurdities  and 
claptraps,  had  much  of  good  in  it,  was  called  u Le  Maudit 
des  Mers.  ” Le  Maudit  is  a Dutch  captain,  who,  in  the 
midst  of  a storm,  while  his  crew  were  on  their  knees  at 
prayers,  blasphemed  and  drank  punch ; but  what  was  his 
astonishment  at  beholding  an  archangel  with  a sword  all 


300 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK 


covered  with  flaming  resin,  who  told  him  that  as  he,  in  this 
hour  of  danger,  was  too  daring,  or  too  wicked,  to  utter  a 
prayer,  he  never  should  cease  roaming  the  seas  until  he 
could  find  some  being  who  would  pray  to  heaven  for  him  ! 

Once  only,  in  a hundred  years,  was  the  skipper  allowed  to 
land  for  this  purpose ; and  this  piece  runs  through  four 
centuries,  in  as  many  acts,  describing  the  agonies  and 
unavailing  attempts  of  the  miserable  Dutchman.  Willing 
to  go  any  lengths  in  order  to  obtain  his  prayer,  he,  in  the 
second  act,  betrays  a Virgin  of  the  Sun  to  a follower  of 
Pizarro : and,  in  the  third,  assassinates  the  heroic  William 
of  Nassau;  but  ever  before  the  dropping  of  the  curtain, 
the  angel  and  sword  make  their  appearance : — “ Treach- 
ery, ” says  the  spirit,  “ cannot  lessen  thy  punishment ; — 
crime  will  not  obtain  thy  release  ! ■ — A la  mer  ! & la  mer  ! ” 
and  the  poor  devil  returns  to  the  ocean,  to  be  lonely,  and 
tempest-tossed,  and  sea-sick  for  a hundred  years  more. 

But  his  woes  are  destined  to  end  with  the  fourth  act. 
Having  landed  in  America,  where  the  peasants  on  the  sea- 
shore, all  dressed  in  Italian  costumes,  are  celebrating,  in  a 
quadrille,  the  victories  of  Washington,  he  is  there  lucky 
enough  to  find  a young  girl  to  pray  for  him.  Then  the 
curse  is  removed,  the  punishment  is  over,  and  a celestial 
vessel,  with  angels  on  the  decks  and  “ sweet  little  cherubs  ” 
fluttering  about  the  shrouds  and  the  poop,  appears  to  receive 
him. 

This  piece  was  acted  at  Franconi’s,  where,  for  once,  an 
angel-ship  was  introduced  in  place  of  the  usual  horseman- 
ship. 

One  must  not  forget  to  mention  here,  how  the  English 
nation  is  satirized  by  our  neighbors ; who  have  some  droll 
traditions  regarding  us.  In  one  of  the  little  Christmas 
pieces  produced  at  the  Palais  Eoyal  (satires  upon  the 
follies  of  the  past  twelve  months,  on  which  all  the  small 
theatres  exhaust  their  wit ),  the  celebrated  flight  of  Messrs. 
Green  and  Monck  Mason  was  parodied,  and  created  a good 
deal  of  laughter  at  the  expense  of  John  Bull.  Two  Eng- 
lish noblemen,  Milor  Cricri  and  Milor  Hanneton,  appear 
as  descending  from  a balloon,  and  one  of  them  communi- 
cates to  the  public  the  philosophic  observations  which  were 
made  in  the  course  of  his  aerial  tour. 

“ On  leaving  Vauxhall,  ” says  his  lordship,  “we  drank  a 
bottle  of  Madeira,  as  a health  to  the  friends  from  whom  we 
parted,  and  crunched  a few  biscuits  to  support  nature 


FRENCH  DRAMAS  AND  MELODRAMAS. 


301 


during  the  hours  before  lunch.  In  two  hours  we  arrived  at 
Canterbury,  enveloped  in  clouds  : lunch,  bottled  porter : at 
Dover,  carried  several  miles  in  a tide  of  air,  bitter  cold, 
cherry-brandy  ; crossed  over  the  Channel  safely,  and  thought 
with  pity  of  the  poor  people  who  were  sickening  in  the 
steamboats  below  : more  bottled  porter : over  Calais,  dinner, 
roast-beef  of  Old  England  ; near  Dunkirk,  — night  falling, 
lunar  rainbow,  brandy-and-water ; night  confoundedly  thick ; 
supper,  night-cap  of  rum-punch,  and  so  to  bed.  The  sun 
broke  beautifully  through  the  morning  mist,  as  we  boiled 
the  kettle  and  took  our  breakfast  over  Cologne.  In  a few 
more  hours  we  concluded  this  memorable  voyage,  and 
landed  safely  at  Weilburg,  in  good  time  for  dinner.  ” 

The  joke  here  is  smart  enough ; but  our  honest  neighbors 
make  many  better,  when  they  are  quite  unconscious  of  the 
fun.  Let  us  leave  plays,  for  a moment,  for  poetry,  and, 
take  an  instance  of  French  criticism,  concerning  England, 
from  the  works  of  a famous  French  exquisite  and  man  of 
letters.  The  hero  of  the  poem  addresses  his  mistress  — 

Londres,  tu  le  sais  trop,  en  fait  de  capitale, 

Est-ce  que  fit  le  ciel  de  plus  froid  et  plus  pale, 

C’est  la  ville  du  gaz,  des  marins,  du  brouillard ; 

On  s *y  couche  a minuit,  et  Ton  s’y  leve  tard ; 

Ses  raouts  tant  vantes  ne  sont  qu’une  boxade, 

Sur  ses  grands  quais  jamais  echelle  ou  serenade, 

Mais  de  volumineux  bourgeois  pris  de  porter 
Qui  passent  sans  lever  le  front  a Westminster; 

Et  n’etait  sa  foret  de  mats  per^ant  la  brume, 

Sa  tour  dont  a minuit  le  vieil  ceil  s’allume, 

Et  tes  deux  yeux,  Zerline,  illumines  bien  plus, 

Je  dirais  que,  ma  foi,  des  romans  que  j’ai  lus, 

II  n'en  est  pas  un  seul,  plus  lourd,  plus  lethariique 
Que  cette  nation  qu’on  nomine  Britannique! 

The  writer  of  the  above  lines  ( which  let  any  man  who 
can  translate  ) is  Monsieur  Roger  de  Beauvoir,  a gentleman 
who  actually  lived  man}^  months  in  England,  as  an  attache 
to  the  embassy  of  M.  de  Polignac.  He  places  the  heroine 
of  his  tale  in  a petit  reduit  pr£s  le  Strand , “ with  a green 
and  fresh  jalousie,  and  a large  blind,  let  down  all  day;  you 
fancied  you  were  entering  a bath  of  Asia,  as  soon  as  you 
had  passed  the  perfumed  threshold  of  this  charming 
retreat ! ” He  next  places  her  — - 

Dans  un  square  ecarte,  morne  et  couverte  de  givre, 

Ou  se  cache  un  hotel,  aux  vieux  lions  de  cuivre; 


302 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK 


and  the  hero  of  the  tale,  a young  French  poet,  who  is  in 
London,  is  truly  unhappy  in  that  village. 

Arthur  desseche  et  meurt.  Dans  la  ville  de  Sterne, 

Rien  qu'en  voyant  le  peuple  il  a le  mal  de  mer; 

II  n’aime  ni  le  Pare,  gai  eomme  une  citerne, 

Ni  le  tir  au  pigeon,  ni  le  soda-water  * 

Liston  ne  le  fait  plus  sourciller!  II  rumine 

Sur  les  trottoirs  du  Strand,  droit  coniine  un  echiquier, 

Contre  le  peuple  anglais,  les  negres,  la  vermine, 

Et  les  mille  cokneys  du  peuple  boutiquier, 

Contre  tous  les  bas-bleus,  contre  les  patissieres, 

Les  parieurs  d’Epsom,  le  gin,  le  parlement, 

La  quaterly , le  roi,  la  pluie  et  les  libraires, 

Dont  il  ne  touche  plus,  helas  ! un  sou  d’argent! 

Et  cliaque  gentleman  lui  dit : L'heureux  poete  : 

“L’heureux  poete  77  indeed  ! I question  if  a poet  in  this 
wide  world  is  so  happy  as  M.  de  Beauvoir,  or  has  made 
such  wonderful  discoveries.  “ The  bath  of  Asia,  with 
green  jalousies/7  in  which  the  lady  dwells ; “ the  old  hotel, 
with  copper  lions,  in  a lonely  square  ; 77  — were  ever  such 
things  heard  of,  or  imagined,  but  by  a Frenchman  ? The 
sailors,  the  negroes,  the  vermin,  whom  he  meets  in  the 
street,  — how  great  and  happy  are  all  these  discoveries! 
Liston  no  longer  makes  the  happy  poet  frown  ; and  “ gin,77 
“ cokneys,77  and  the  “ quaterly 77  have  not  the  least  effect 
upon  him  ! And  this  gentleman  has  lived  many  months 
amongst  us;  admires  Williams  Shakspear , the  “ grave  et 
vieux  prophete,77  as  he  calls  him,  and  never,  for  an  instant, 
doubts  that  his  description  contains  anything  absurd  ! 

I don’t  know  whether  the  great  Dumas  has  passed  any 
time  in  England ; but  his  plays  show  a similar  intimate 
knowledge  of  our  habits.  Thus  in  Kean , the  stage-manager 
is  made  to  come  forward  and  address  the  pit,  with  a speech 
beginning,  “My  Lords  and  Gentlemen  ; 77  and  a company  of 
Englishwomen  are  introduced  (at  the  memorable  “Coal 
Hole  77 ),  and  they  all  wear  'pinafores  ; as  if  the  British 
female  were  in  the  invariable  habit  of  wearing  this  outer 
garment,  or  slobbering  her  gown  without  it.  There  was 
another  celebrated  piece,  enacted  some  years  since,  upon 
the  subject  of  Queen  Caroline,  where  our  late  adored  sover- 
eign, G-eorge,  was  made  to  play  a most  despicable  part ; and 


* The  italics  are  the  author's  own. 


FRENCH  DRAMAS  AND  MELODRAMAS . 


303 

where  Signor  Bergami  fought  a duel  with  Lord  London- 
derry. In  the  last  act  of  this  play,  the  House  of  Lords 
was  represented,  and  Sir  Brougham  made  an  eloquent 
speech  in  the  Queen’s  favor.  Presently  the  shouts  of  the 
mob  were  heard  without ; from  shouting  they  proceeded  to 
pelting ; and  pasteboard-brickbats  and  cabbages  came  flying 
among  the  representatives  of  our  hereditary  legislature. 
At  this  unpleasant  juncture,  Sir  Harding e,  the  Secretary- 
at-War,  rises  and  calls  in  the  military  ; the  act  ends  in  a 
general  row,  and  the  ignominious  fall  of  Lord  Liverpool, 
laid  low  by  a brickbat  from  the  mob ! 


The  description  of  these  scenes  is,  of  course,  quite  in- 
capable of  conveying  any  notion  of  their  general  effect. 
You  must  have  the  solemnity  of  the  actors,  as  they  Meess 
and  Milor  one  another,  and  the  perfect  gravity  and  good 
faith  with  which  the  audience  listen  to  them.  Our  stage 
Frenchman  is  the  old  Marquis,  with  sword,  and  pigtail, 
and  spangled  court  coat.  The  Englishman  of  the  French 
theatre  has,  invariably,  a red  wig,  and  almost  always 
leather  gaiters,  and  a long  white  upper  Benjamin : he  re- 
mains as  he  was  represented  in  the  old  caricatures  after  the 
peace,  when  Vernet  designed  him. 

And  to  conclude  this  catalogue  of  blunders : in  the 
famous  piece  of  the  “Naufrage  de  la  Meduse,”  the  first  act 


304 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK. 


is  laid  on  board  an  English  ship-of-war,  all  the  officers  of 
which  appeared  in  light  blue  or  green  coats  ( the  lamp-light 
prevented  our  distinguishing  the  color  accurately),  and 

TOP-BOOTS  ! 

Let  us  not  attempt  to  deaden  the  force  of  this  tremen- 
dous blow  by  any  more  remarks.  The  force  of  blundering 
can  go  no  further.  Would  a Chinese  playwright  or  painter 
have  stranger  notions  about  the  barbarians  than  our  neigh- 
bors, who  are  separated  from  us  but  by  two  hours  of  salt 
water  ? 


MEDITATIONS 
AT  VERSAILLES. 


HE  palace  of  Versailles  has 
been  turned  into  a bric-a-brac 
shop  of  late  years  and  its 
time-honored  walls  have  been 
covered  with  many  thousand 
yards  of  the  worst  pictures  that 
eye  ever  looked  on.  I don’t 
know  how  many  leagues  of 
battles  and  sieges  the  unhappy 
visitor  is  now  obliged  to  march 
through,  amidst  a crowd  of 
chattering  Paris  cockneys,  who 
are  never  tired  of  looking  at 
the  glories  of  the  Grenadier 
Fran^ais  ; to  the  chronicling  of 
whose  deeds  this  old  palace  of 
the  old  kings  is  now  altogether 
devoted.  A whizzing,  scream- 
ing steam-engine  rushes  hither 
from  Paris,  bringing  shoals  of 
badauds  in  its  wake.  The  old  coucous  are  all  gone,  and 
their  place  knows  them  no  longer.  Smooth  asphaltum 
terraces,  tawdry  lamps,  and  great  hideous  Egyptian  obe- 
lisks, have  frightened  them  away  from  the  pleasant  station 
they  used  to  occupy  under  the  trees  of  the  Champs  Elysees ; 
and  though  the  old  coucous  were  just  the  most  uncomfort- 
able vehicles  that  human  ingenuity  ever  constructed,  one 
can’t  help  looking  back  to  the  days  of  their  existence  with 
a tender  regret ; for  there  was  pleasure  then  in  the  little 
trip  of  three  leagues  : and  who  ever  had  pleasure  in  a rail- 
way journey?  Does  any  reader  of  this  venture  to  say  that, 
20  305 


306 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK. 


on  such  a voyage,  he  ever  dared  to  be  pleasant  ? Do  the 
most  hardened  stokers  joke  with  one  another  ? I don’t 
believe  it.  Look  into  every  single  car  of  the  train,  and  you 
will  see  that  every  single  face  is  solemn.  They  take  their 
seats  gravely,  and  are  silent,  for  the  most  part,  during  the 
journey ; they  dare  not  look  out  of  window,  for  fear  of 
being  blinded  by  the  smoke  that  comes  whizzing  by,  or  of 
losing  their  heads  in  one  of  the  windows  of  the  down  train  ; 
they  ride  for  miles  in  utter  damp  and  darkness  : through 
awful  pipes  of  brick,  that  have  been  run  pitilessly  through 
the  bowels  of  gentle  mother  earth,  the  cast-iron  Franken- 
stein of  an  engine  gallops  on, •puffing  and  screaming.  Does 
any  man  pretend  to  say  that  he  enjoys  the  journey  ? — he 
might  as  well  say  that  he  enjoyed  having  his  hair  cut;  he 
bears  it,  but  that  is  all:  he  will  not  allow  the  world  to 
laugh  at  him,  for  any  exhibition  of  slavish  fear ; and  pre- 
tends, therefore,  to  be  at  his  ease ; but  he  is  afraid : nay, 
ought  to  be,  under  the  circumstances.  I am  sure  Hannibal 
or  Napoleon  would,  were  they  locked  suddenly  into  a car; 
there  kept  close  prisoners  for  a certain  number  of  hours, 
and  whirled  along  at  this  dizzy  pace.  You  can’t  stop,  if 
you  would:  — you  may  die,  but  you  can’t  stop;  the  engine 
may  explode  upon  the  road,  and  up  you  go  along  with  it ; 
or,  may  be  a bolter  and  take  a fancy  to  go  down  a hill,  or 
into  a river : all  this  you  must  bear,  for  the  privilege  of 
travelling  twenty  miles  an  hour. 

This  little  journey,  then,  from  Paris  to  Versailles,  that 
used  to  be  so  merry  of  old,  has  lost  its  pleasures  since  the 
disappearance  of  the  coucous  ; and  I would  as  lief  have  for 
companions  the  statues  that  lately  took  a coach  from  the 
bridge  opposite  the  Chamber  of  Deputies,  and  stepped  out 
in  the  court  of  Versailles,  as  the  most  part  of  the  people 
who  now  travel  on  the  railroad.  The  stone  figures  are  not  a 
whit  more  cold  and  silent  than  these  persons,  who  used  to 
be,  in  the  old  coucous , so  talkative  and  merry.  The  prat- 
tling grisette  and  her  swain  from  the  Ecole  de  Droit ; the 
huge  Alsacian  carabineer,  grimly  smiling  under  his  sandy 
moustaches  and  glittering  brass  helmet ; the  jolly  nurse,  in 
red  calico,  who  had  been  to  Paris  to  show  mamma  her 
darling  Lolo,  or  Auguste  ; — what  merry  companions  used 
one  to  find  squeezed  into  the  crazy  old  vehicles  that  for- 
merly performed  the  journey  ! But  the  age  of  horse-flesh 
is  gone  — that  of  engineers,  economists,  and  calculators  has 
succeeded ; and  the  pleasure  of  coucoudom  is  extinguished 


MEDITATIONS  AT  VERSAILLES . 


307 


for  ever.  Why  not  mourn  over  it,  as  Mr.  Burke  did  over 
his  cheap  defence  of  nations  and  unbought  grace  of  life ; 
that  age  of  chivalry,  which  he  lamented,  apropos  of  a trip 
to  Versailles,  some  half  a century  back  ? 

Without  stopping  to  discuss  (as  might  be  done,  in  rather 
a neat  and  successful  manner  ) whether  the  age  of  chivalry 
was  cheap  or  dear,  and  whether,  in  the  time  of  the  un- 
bought grace  of  life,  there  was  not  more  bribery,  robbery, 
villainy,  tyranny,  and  corruption,  than  exists  even  in  our 
own  happy  days,  — let  us  make  a few  moral  and  historical 
remarks  upon  the  town  of  Versailles ; where  between  rail- 
road and  coucou , we  are  surely  arrived  by  this  time. 

The  town  is,  certainly,  the  most  moral  of  towns.  You 
pass  from  the  railroad  station  through  a long,  lonely  suburb, 
with  dusty  rows  of  stunted  trees  on  either  side,  and  some 
few  miserable  beggars,  idle  boys*  and  ragged  old  women 
under  them.  Behind  the  trees  are  gaunt,  mouldy  houses  ; 
palaces  once,  where  ( in  the  days  of  the  unbought  grace  of 
life)  the  cheap  defence  of  nations  gambled,  ogled,  swin- 
dled, intrigued ; whence  high-born  duchesses  used  to  issue, 
in  old  times,  to  act  as  chambermaids  to  lovely  Du  Barri  ; 
and  mighty  princes  rolled  away,  in  gilt  caroches,  hot  for 
the  honor  of  lighting  his  Majesty  to  bed,  or  of  presenting 
his  stockings  when  he  rose,  or  of  holding  his  napkin  when 
he  dined.  Tailors,  chandlers,  tinmen,  wretched  hucksters, 
and  greengrocers,  are  now  established  in  the  mansions  of 
the  old  peers ; small  children  are  yelling  at  the  doors,  with 
mouths  besmeared  with  bread  and  treacle  ; damp  rags  are 
hanging  out  of  every  one  of  the  windows,  steaming  in  the 
sun ; oyster-shells,  cabbage-stalks,  broken  crockery,  old  pa- 
pers, lie  basking  in  the  same  cheerful  light.  A solitary 
water-cart  goes  jingling  down  the  wide  pavement,  and 
spirts  a feeble  refreshment  over  the  dusty,  thirsty,  stones. 

After  pacing  for  some  time  through  such  dismal  streets, 
we  deboueher  on  the  grande  place  ; and  before  us  lies  the 
palace  dedicated  to  all  the  glories  of  France.  In  the  midst 
of  the  great  lonely  plain  this  famous  residence  of  King 
Louis  looks  low  and  mean.  — Honored  pile!  Time  was 
when  tall  musketeers  and  gilded  body-guards  allowed  none 
to  pass  the  gate.  Fifty  years  ago,  ten  thousand  drunken 
women  from  Paris  broke  through  the  charm ; and  now  a 
tattered  commissioner  will  conduct  you  through  it  for  a 
penny,  and  lead  you  up  to  the  sacred  entrance  of  the 
palace. 


308 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK. 


We  will  not  examine  all  tlie  glories  of  France,  as  here 
they  are  portrayed  in  pictures  and  marble : catalogues  are 
written  about  these  miles  of  canvas,  representing  all  the 
revolutionary  battles,  from  Valmy  to  Waterloo,  — all  the 
triumphs  of  Louis  XIV.  — all  the  mistresses  of  his  succes- 
sor — and  all  the  great  men  who  have  flourished  since  the 
French  empire  began.  Military  heroes  are  most  of  these 
— fierce  constables  in  shining  steel,  marshals  in  voluminous 
wigs,  and  brave  grenadiers  in  bearskin  caps;  some  dozens 
of  whom  gained  crowns,  principalities,  dukedoms ; some 
hundreds,  plunder  and  epaulets  ; some  millions,  death  in 
African  sands,  or  in  icy  Russian  plains,  under  the  guid- 
ance, and  for  the  good,  of  that  arch-hero,  Napoleon.  By 
far  the  greater  part  of  u all  the  glories  ” of  France  ( as  of 
most  other  countries  ) is  made  up  of  these  military  men : 
and  a fine  satire  it  is  on  the  cowardice  of  mankind,  that 
they  pay  such  an  extraordinary  homage  to  the  virtue  called 
courage  : filling  their  history-books  with  tales  about  it,  and 
nothing  but  it. 

Let  them  disguise  the  place,  however,  as  they  will,  and 
plaster  the  walls  with  bad  pictures  as  they  please,  it  will 
be  hard  to  think  of  any  family  but  one,  as  oi^e  traverses 
this  vast  gloomy  edifice.  It  has  not  been  humbled  to  the 
ground,  as  a certain  palace  of  Babel  was  of  yore  ; but  it 
is  a monument  of  fallen  pride,  not  less  awful,  and  would 
afford  matter  for  a whole  library  of  sermons.  The  cheap 
defence  of  nations  expended  a thousand  millions  in  the 
erection  of  this  magnificent  dwelling-place.  Armies  were 
employed,  in  the  intervals  of  their  warlike  labors,  to  level 
hills,  or  pile  them  up;  to  turn  rivers,  and  to  build  aque- 
ducts, and  transplant  woods,  and  construct  smooth  terraces, 
and  long  canals.  A vast  garden  grew  up  in  a wilderness, 
and  a stupendous  palace  in  the  garden,  and  a stately  city 
round  the  palace : the  city  was  peopled  with  parasites,  who 
daily  came  to  do  worship  before  the  creator  of  these  won- 
ders — the  Great  King.  “ Dieu  seul  est  grand,”  said  courtly 
Massillon  ; but  next  to  him,  as  the  prelate  thought,  was  cer- 
tainly Louis,  his  vicegerent  here  upon  earth  — God’s  lieu- 
tenant-governor of  the  world,  — before  whom  courtiers  used 
to  fall  on  their  knees,  and  shade  their  eyes,  as  if  the  light 
of  his  countenance,  like  the  sun,  which  shone  supreme  in 
heaven,  the  type  of  him,  was  too  dazzling  to  bear. 

Did  ever  the  sun  shine  upon  such  a king  before,  in  such 
a palace  ? — or,  rather,  did  such  a king  ever  shine  upon 


MEDITATIONS  AT  VERSAILLES. 


309 


the  sun  ? When  Majesty  came  out  of  his  chamber,  in  the 
midst  of  his  superhuman  splendors,  viz.  in  his  cinnamon 
colored  coat,  embroidered  with  diamonds ; his  pyramid  of 
a wig ; * his  red-heeled  shoes,  that  lifted  him  four  inches 
from  the  ground,  “ that  he  scarcely  seemed  to  touch ; ” 
when  he  came  out,  blazing  upon  the  dukes  and  duchesses 
that  waited  his  rising,  — what  could  the  latter  do,  but 
cover  their  eyes,  and  wink,  and  tremble  ? And  did  he  not 
himself  believe,  as  he  stood  there,  on  his  high  heels,  under 
his  ambrosial  periwig,  that. there  was  something  in  him 
more  than  man  — something  above  Fate  ? 

This,  doubtless,  was  he  fain  to  believe  ; and  if,  on  very 
fine  days,  from  his  terrace  before  his  gloomy  palace  of 
Saint  Germains,  he  could  catch  a glimpse,  in  the  distance, 
of  a certain  white  spire  of  St.  Denis,  where  his  race  lay 
buried,  he  would  say  to  his  courtiers,  with  a sublime  con- 
descension, “ Gentlemen,  you  must  remember  that  I,  too, 
am  mortal.  ” Surely  the  lords  in  waiting  could  hardly 
think  him  serious,  and  vowed  that  his  majesty  always 
loved  a joke.  However,  mortal  or  not,  the  sight  of  that 
sharp  spire  wounded  his  Majesty’s  eyes ; and  is  said,  by 
the  legend,  to  have  caused  the  building  of  the  palace  of 
Babel-Y  ersailles. 

In  the  year  1681,  then,  the  great  king,  with  bag  and 
baggage,  — with  guards,  cooks,  chamberlains,  mistresses, 
Jesuits,  gentlemen,  lackeys,  Fenelons,  Molieres,  Lauzuns, 
Bossuets,  Villars,  Villeroys,  Louvois,  Colberts, — transport- 
ed himself  to  his  new  palace  : the  old  one  being  left  for 
James  of  England  and  Jaquette  his  wife,  when  their  time 
should  come.  And  when  the  time  did  come,  and  James 
sought  his  brother’s  kingdom,  it  is  on  record  that  Louis 
hastened  to  receive  and  console  him,  and  promised  to 
restore,  incontinently,  those  islands  from  which  the  canaille 
had  turned  him.  Between  brothers  such  a gift  was  a 
trifle  ; and  the  courtiers  said  to  one  another  reverently : t 
“ The  Lord  said  unto  my  Lord,  Sit  thou  on  my  right  hand, 
until  I make  thine  enemies  thy  footstool.  ” There  was  no 
blasphemy  in  the  speech  : on  the  contrary,  it  was  gravely 
said,  by  a faithful  believing  man,  who  thought  it  no  shame 


*It  is  fine  to  think  that,  in  the  days  of  his  youth,  his  Majesty  Louis 
XIV.  used  to  powder  his  wig  with  gold-dust. 

t I think  it  is  in  the  amusing “ Memoirs  of  Madame  de  Crequi”  (a 
forgery,  but  a work  remarkable  for  its  learning  and  accuracy)  that  the 
above  anecdote  is  related. 


310 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK 


to  tlie  latter,  to  compare  his  Majesty  with  God  Almighty. 
Indeed,  the  books  of  the  time  will  give  one  a strong  idea 
how  general  was  this  Louis-worship.  I have  just  been 
looking  at  one,  which  was  written  by  an  honest  Jesuit  and 
protege  of  Pere  la  Chaise,  who  dedicates  a book  of  medals 
to  the  august  Infants  of  France,  which  does,  indeed,  go 
almost  as  far  in  print.  He  calls  our  famous  monarch 
u Louis  le  Grand  : — 1,  Pinvincible  ; 2,  le  sage  ; 3,  le  con- 
querant ; 4,  la  merveille  de  son  siecle ; 5,  la  terreur  de  ses 
ennemis ; 6,  Painour  de  ses  peuples  ; 7,  Parbitre  de  la  paix 
et  de  la  guerre  ; 8,  Padmiration  de  Punivers ; 9,  et  digne 
d’en  etre  le  maitre ; 10,  le  modele  d’un  heros  acheve;  11, 
digne  de  Pimmortalite,  et  de  la  veneration  de  tous  les 
sieeles  ! ” 

A pretty  Jesuit  declaration,  truly,  and  a good  honest 
judgment  upon  the  great  King ! In  thirty  years  more  — 1. 
The  invincible  had  heen  beaten  a vast  number  of  times.  2. 
The  sage  was  the  puppet  of  an  artful  old  woman,  who  was 
the  puppet  of  more  artful  priests.  3.  The  conqueror  had 
quite  forgotten  his  early  knack  of  conquering.  5.  The 
terror  of  his  enemies  ( for  4,  the  marvel  of  his  age,  we  pre- 
termit, it  being  a loose  term,  that  may  apply  to  any  person 
or  thing)  was  now  terrified  by  his  enemies  in  turn.  6.  The 
love  of  liis  people  was  as  heartily  detested  by  them  as 
scarcely  any  other  monarch,  not  even  his  great-grandson, 
has  been,  before  or  since.  7.  The  arbiter  of  peace  and  war 
was  fain  to  send  superb  ambassadors  to  kick  their  heels 
in  Dutch  shopkeepers’  ante-chambers.  8,  is  again  a general 
term.  9.  The  man  to  be  master  of  the  universe,  was 
scarcely  master  of  his  own  kingdom.  10.  The  finished 
hero  was  all  but  finished,  in  a very  commonplace  and  vul- 
gar way.  And  11.  The  man  worthy  of  immortality  was 
just  at  the  point  of  death,  without  a friend  to  soothe  or 
deplore  him  ; only  withered  old  Maintenon  to  utter  prayers 
at  his  bedside,  and  croaking  Jesuits  to  prepare  him,*  with 
heaven  knows  what  wretched  tricks  and  mummeries,  for  his 
appearance  in  that  Great  Republic  that  lies  on  the  other 
side  of  the  grave.  In  the  course  of  his  fourscore  splendid 
miserable  years,  he  never  had  but  one  friend,  and  he  ruined 
and  left  her.  Poor  La  Valliere,  what  a sad  tale  is  yours  ! 
“ Look  at  this  Galerie  des  Glaces,  ” cries  Monsieur  Yatout, 
staggering  with  surprise  at  the  appearance  of  the  room,  two 


*They  made  a Jesuit  of  him  on  his  death-bed. 


MEDITATIONS  AT  VERSAILLES . 


311 


hundred  and  forty-two  feet  long,  and  forty  high.  “Here  it 
was  that  Louis  displayed  all  the  grandeur  of  royalty ; and 
such  was  the  splendor  of  his  court,  and  the  luxury  of  the 
times,  that  this  immense  room  could  hardly  contain  the 
crowd  of  courtiers  that  pressed  around  the  monarch.”  Won- 
derful ! wonderful ! Eight  thousand  four  hundred  and 
sixty  square  feet  of  courtiers  ! Give  a square  yard  to  each, 
and  you  have  a matter  of  three  thousand  of  them.  Think 
of  three  thousand  courtiers  per  day,  and  all  the  chopping 
and  changing  of  them  for  near  forty  years : some  of  them 
dying,  some  getting  their  wishes,  and  retiring  to  their 
provinces  to  enjoy  their  plunder;  some  disgraced,  and 
going  home  to  pine  away  out  of  the  light  of  the  sun ; * new 
ones  perpetually  arriving,  — pushing,  squeezing,  for  their 
place,  in  the  crowded  Galerie  des  Glaces.  A quarter  of  a 
million  of  noble  countenances,  at  the  very  least,  must  those 
glasses  have  reflected.  Rouge,  diamonds,  ribbons,  patches, 
upon  the  faces  of  smiling  ladies : towering  periwigs,  sleek 
shaven  crowns,  tufted  moustaches,  scars,  and  grizzled 
whiskers,  worn  by  ministers,  priests,  dandies,  and  grim  old 
commanders.  — So  many  faces,  0 ye  gods  ! and  every  one 
of  them  lies  ! So  many  tongues,  vowing  devotion  and 
respectful  love  to  the  great  King  in  his  six-inch  wig ; and 
only  poor  La  Valliere’s  amongst  them  all  which  had  a word 
of  truth  for  the  dull  ears  of  Louis  of  Bourbon. 

“ Quand  j’aurai  de  la  peine  aux  Carmelites,  ” says  un- 
happy Louise,  about  to  retire  from  these  magnificent 
courtiers  and  their  grand  Galerie  des  Glaces,  “ je  me  sou- 
viendrai  de  ce  que  ces  gens  la  m’ont  fait  souffrir ! ” — A 
troop  of  Bossuets  inveighing  against  the  vanities  of  courts 
could  not  preach  such  an  affecting  sermon.  What  years  of 
anguish  and  wrong  had  the  poor  thing  suffered,  before  these 
sad  words  came  from  her  gentle  lips ! How  these  courtiers 
have  bowed  and  flattered,  kissed  the  ground  on  which  she 
trod,  fought  to  have  the  honor  of  riding  by  her  carriage, 
written  sonnets,  and  called  her  goddess ; who,  in  the  days 
of  her  prosperity,  was  kind  and  beneficent,  gentle  and 
compassionate  to  all ; then  ( on  a certain  day,  when  it  is 
whispered  that  his  Majesty  hath  cast  the  eyes  of  his  gra- 
cious affection  upon  another  ) behold  three  thousand  court- 
iers are  at  the  feet  of  the  new  divinity.  — “0  divine 

* Saint  Simon’s  account  of  Lauzun,  in  disgrace,  is  admirably  face- 
tious and  pathetic ; Lauzuti’s  regrets  are  as  monstrous  as  those  of 
Raleigh  when  deprived  of  the  sight  of  his  adorable  Queen  and  Mis- 
tress, Elizabeth. 


312 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK 


Athenais ! what  blockheads  have  we  been  to  worship  any 
but  you.  — That  a goddess  ? — a pretty  goddess  forsooth  ; 
— a witch,  rather,  who,  for  a while,  kept  our  gracious 
monarch  blind ! Look  at  her : the  woman  limps  as  she 
walks  ; and,  by  sacred  Venus,  her  mouth  stretches  almost 
to  her  diamond  ear-rings  ? ” * The  same  tale  may  be  told 
of  many  more  deserted  mistresses  ; and  fair  Athenais  de 
Montespan  was  to  hear  it  of  herself  one  day.  Meantime, 
while  La  Valliere’s  heart  is  breaking,  the  model  of  a fin- 
ished hero  is  yawning;  as,  on  such  paltry  occasions,  a 
finished  hero  should.  Let  her  heart  break  : a plague  upon 
her  tears  and  repentance  ; what  right  has  she  to  repent  ? 
Away  with  her  to  her  convent.  She  goes,  and  the  finished 
hero  never  sheds  a tear.  What  a noble  pitch  of  stoicism  to 
have  reached  ! Our  Louis  was  so  great,  that  the  little  woes 
of  mean  people  were  beyond  him  : his  friends  died,  his 
mistresses  left  him  ; his  children,  one  by  one,  were  cut  off 
before  his  eyes,  and  great  Louis*  is  not  moved  in  the  slight- 
est degree  ! As  how,  indeed,  should  a god  be  moved? 

I have  often  liked  to  think  about  this  strange  character 
in  the  world,  who  moved  in  it,  bearing  about  a full  belief 
in  his  own  infallibility;  teaching  his  generals  the  art  of 
war,  his  ministers  the  science  of  government,  his  wits  taste, 
his  courtiers  dress ; ordering  deserts  to  become  gardens, 
turning  villages  into  palaces  at  a breath ; and  indeed  the 
august  figure  of  the  man,  as  he  towers  upon  his  throne, 
cannot  fail  to  inspire  one  with  respect  and  awe : — how 
grand  those  flowing  locks  appear  : how  awful  that  sceptre  ; 
how  magnificent  those  flowing  robes  !♦  In  Louis,  surely,  if 
in  any  one,  the  majesty  of  kinghood  is  represented. 

But  a king  is  not  every  inch  a king,  for  all  the  poet 
may  say ; and  it  is  curious  to  see  how  much  precise  majesty 
there  is  in  that  majestic  figure  of  Ludovicus  Bex.  In  the 
plate  opposite,  we  have  endeavored  to  make  the  exact  calcu- 
lation. The  idea  of  kingly  dignity  is  equally  strong  in  the 
two  outer  figures ; and  you  see,  at  once,  that  majesty  is 
made  out  of  the  wig,  the  high-heeled  shoes,  and  cloak,  all 
fleurs-de-lis  bespangled.  As  for  the  little  lean,  shrivelled, 
paunchy  old  man,  of  five  feet  two,  in  a jacket  and  breeches, 
there  is  no  majesty  in  him  at  any  rate;  and  yet  he  has  just 

* A pair  of  diamond  ear  rings,  given  by  the  King  to  La  Valliere, 
caused  much  scandal ; and  some  lampoons  are  extant,  which  impugn 
the  taste  of  Louis  XIV.  for  loving  a lady  with  such  an  enormous 
mouth. 


MEDITATIONS  AT  VERSAILLES. 


313 


314 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK. 


stepped  out  of  that  very  suit  of  clothes.  Put  the  wig  and 
shoes  on  him,  and  he  is  six  feet  high;  — the  other  frip- 
peries, and  he  stands  before  you  majestic,  imperial,  and 
heroic ! Thus  do  barbers  and  cobblers  make  the  gods  that 
we  worship:  for  do  we  not  all  worship  him  ? Yes ; though 
we  all  know  him  to  be  stupid,  heartless,  short,  of  doubtful 
personal  courage,  worship  and  admire  him  we  must ; and 
have  set  up,  in  our  hearts,  a grand  image  of  him,  endowed 
with  wit,  magnanimity,  valor,  and  enormous  heroical  stat- 
ure. 

And  what  magnanimous  acts  are  attributed  to  him ! or, 
rather,  how  differently  do  we  view  the  actions  of  heroes  and 
common  men,  and  find  that  the  same  thing  shall  be  a won- 
derful virtue  in  the  former,  which,  in  the  latter,  is  only  an 
ordinary  act  of  duty.  Look  at  yonder  window  of  the  king’s 
chamber ; — one  morning  a royal  cane  was  seen  whirling 
out  of  it,  and  plumped  among  the  courtiers  and  guard  of 
honor  below.  King  Louis  had  absolutely,  and  with  his  own 
hand,  flung  his  own  cane  out  of  the  window,  “ because,” 
said  he,  “ I won’t  demean  myself  by  striking  a gentleman  ! ” 
O miracle  of  magnanimity  ! Lauzun  was  not  caned,  be- 
cause he  besought  majesty  to  keep  his  promise,  — only 
imprisoned  for  ten  years  in  Pignerol,  along  with  banished 
Fouquet ; — and  a pretty  story  is  Fouquet’s  too. 

Out  of  the  window  the  king’s  august  head  was  one  day 
thrust,  when  old  Conde  was  painfully  toiling  up  the  steps 
of  the  court  below;.  “ Don’t  hurry  yourself,  my  cousin,  ” 
cries  Magnanimity  ; “ one  who  has  to  carry  so  many  laurels 
cannot  walk  fast.”  At  which  all  the  courtiers,  lackeys, 
mistresses,  chamberlains,  Jesuits,  and  scullions  clasp  their 
hands  and  burst  into  tears.  Men  are  affected  by  the  tale 
to  this  very  day.  For  a century  and  three-quarters,  have  not 
all  the  books  that  speak  of  Versailles,  or  Louis  Quatorze, 
told  the  story  ? — “ Don’t  hurry  yourself,  my  cousin  ! ” 0 

admirable  king  and  Christian  ! what  a pitch  of  condescen- 
sion is  here,  that  the  greatest  king  of  all  the  world  should 
go  for  to  say  anything  so  kind,  and  really  tell  a totter- 
ing old  gentleman,  worn  out  with  gout,  age,  and  wounds, 
not  to  walk  too  fast ! 

What  a proper  fund  of  slavishness  is  there  in  the  compo- 
sition of  mankind,  that  histories  like  these  should  be  found 
to  interest  and  awe  them.  Till  the  world’s  end,  most  like- 
ly, this  story  will  have  its  place  in  the  history-books ; and 
unborn  generations  will  read  it,  and  tenderly  be  moved  by 


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315 


it.  I am  sure  that  Magnanimity  went  to  bed  that  night, 
pleased  and  happy,  intimately  convinced  that  he  had  done 
an  action  of  sublime  virtue,  and  had  easy  slumbers  and 
sweet  dreams,  — especially  if  he  had  taken  a light  supper, 
and  not  too  vehemently  attacked  his  en  cas  de  unit. 

That  famous  adventure,  in  which  the  en  cas  de  unit  was 
brought  into  use,  for  the  sake  of  one  Poquelin  alias  Mo- 
liere  ; — how  often  has  it  been  described  and  admired  ? 
This  Poquelin,  though  king’s  valet-de-chambre,  was  by  pro- 
fession a vagrant ; and  as  such,  looked  coldly  on  by  the 


great  lords  of  the  palace,  who  refused  to  eat  with  him. 
Majesty  hearing  of  this,  ordered  his  en  cas  de  nuit  to  be 
placed  on  the  table,  and  positively  cut  off  a wing  with  his 
own  knife  and  fork  for  Poquelin’s  use.  0 thrice  happy 
Jean  Baptiste  ! The  king  has  actually  sat  down  with  him 
cheek  by  jowl,  had  the  liver-wing  of  a fowl,  and  given  Mo- 
liere  the  gizzard ; put  his  imperial  legs  under  the  same 
mahogany  ( sub  iisdern  trabibus  ).  A man,  after  such  an  hon- 
or, can  look  for  little  else  in  this  world  : he  has  tasted  the 


316 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK. 


utmost  conceivable  earthly  happiness,  and  has  nothing  to 
do  now  but  to  fold  his  arms,  look  up  to  heaven,  and  sing 
“ Nunc  dimittis  ” and  die. 

Do  not  let  us  abuse  poor  old  Louis  on  account  of  this 
monstrous  pride ; but  only  lay  it  to  the  charge  of  the  fools 
who  believed  and  worshipped  it.  If,  honest  man,  he  be- 
lieved himself  to  be  almost  a god,  it  was  only  because  thou- 
sands of  people  had  told  him  so  — people  only  half  liars 
too ; who  did,  in  the  depths  of  their  slavish  respect,  admir^ 
the  man  almost  as  much  as  they  said  they  did.  If,  when 
he  appeared  in  his  five-hundred-million  coat,  as  he  is  said  to 
have  done,  before  ’the  Siamese  ambassadors,  the  courtiers 
began  to  shade  their  eyes  and  long  for  parasols,  as  if  this 
Bourbonie  sun  was  too  hot  for  them  ; indeed,  it  is  no  wonder 
that  he  should  believe  that  there  was  something  dazzling 
about  his  person : he  had  half  a million  of  eager  testimo- 
nies to  this  idea.  Who  was  to  tell  him  the  truth? — Only 
in  the  last  years  of  his  life  did  trembling  courtiers  dare 
whisper  to  him,  after  much  circumlocution,  that  a certain 
battle  had  been  fought  at  a place  called  Blenheim,  and  that 
Eugene  and  Marlborough  had  stopped  his  long  career  of 
triumphs. 

“ On  n’est  plus  heureux  a notre  age,  ” says  the  old  man, 
to  one  of  his  old  generals,  welcoming  Tallard  after,  his  de- 
feat ; and  he  rewards  him  with  honors,  as  if  h&  had  come 
from  a victory.  There  is,  if  you  will,  something  magnani- 
mous in  this  welcome  to  his  conquered  general,  this  stout 
protest  against  Fate.  Disaster  succeeds  disaster ; armies 
after  armies  march  out  to  meet  fiery  Eugene  and  that 
dogged,  fatal  Englishman,  and  disappear  in  the  smoke  of 
the  enemies’  cannon.  Even  at  Versailles  you  may  almost 
hear  it  roaring  at  last ; but  when  courtiers,  who  have  for- 
gotten their  god,  now  talk  of  quitting  this  grand  temple 
of  his,  old  Louis  plucks  up  heart  and  will  never  hear  of 
surrender.  All  the  gold  and  silver  at  Versailles  he  melts, 
to  find  bread  for  his  armies  : all  the  jewels  on  his  five- 
hundred-million  coat  he  pawns  resolutely ; and,  bidding 
Villars  go  and  make  the  last  struggle  but  one,  promises,  if 
his  general  is  defeated,  to  place  himself  at  the  head  of  his 
nobles,  and  die  King  of  France.  Indeed,  after  a man,  for 
sixty  years,  has  been  performing  the  part  of  a hero,  some 
of  the  real  heroic  stuff  must  have  entered  into  his  compo- 
sition, whether  he  would  or  not.  When  the  great  Elliston 
was  enacting  the  part  of  King  George  the  Fourth,  in  the 


MEDITATIONS  AT  VERSAILLES . 


317 


play  of  “ The  Coronation,”  at  Drury  Lane,  the  galleries  ap- 
plauded very  loudly  his  suavity  and  majestic  demeanor,  at 
which  Elliston,  inflamed  by  the  popular  loyalty  ( and  by 
some  fermented  liquor  in  which,  it  is  said,  he  was  in  the 
habit  of  indulging  ) burst  into  tears,  and  spreading  out  his 
arms,  exclaimed  : “ Bless  ye,  bless  ye,  my  people  ! ” Don’t 
let  us  laugh  at  his  Ellistonian  majesty,  nor  at  the  people 
who  clapped  hands  and  yelled  “ bravo ! ” in  praise  of  him. 
The  tipsy  old  manager  did  really  feel  that  he  was  a hero  at 
that  moment ; and  the  people,  wild  with  delight  and  at- 
tachment for  a magnificent  coat  and  breeches,  surely  were 
uttering  the  true  sentiments  of  loyalty : which  consists  in 
reverencing  these  and  other  articles  of  costume.  In  this 
fifth  act,  then,  of  his  long  royal  drama,  old  Louis  performed 
his  part  excellently  ; and  when  the  curtain  drops  upon  him, 
he  lies,  dressed  majestically,  in  a becoming  kingly  attitude, 
as  a king  should. 

The  king  his  successor  has  not  left,  at  Versailles,  half 
so  much  occasion  for  moralizing ; perhaps  the  neighboring 
Parc  aux  Cerfs  would  afford  better  illustrations  of  his  reign. 
The  life  of  his  great  grandsire,  the  Grand  Llama  of  France, 
seems  to  have  frightened  Louis  thew  well-beloved ; who 
understood  that  loneliness  is  one  of  the  necessary  condi- 
tions of  divinity,  and  being  of  a jovial,  companionable  turn, 
aspired  not  beyond  manhood.  Only  in  the  matter  of  ladies 
did  he  surpass  his  predecessor,  as  Solomon  did  David. 
War  he  eschewed,  as  his  grandfather  bade  him;  and  his 
simple  taste  found  little  in  this  world  to  enjoy  beyond  the 
mulling  of  chocolate  and  the  frying  of  pancakes.  Look, 
here  is  the  room  called  Laboratoire  du  Boi,  where,  with  his 
own  hands,  he  made  his  mistress’s  breakfast : — here  is  the 
little  door  through  which,  from  her  apartments  in  the 
upper  story,  the  chaste  Du  Barri  came  stealing  down  to  the 
arms  of  the  weary,  feeble,  gloomy  old  man.  But  of  women 
he  was  tired  long  since,  and  even  pan-cake -frying  had 
palled  upon  him.  What  had  he  to  do,  after  forty  years  of 
reign  ; — after  having  exhausted  everything  ? Every  pleas- 
ure that  Dubois  could  invent  for  his  hot  youth,  or  cun- 
ning Lebel  could  minister  to  his  old  age,  was  flat  and  stale  ; 
used  up  to  the  very  dregs  : every  shilling  in  the  national 
purse  had  been  squeezed  out,  by  Pompadour  and  Du  Barri 
and  such  brilliant  ministers  of  state.  He  had  found  out 
the  vanity  of  pleasure,  as  his  ancestor  had  discovered  the 
vanity  of  glory  : indeed  it  was  high  time  that  he  should 


318 


THE  PARIS  SKETCH  BOOK. 


die.  And  die  he  did ; and  round  liis  tomb,  as  round  that 
of  his  grandfather  before  him,  the  starving  people  sang  a 
dreadful  chorus  of  curses,  which  were  the  only  epitaphs  for 
good  or  for  evil  that  were  raised  to  his  memory. 

As  for  the  courtiers  — the  knights  and  nobles,  the  un- 
bought grace  of  life  — they,  of  course,  forgot  him  in  one 
minute  after  his  death,  as  the  way  is.  When  the  king  dies, 
the  officer  appointed  opens  his  chamber  window,  and  calling 
out  into  the  court  below,  Le  Rot  est  mort,  breaks  his  cane, 
takes  another  and  waves  it,  exclaiming,  Vive  le  Roi ! 
Straightway  all  the  loyal  nobles  begin  yelling  Vive  le  Roi ! 
and  the  officer  goes  round  solemnly  and  sets  yonder  great 
cloek  in  the  Cour  de  Marbre  to  the  hour  of  the  king’s  death. 
This  old  Louis  had  solemnly  ordained ; but  the  Versailles 
clock  was  only  set  twice  : there  was  no  shouting  of  Vive  le 
Roi  when  the  successor  of  Louis  XV.  mounted  to  heaven 
to  join  his  sainted  family. 

Strange  stories  of  the  deaths  of  kings  have  always  been 
very  recreating  and  profitable  to  us : what  a fine  one  is  that 
of  the  death  of  Louis  XV.,  as  Madame  Campan  tells  it. 
One  night  the  gracious  monarch  came  back  ill  from  Tria- 
non ; the  disease  turned  out  to  be  the  small-pox ; so  violent 
that  ten  people  of  those  who  had  to  enter  his  chamber 
caught  the  infection  and  died.  The  whole  court  flies  from 
him  ; only  poor  old  fat  Mesdames  the  King’s  daughters 
persist  in  remaining  at  his  bedside,  and  praying  for  his 
soul’s  welfare. 

On  the  10th  May,  1774,  the  whole  court  had  assembled  at 
the  chateau ; the  (Eil  de  Bceuf  was  full.  The  Dauphin  had 
determined  to  depart  as  soon  as  the  king  had  breathed  his 
last.  And  it  was  agreed  by  the  people  of  the  stables,  with 
those  who  watched  in  the  king’s  room,  that  a lighted  candle 
should  be  placed  in  a window,  and  should  be  extinguished 
as  soon  as  he  had  ceased  to  live.  The  candle  was  put  out. 
At  that  signal,  guards,  pages,  and  squires  mounted  on 
horseback,  and  everything  was  made  ready  for  departure. 
The  Dauphin  was  with  the  Dauphiness,  waiting  together 
for  the  news  of  the  king’s  demise.  An  immense  noise,  as  if 
of  thunder , was  heard  in  the  next  room  ; it  was  the  crowd 
of  courtiers,  who  were  deserting  the  dead  king’s  apartment, 
in  order  to  pay  their  court  to  the  new  power  of  Louis  XVI. 
Madame  de  Xoailles  entered,  and  was  the  first  to  salute  the 
queen  by  her  title  of  Queen  of  France,  and  begged  their 
Majesties  to  quit  their  apartments,  to  receive  the  princes 


MEDITATIONS  AT  VERSAILLES . 


319 


and  great  lords  of  the  court  desirous  to  pay  their  homage 
to  the  new  sovereigns.  Leaning  on  her  husband’s  arm,  a 
handkerchief  to  her  eyes,  in  the  most  touching  attitude, 
Marie  Antoinette  received  these  first  visits.  On  quitting 
the  chamber  where  the  dead  king  lay,  the  Due  de  Ville- 
quier  bade  M.  Anderville,  first  surgeon  of  the  king,  to  open 
and  embalm  the  body : it  would  have  been  certain  death  to 
the  surgeon.  “ I am  ready,  sir,”  said  he ; “ but  whilst  I 
am  operating,  you  must  hold  the  head  of  the  corpse  : your 
charge  demands  it.”  The  Duke  went  away  without  a word, 
and  the  body  was  neither  opened  nor  embalmed.  A few 
humble  domestics  and  poor  workmen  watched  by  the 
remains,  and  performed  the  last  offices  to  their  master. 
The  surgeons  ordered  spirits  of  wine  to  be  poured  into  the 
coffin. 

They  huddled  the  king’s  body  into  a post-chaise  ; and  in 
this  deplorable  equipage,  with  an  escort  of  about  forty  men, 
Louis  the  well-beloved  was  carried,  in  the  dead  of  night, 
from  Versailles  to  St.  Denis,  and  then  thrown  into  the 
tomb  of  the  kings  of  France  ! 

If  any  man  is  curious,  and  can  get  permission,  he  may 
mount  to  the  roof  of  the  palace,  and  see  where  Louis  XVI. 
used  royally  to  amuse  himself,  by  gazing  upon  the  doings 
of  all  the  townspeople  below  with  a telescope.  Behold 
that  balcony,  where,  one  morning,  he,  his  queen,  and  the 
little  Dauphin  stood,  with  Cromwell  G-randison  Lafayette 
by  their  side,  who  kissed  her  Majesty’s  hand,  and  protected 
her ; and  then,  lovingly  surrounded  by  his  people,  the  king 
got  into  a coach  and  came  to  Paris : nor  did  his  Majesty 
ride  much  in  coaches  after  that. 

There  is  a portrait  of  the  king,  in  the  upper  galleries, 
clothed  in  red  and  gold,  riding  a fat  horse,  brandishing  a 
sword,  on  which  the  word  “ Justice”  is  inscribed,  and 
looking  remarkably  stupid  and  uncomfortable.  You  see 
that  the  horse  will  throw  him  at  the  very  first  fling ; and 
as  for  the  sword,  it  never  was  made  for  such  hands  as  his, 
which  were  good  at  holding  a corkscrew  or  a carving-knife, 
but  not  clever  at  the  management  of  weapons  of  war. 
Let  those  pity  him  who  will : call  him  saint  and  martyr  if 
you  please  ; but  a martyr  to  what  principle  was  he  ? Did 
he  frankly  support  either  party  in  his  kingdom,  or  cheat 
and  tamper  with  both  ? He  might  have  escaped ; but  he 
must  have  his  supper : and  so  his  family  was  butchered 
and  his  kingdom  lost,  and  he  had  his  bottle  of  Burgundy  in 


320 


THE  T A 1US  SKETCH  BOOK 


comfort  at  Vare lines.  A single  charge  upon  the  fatal  10th 
of  August,  and  the  monarchy  might  have  been  his  once 
more ; but  he  is  so  tender-hearted,  that  he  lets  his  friends 
be  murdered  before  his  eyes  almost : or,  at  least,  when  he 
has  turned  his  back  upon  his  duty  and  his  kingdom,  and 
has  skulked  for  safety  into  the  reporters’  box,  at  the  Na- 
tional Assembly.  There  were  hundreds  of  brave  men  who 
died  that  day,  and  were  martyrs,  if  you  will ; poor  neglected 
tenth-rate  courtiers,  for  the  most  part,  who  had  forgotten 
old  slights  and  disappointments,  and  left  their  places  of 
safety  to  come  and  die,  if  need  were,  sharing  in  the  supreme 
hour  of  the  monarchy.  Monarchy  was  a great  deal  too 
humane  to  fight  along  with  these,  and  so  left  them  to  the 
pikes  of  Santerre  and  the  mercy  of  the  men  of  the  Sections. 
But  we  are  wandering  a good  ten  miles  from  Versailles, 
and  from  the  deeds  which  Louis  XVI.  performed  there. 

He  is  said  to  have  been  such  a smart  journeyman  black- 
smith, that  he  might,  if  Fate  had  not  perversely  placed  a 
crown  on  his  head,  have  earned  a couple  of  louis  every  week 
by  the  making  of  locks  and  keys.  Those  who  will  may 
see  the  workshop  where  he  employed  many  useful  hours  : 
Madame  Elizabeth  was  at  prayers  meanwhile ; the  queen 
was  making  pleasant  parties  with  her  ladies.  Monsieur 
the  Count  d’ Artois  was  learning  to  dance  on  the  tight-rope ; 
and  Monsieur  de  Provence  was  cultivating  V eloquence  du 
billet  and  studying  his  favorite  Horace.  It  is  said  that 
each  member  of  the  august  family  succeeded  remarkably 
well  in  his  or  her  pursuits ; big  Monsieur’s  little  notes  are 
still  cited.  At  a minuet  or  syllabub,  poor  Antoinette  was 
unrivalled;  and  Charles,  on  the  tight-rope,  was  so  graceful 
and  so  gentil , that  Madame  Saqui  might  envy  him.  The 
time  only  was  out  of  joint.  0 cursed  spite,  that  ever  such 
harmless  creatures  as  these  were  bidden  to  right  it ! 

A walk  to  the  little  Trianon  is  both  pleasing  and  moral : 
no  doubt  the  reader  has  seen  the  pretty  fantastical  gardens 
which  environ  it ; the  groves  and  temples ; the  streams  and 
caverns  ( whither,  as  the  guide  tells  you,  during  the  heat  of 
summer,  it  was  the  custom  of  Marie  Antoinette  to  retire, 
with  her  favorite,  Madame  de  Lamballe  ) : the  lake  and 
Swiss  village  are  pretty  little  toys,  moreover ; and  the  cice- 
rone of  the  place  does  not  fail  to  point  out  the  different 
cottages  which  surround  the  piece  of  water,  and  tell  the 
names  of  the  royal  masqueraders  who  inhabited  each.  In 
the  long  cottage,  close  upon  the  lake,  dwelt  the  Seigneur  du 


MEDITATIONS  AT  VERSAILLES. 


321 


Village,  no  less  a personage  than  Louis  XV. ; Louis  XVI., 
the  Dauphin,  was  the  Bailli ; near  his  cottage  is  that  of 
Monseigneur  the  Count  d’Artois,  who  was  the  Miller ; 
opposite  lived  the  Prince  de  Conde,  who  enacted  the  part 
of  Gamekeeper  ( or,  indeed,  any  other  role,  for  it  does  not 
signify  much)  ; near  him  was  the  Prince  de  Rohan,  who 
was  the  Aumonier ; and  yonder  is  the  pretty  little  dairy, 
which  was  under  the  charge  of  „the  fair  Marie  Antoinette 
herself. 

I forget  whether  Monsieur  the  fat  Count  of  Provence 
took  any  share  of  this  royal  masquerading ; but  look  at  the 
names  of  the  other  six  actors  of  the  comedy,  and  it  will  be 
hard  to  find  any  person  for  whom  Fate  had  such  dreadful 
visitations  in  store.  Fancy  the  party,  in  the  days  of  their 
prosperity,  here  gathered  at  Trianon,  and  seated  under  the 
tall  poplars  by  the  lake,  discoursing  familiarly  together  ; 
suppose  of  a sudden  some  conjuring  Cagliostro  of  the  time 
is  introduced  among  them,  and  foretells  to  them  the  woes 
that  are  about  to  come.  “ You,  Monsieur  1’ Aumonier,  the 
descendant  of  a long  line  of  princes,  the  passionate  admirer 
of  that  fair  queen  who  sits  by  your  side,  shall  be  the  cause 
of  her  ruin  and  your  own,*  and  shall  die  in  disgrace  and 
exile.  You,  son  of  the  Condes,  shall  live  long  enongh  to 
see  your  royal  race  overthrown,  and  shall  die  by  the  hands 
of  a hangman.f  You,  oldest  son  of  Saint  Louis,  shall 
perish  by  the  executioner’s  axe ; that  beautiful  head,  0 An- 
toinette, the  same  ruthless  blade  shall  sever.”  “ They  shall 
kill  me  first,”  says  Lamballe,  at  the  queen’s  side.  “ Yes, 
truly,”  replies  the  soothsayer,  for  Fate  prescribes  ruin  for 
your  mistress  and  all  who  love  her.”  { “ And,”  cries  Mon- 

sieur d’Artois,  “ do  I not  love  my  sister,  too  ? I pray  you 
not  to  omit  me  in  your  prophecies.” 

To  whom  Monsieur  Cagliostro  says,  scornfully,  “You 
may  look  forward  to  fifty  years  of  life,  after  most  of  these 
are  laid  in  the  grave.  You  shall  be  a king,  but  not  die  one  ; 


* In  the  diamond-necklace  affair, 
t He  was  found  hanging  in  his  own  bedroom. 

t Among  the  many  lovers  that  rumor  gave  to  the  queen,  poor 
Ferscu  is  the  most  remarkable.  He  seems  to  have  entertained  for  her 
a high  and  perfectly  pure  devotion.  He  was  the  chief  agent  in  the 
luckless  escape  to  Varennes  ; was  lurking  in  Paris  during  the  time  of 
her  captivity  ; and  was  concerned  in  the  many  fruitless  plots  that  were 
made  for  her  rescue.  Ferscu  lived  to  be  an  old  man,  but  died  a dread- 
ful and  violent  death.  He  was  dragged  from  his  carriage  by  the  . mob, 
in  Stockholm,  and  murdered  by  them. 

21 


THE  PARTS  SKETCH  BOOK . 


322 

and  shall  leave  the  crown  only ; not  the  worthless  head 
that  shall  wear  it.  Thrice  shall  yon  go  into  exile : you 
shall  fly  from  the  people,  first,  who  would  have  no  more  of 
you  and  your  race ; and  you  shall  return  home  over  half  a 
million  of  human  corpses,  that  have  been  made  for  the 
sake  of  you,  and  of  a tyrant  as  great  as  the  greatest  of 
your  family.  Again  driven  away,  your  bitterest  enemy 
shall  bring  you  back.  But  the  strong  limbs  of  France  are 
not  to  be  chained  by  such  a paltry  yoke  as  you  can  put  on 
her  : you  shall  be  a tyrant ; but  in  will  only ; and  shall  have 
a sceptre,  but  to  see  it  robbed  from  your  hand.  ” 

“ And  pray,  Sir  Conjurer,  who  shall  be  the  robber  ? ” 
asked  Monsieur  the  Count  d? Artois. 

This  I cannot  say,  for  here  my  dream  ended.  The  fact 
is,  I had  fallen  asleep  on  one  of  the  stone  benches  in  the 
Avenue  de  Paris,  and  at  this  instant  was  awakened  by  a 
whirling  of  carriages  and  a great  clattering  of  national 
guards,  lancers  and  outriders,  in  red.  His  Majesty  Louis 
Philippe  was  going  to  pay  a visit  to  the  palace  ; which 
contains  several  pictures  of  his  own  glorious  actions,  and 
which  has  been  dedicated,  by  him,  to  all  the  glories  of 
France. 


EASTERN  SKETCHES. 


TO 


CAPTAIN  SAMUEL  LEWIS, 

OF  THE  PENINSULAR  AND  ORIENTAL  STEAM  NAVIGATION  COMPANY’S 
SERVICE. 

My  dear  Lewis:  — After  a voyage,  during  which  the 
captain  of  the  ship  has  displayed  uncommon  courage,  sea- 
manship, affability,  or  other  good  qualities,  grateful  passen- 
gers often  present  him  with  a token  of  their  esteem,  in  the 
shape  of  teapots,  tankards,  trays,  &c.,  of  precious  metal. 
Among  authors,  however,  bullion  is  a much  rarer  commodity 
than  paper,  whereof  I beg  you  to  accept  a little  in  the  shape 
of  this  small  volume.  It  contains  a few  notes  of  a voyage 
which  your  skill  and  kindness  rendered  doubly  pleasant ; 
and  of  which  I don’t  think  there  is  any  recollection  more 
agreeable  than  that  it  was  the  occasion  of  making  your 
friendship. 

If  the  noble  company  in  whose  service  you  command 
(and  whose  fleet  alone  makes  them  a third-rate  maritime 
power  in  Europe)  should  appoint  a few  admirals  in  their 
navy,  I hope  to  hear  that  your  flag  is  hoisted  on  board  one 
of  the  grandest  of  their  steamers.  But,  I trust,  even  there 
you  will  not  forget  the  “ Iberia,”  and  the  delightful  Medi- 
terranean cruise  we  had  in  her  in  the  Autumn  of  1844. 

Most  faithfully  yours, 

My  dear  Lewis, 

W.  M.  Thackeray. 


London,  December  24, 1845. 


PREFACE. 


On  the  20th  of  August,  1844,  the  writer  of  this  little  book 

went  to  dine  at  the  “ Club,”  quite  unconscious  of  the 

wonderful  events  which  Fate  had  in  store  for  him. 

Mr.  William  was  there,  giving  a farewell  dinner  to  his 
friend,  Mr.  James  (now  Sir  James).  These  two  asked  Mr. 
Titmarsh  to  join  company  with  them,  and  the  conversation 
naturally  fell  upon  the  tour  Mr.  James  was  about  to  take. 
The  Peninsular  and  Oriental  Company  had  arranged  an  ex- 
cursion in  the  Mediterranean,  by  which,  in  the  space  of  a 
couple  of  months,  as  many  men  and  cities  were  to  be  seen 
as  Ulysses  surveyed  and  noted  in  ten  years.  Malta,  Athens, 
Smyrna,  Constantinople,  , Jerusalem,  Cairo,  were  to  be 
visited,  and  everybody  was  to  be  back  in  London  by  Lord 
Mayor’s  Day. 

The  idea  of  beholding  these  famous  places  inflamed  Mr. 
Titmarsh’ s mind ; and  the  charms  of  such  a journey  were 
eloquently  impressed  upon  him  by  Mr.  James.  “Come,” 
said  that  kind  and  hospitable  gentleman,  “ and  make  one  of 
my  family  party ; in  all  your  life  you  will  never  probably 
have  a chance  again  to  see  so  much  in  so  short  a time. 
Consider  — it  is  as  easy  as  a journey  to  Paris  or  to  Baden.” 
Mr.  Titmarsh  considered  all  these  things ; but  also  the 
difficulties  of  the  situation  : he  had  but  six-and-thirty  hours 
to  get  ready  for  so  portentous  a journey — he  had  engage- 
ments at  home  — finally,  could  he  afford  it?  In  spite  of 
these  objections,  however,  with  every  glass  of  claret  the 
enthusiasm  somehow  rose,  and  the  difficulties  vanished. 

327 


328 


PREFA CE . 


But  when  Mr.  James,  to  crown  all,  said  he  had  no  doubt 
that  his  friends,  the  Directors  of  the  Peninsular  and  Ori- 
ental Company,  would  make  Mr.  Titmarsh  the  present  of  a 
berth  for  the  voyage,  all  objections  ceased  on  his  part : to 
break  his  outstanding  engagements — to  write  letters  to  his 
amazed  family,  stating  that  they  were  not  to  expect  him  at 
dinner  on  Saturday  fortnight,  as  he  would  be  at  Jerusalem 
on  that  day  — to  purchase  eighteen  shirts  and  lay  in  a sea 
stock  of  Russia  ducks,  — was  the  work  of  four-and-twenty 
hours ; and  on  the  22d  of  August,  the  “Lady  Mary  Wood” 
was  sailing  from  Southampton  with  the  “subject  of  the 
present  memoir,”  quite  astonished  to  find  himself  one  of 
the  passengers  on  board. 

These  important  statements  are  made  partly  to  convince 
some  incredulous  friends  — who  insist  still  that  the  writer 
never  went  abroad  at  all,  and  wrote  the  following  pages,  out 
of  pure  fancy,  in  retirement  at  Putney;  but  mainly,  to 
give  him  an  opportunity  of  thanking  the  Directors  of  the 
Company  in  question  for  a delightful  excursion. 

It  was  one  so  easy,  so  charming,  and  I think  profitable  — 
it  leaves  such  a store  of  pleasant  recollections  for  after  days 
— and  creates  so  many  new  sources  of  interest  (a  newspaper 
letter  from  Beyrout,  or  Malta,,  or  Algiers,  has  twice  the 
interest  now  that  it  had  formerly),  — that  I can’t  but 
recommend  all  persons  who  have  time  and  means  to  make  a 
similar  journey  — vacation  idlers  to  extend  their  travels 
and  pursue  it ; above  all,  young  well-educated  men  entering 
life,  to  take  this  course,  we  will  say,  after  that  at  college ; 
and,  having  their  book-learning  fresh  in  their  minds,  see  the 
living  people  and  their  cities,  and  the  actual  aspect  of  Na- 
ture along  the  famous  shores  of  the  Mediterranean. 


A JOURNEY 

FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO. 


CHAPTER  I. 

VIGO. 

HE  sun  brought  all  the 
sick  people  out  of  their 
berths  this  morning,  and 
the  indescribable  moans 
and  noises  which  had 
been  issuing  from  behind 
the  fine  painted  doors 
on  each  side  of  the  cabin 
happily  ceased.  Long 
before  sunrise,  I had 
the  good  fortune  to  dis- 
cover that  it  was  no 
longer  necessary  to  main- 
tain the  horizontal  post- 
ure,  and,  the  very 
instant  this  truth  was 
apparent,  came  on  deck, 
at  two  o’clock  in  the  morning,  to  see  a noble  full  moon 
sinking  westward,  and  millions  of  the  most  brilliant  stars 
shining  overhead.  The  night  was  so  serenely  pure,  that  you 
saw  them  in  magnificent  airy  perspective ; the  blue  sky 
around  and  over  them,  and  other  more  distant  orbs  spark- 
ling above,  till  they  glittered  away  faintly  into  the  immeas- 
urable distance.  The  ship  went  rolling  over  a heavy, 
sweltering,  calm  sea.  The  breeze  was  a warm  and  soft 
one ; quite  different  to  the  rigid  air  we  had  left  behind  us, 

329 


330 


EASTEBN  SKETCHES. 


two  days  since,  off  the  Isle  of  Wight.  The  bell  kept  tolling 
its  half  hours,  and  the  mate  explained  the  mystery  of  watch 
and  dog  watch. 

The  sight  of  that  noble  scene  cured  all  the  woes  and  dis- 
comfitures of  sea-sickness  at  once,  and  if  there  were  any 
need  to  communicate  such  secrets  to  the  public,  one  might 
tell  of  much  more  good  that  the  pleasant  morning-watch 
effected  ; but  there  are  a set  of  emotions  about  which  a man 
had  best  be  shy  of  talking  lightly,  — and  the  feelings  ex- 
cited by  contemplating  this*  vast,  magnificent,  harmonious 
Nature  are  among  these.  The  view  of  it  inspires  a delight 
and  ecstasy  which  is  not  only  hard  to  describe,  but  which 
has  something  secret  in  it  that  a man  should  not  utter 
loudly.  Hope,  memory,  humility,  tender  yearnings  towards 
dear  friends,  and  inexpressible  love  and  reverence  towards 
the  Power  which  created  the  infinite  universe  blazing  above 
eternally,  and  the  vast  ocean  shining  and  rolling  around  — 
fill  the  heart  with  a solemn,  humble  happiness,  that  a per- 
son dwelling  in  a city  has  rarely  occasion  to  enjoy.  They 
are  coming  away  from  London  parties  at  this  time : the 
dear  little  eyes  are  closed  in  sleep  under  mothers  wing. 
How  far  off  city  cares  and  pleasures  appear  to  be!  how 
small  and  mean  they  seem,  dwindling  out  of  sight  before 
this  magnificent  brightness  of  Nature ! But  the  best 
thoughts  only  grow  and  strengthen  under  it.  Heaven 
shines  above,  and  the  humbled  spirit  looks  up  reverently 
towards  that  boundless  aspect  of  wisdom  and  beauty.  You 
are  at  home,  and  with  all  at  rest  there,  however  far  away 
they  may  be ; and  through  the  distance  the  heart  broods 
over  them,  bright  and  wakeful  like  yonder  peaceful  stars 
overhead. 

The  day  was  as  fine  and  calm  as  the  night ; at  seven  bells, 
suddenly  a bell  began  to  toll  very  much  like  that  of  a coun- 
try church,  and  on  going  on  deck  we  found  an  awning 
raised,  a desk  with  a flag  flung  over  it  close  to  the  compass, 
and  the  ship’s  company  aiid  passengers  assembled  there  to 
hear  the  captain  read  the  Service  in  a manly  respectful 
voice.  This,  too,  was  a novel  and  touching  sight  to  me. 
Peaked  ridges  of  purple  mountains  rose  to  the  left  of  the 
ship,  — Pinisterre  and  the  coast  of  Galicia.  The  sky  above 
was  cloudless  and  shining ; the  vast  dark  ocean  smiled 
peacefully  round  about,  and  the  ship  went  rolling  over  it, 
as  the  people  within  were  praising  the  Maker  of  all. 


FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO . 


331 


In  honor  of  the  day,  it  was  announced  that  the  passenger: 
would  be  regaled  with  champagne  at  dinner : and  accord- 
ingly that  exhilarating  liquor  was  served  out  in  decent 
profusion,  the  company  drinking  the  captain’s  health  with 
the  customary  orations  of  compliment  and  acknowledgment. 
This  feast  was  scarcely  ended,  when  we  found  ourselves 
rounding  the  headland  into  Vigo  Bay,  passing  a grim  and 
tall  island  of  rocky  mountains  which  lies  in  the  centre  of 
the  bay. 

Whether  it  is  that  the  sight  of  land  is  always  welcome 
to  weary  mariners,  after  the  perils  and  annoyances  of  a 
voyage  of  three  days,  or  whether  the  place  is  in  itself  ex- 
traordinarily beautiful,  need  not  be  argued ; but  I have 
seldom  seen  anything  more  charming  than  the  amphithe- 
atre of  noble  hills  into  which  the  ship  now  came  — all  the 
features  of  the  landscape  being  lighted  up  with  a wonder- 
ful clearness  of  air,  which  rarely  adorns  a view  in  our 
country.  The  sun  had  not  yet  set,  but  over  the  town  and 
lofty  rocky  castle  of  Yigo  a great  ghost  of  a moon  was 
faintly  visible,  which  blazed  out  brighter  and  brighter  as 
the  superior  luminary  retired  behind  the  purple  mountains 
of  the  headland  to  rest.  Before  the  general  background 
of  waving  heights  which  encompassed  the  bay,  rose  a sec- 
ond semicircle  of  undulating  hills,  as  cheerful  and  green  as 
the  mountains  behind  them  were  gray  and  solemn.  Farms 
and  gardens,  convent  towers,  white  villages  and  churches, 
and  buildings  that  no  doubt  were  hermitages  once,  upon  the 
sharp  peaks  of  the  hills,  shone  brightly  in  the  sun.  The 
sight  was  delightfully  cheerful,  animated,  and  pleasing. 

Presently  the  captain  roared  out  the  magic  words,  “ Stop 
her  ! ” and  the  obedient  vessel  came  to  a stand-still,  at  some 
three  hundred  yards  from  the  little  town,  with  its  white 
houses  clambering  up  a rock,  defended  by  the  superior 
mountain  whereon  the  castle  stands.  Numbers  of  people, 
arrayed  in  various  brilliant  colors  of  red,  were  standing  on 
the  sand  close  by  the  tumbling,  shining,  purple  waves  : 
and  there  we  beheld,  for  the  first  time,  the  royal  red  and 
yellow  standard  of  Spain  floating  on  its  own  ground,  under 
the  guardianship  of  a light  blue  sentinel,  whose  musket 
glittered  in  the  sun.  Numerous  boats  were  seen,  inconti- 
nently, to  put  off  from  the  little  shore. 

And  now  our  attention  was  withdrawn  from  the  land  to  a 
sight  of  great  splendor  on  board/  This  was  Lieutenant 
Bundy,  the  guardian  of  her  Majesty’s  mails,  who  issued 


332 


EASTERN  SKETCHES, 


from  his  cabin  in  his  long  swallow-tailed  coat  with  anchor 
buttons  ; his  sabre  clattering  between  his  legs ; a magnifi- 
cent shirt  collar,  of  several  inches  in  height,  rising  round 
his  good-humored  sallow  face ; and  above  it  a cocked  hat, 
that  shone  so,  I thought  it  was  made  of  polished  tin  ( it 
may  have  been  that  or  oilskin ),  handsomely  laced  with 
black  worsted,  and  ornamented  with  a shining  gold  cord. 
A little  squat  boat,  rowed  by  three  ragged  gallegos,  came 
bouncing  up  to  the  ship.  Into  this  Mr.  Bundy  and  her 
Majesty’s  royal  mail  embarked  with  much  majesty;  and  in 
the  twinkling  of  an  eye,  the  royal  standard  of  England,  about 
the  size  of  a pocket-handkerchief,  — and  at  the  bows  of  the 
boat,  the  man-of-war’s  pennant,  being  a strip  of  bunting 
considerably  under  the  value  of  a farthing,  — streamed  out. 

“ They  know  that  flag,  sir,  ” said  the  good-natured  old  tar, 
quite  solemnly,  in  the  evening  afterwards : “ they  respect  it, 


sir.”  The  authority  of  her  Majesty’s  lieutenant  on  board 
the  steamer  is  stated  to  be  so  tremendous,  that  he  may 
order  it  to  stop,  to  move,  to  go  larboard,  starboard,  or  what 
you  will;  and  the  captain  dare  only  to  disobey  him  suo 
periculo. 

It  was  agreed  that  a party  of  us  should  land  for  half  an 
hour,  and  taste  real  Spanish  chocolate  on  Spanish  ground. 
We  followed  Lieutenant  Bundy,  but  humbly  in  the  provid- 
er’s boat ; that  officer  going  on  shore  to  purchase  fresh 
eggs,  milk  for  tea  (in  place  of  the  slimy  substitute  of 
whipped  yolk  of  egg  which  we  had  been  using  for  our 
morning  and  evening  meals  ),  and,  if  possible,  oysters,  for 
which  it  is  said  the  rocks  of  Vigo  are  famous. 

It  was  low  tide,  and  the  boat  could  not  get  up  to  the  dry 
shore.  Hence  it  was  necessary  to  take  advantage  of  the 


FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO . 


333 


offers  of  sundry  gallegos,  who  rushed  barelegged  into  the 
water,  to  land  on  their  shoulders.  The  approved  method 
seems  to  be,  to  sit  upon  one  shoulder  only,  holding  on  by 
the  porter’s  whiskers ; and  though  some  of  our  party  were 
of  the  tallest  and  fattest  men  whereof  our  race  is  composed, 
and  their  living  sedans  exceedingly  meagre  and  small,  yet 
all  were  landed  without  accident  upon  the  juicy  sand,  and 
forthwith  surrounded  by  a host  of  mendicants,  screaming, 
“ I say,  sir  ! penny,  sir  ! I say,  English  ! tarn  your  ays ! 
penny ! ” in  all  voices,  from  extreme  youth  to  the  most  lousy 
and  venerable  old  age.  When  it  is  said  that  these  beggars 
were  as  ragged  as  those  of  Ireland,  and  still  more  voluble, 
the  Irish  traveller  will  be  able  to  form  an  opinion  of  their 
capabilities. 

Through  this  crowd  we  passed  up  some  steep  rocky 
steps,  through  a little  low  gate,  where,  in  a little  guard- 
house and  barrack,  a few  dirty  little  sentinels  were  keeping 
a dirty  little  guard ; and  by  low-roofed,  whitewashed 
houses,  with  balconies,  and  women  in  them,  — the  very 
same  women,  with  the  very  same  head-clothes,  and  yellow 
fans  and  eyes,  at  once  sly  and  solemn,  which  Murillo 
painted,  — by  a neat  church  into  which  we  took  a peep, 
and,  finally,  into  the  Plaza  del  Constitucion,  or  grand  place 
of  the  town,  which  may  be  about  as  big  as  that  pleasing 
square,  Pump  Court,  Temple.  We  were  taken  to  an  inn,  of 
which  I forget  the  name,  and  were  shown  from  one  chamber 
and  story  to  another,  till  we  arrived  at  that  apartment  where 
the  real  Spanish  chocolate  was  finally  to  be  served  out.  All 
these  rooms  were  as  clean  as  scrubbing  and  whitewash  could 
make  them ; with  simple  French  prints  ( with  Spanish 
titles  ) on  the  walls ; a few  rickety  half-finished  articles  of 
furniture ; and  finally,  an  air  of  extremely  respectable 
poverty.  A jolly  black-eyed,  yellow-shawled  Dulcinea  con- 
ducted us  through  the  apartment,  and  provided  us  with  the 
desired  refreshment. 

Sounds  of  clarions  drew  our  eyes  to  the  Place  of  the  Con- 
stitution ; and,  indeed,  I had  forgotten  to  say,  that  that 
majestic  square  was  filled  with  military,  and  exceedingly 
small  firelocks,  the  men  ludicrously  young  and  diminutive 
for  the  most  part,  in  a uniform  at  once  cheap  and  tawdry, — 
like  those  supplied  to  the  warriors  at  Astley’s,  or  from  still 
humbler  theatrical  wardrobes  : indeed,  the  whole  scene  was 
just  like  that  of  a little  theatre ; the  houses  curiously  small, 
with  -arcades  and  balconies,  out  of  which  looked  women 


334 


EAS  TERN  SKETCHES. 


apparently  a great  deal  too  big  for  the  chambers  they  in- 
habited ; the  warriors  were  in  ginghams,  cottons,  and  tinsel ; 
the  officers  had  huge  epaulets  of  sham  silver  lace  drooping 
over  their  bosoms,  and  looked  as  if  they  were  attired  at  a 
very  small  expense.  Only  the  general — the  captain-gen- 
eral (Pooch,  they  told  us,  was  his  name:  I know  not  how 
’tis  written  in  Spanish  ) — was  well  got  up,  with  a smart 
hat,  a real  feather,  huge  stars  glittering  on  his  portly  chest, 
and  tights  and  boots  of  the  first  order.  Presently,  after  a 
good  deal  of  trumpeting,  the  little  men  marched  off  the 
place,  Pooch  and  his  staff  coming  into  the  very  inn  in 
which  were  awaiting  our  chocolate. 

Then  we  had  an  opportunity  of  seeing  some  of  the  civil- 
ians of  the  town.  Three  or  four  ladies  passed,  with  fan 
and  mantle ; to  them  came  three  or  four  dandies,  dressed 
smartly  in  the  French  fashion,  with  strong  Jewish  phys- 
iognomies. There  was  one,  a solemn  lean  fellow  in  black, 
with  his  collars  extremely  turned  over,  and  holding  before 
him  a long  ivory -tipped  ebony  cane,  who  tripped  along  the 
little  place  with  a solemn  smirk,  which  gave  one  an  inde- 
scribable feeling  of  the  truth  of  Gil  Bias,  and  of  those 
delightful  bachelors  and  licentiates  who  have  appeared  to 
us  all  in  our  dreams. 

In  fact  we  were  but  half  an  hour  in  this  little  queer  Span- 
ish town  ; and  it  appeared  like  a dream,  too,  or  a little  show 
got  up  to  amuse  us.  Boom  ! the  gun  fired  at  the  end  of  the 
funny  little  entertainment.  The  women  and  the  balconies, 
the  beggars  and  the  walking  Murillos,  Pooch  and  the  little 
soldiers  in  tinsel,  disappeared,  and  were  shut  up  in  their  box 
again.  Once  more  we  were  carried  on  the  beggars’  shoulders 
out  off  the  shore,  and  we  found  ourselves  again  in  the  great 
stalwart  roast-beef  world ; the  stout  British  steamer  bear- 
ing out  of  the  bay,  whose  purple  waters  had  grown  more 
purple.  The  sun  had  set  by  this  time,  and  the  moon  above 
was  twice  as  big  and  bright  as  our  degenerate  moons  are. 

Trie  provider  had  already  returned  with  his  fresh  stores, 
and  Bundy’s  tin  hat  was  popped  into  its  case,  and  he  walk- 
ing the  deck  of  the  packet  denuded  of  tails.  As  we  went 
out  of  the  bay,  occurred  a little  incident  with  which  the 
great  incidents  of  the  day  may  be  said  to  wind  up.  We 
saw  before  us  a little  vessel,  tumbling  and  plunging  about 
in  the  dark  waters  of  the  bay,  with  a bright  light  beaming 
from  the  mast.  It  made  for  us  at  about  a couple  of  miles 
from  the  town,  and  came  close  up,  flouncing  and  bobbing  in 


FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO . 


335 


the  very  jaws  of  the  paddle,  which  looked  as  if  it  would 
have  seized  and  twirled  round  that  little  boat  and  its  light, 
and  destroyed  them  for  ever  and  ever.  All  the  passen- 
gers, of  course,  came  crowding  to  the  ship’s  side  to  look  at 
the  bold  little  boat. 

“ I say  ! ” howled  a man  ; “ I say  ! — a word  ! — I say  ! 
Pasagero  ! Pasagero  ! Pasage-e-ero  ! ” We  were  two  hundred 
yards  ahead  by  this  time. 

“ Go  on,  ” says  the  captain. 

“You  may  stop  if  you  like,”  says  Lieutenant  Bundy, 
exerting  his  tremendous  responsibility.  It  is  evident  that 
the  lieutenant  has  a soft  heart,  and  felt  for  the  poor  devil 
in  the  boat  who  was  howling  so  piteously  “Pasagero ! ” 

But  the  captain  was  resolute.  His  duty  was  not  to  take 
the  man  up.  He  was  evidently  an  irregular  customer  — 
some  one  trying  to  escape,  possibly. 

The  lieutenant  turned  away,  but  did  not  make  any  further 
hints.  The  captain  was  right ; but  we  all  felt  somehow 
disappointed,  and  looked  back  wistfully  at  the  little  boat, 
jumping  up  and  down  far  astern  now ; the  poor  little  light 
shining  in  vain,  and  the  poor  wretch  within  screaming  out 
in  the  most  heart-rending  accents  a last  faint  desperate 
“ I say  ! Pasagero-o  ! ” 

We  all  went  down  to  tea  rather  melancholy ; but  the  new 
milk,  in  the  place  of  that  abominable  whipped  egg,  revived 
us  again ; and  so  ended  the  great  events  on  board  the 
“Lady  Mary  Wood”  steamer,  on  the  25th  August,  1844. 


CHAPTER  II. 


LISBON CADIZ. 


GREAT  misfortune  which 
befalls  a man  who  has 
but  a single  day  to  stay 
in  a town,  is  that  fatal 
duty  which  superstition 
entails  upon  him  of  visit- 
ing the  chief  lions  of  the 
city  in  which  he  may 
happen  to  be.  You  must 
go  through  the  ceremony, 
however  much  you  may 
sigh  to  avoid  it ; and 
however  much  you  know 
that  the  lions  in  one  cap- 
ital roar  very  much  like 
the  lions  in  another  ; that 
the  churches  are  more  or 
less  large  and  splendid,  the  palaces  pretty  spacious,  all  the 
world  over;  and  that  there  is  scarcely  a capital  city  in  this 
Europe  but  has  its  pompous  bronze  statue  or  two  of  some 
periwigged,  hook-nosed  emperor,  in  a Roman  habit,  waving 
his  bronze  baton  on  his  broad-flanked  brazen  charger.  We 
only  saw  these  state  old  lions  in  Lisbon,  whose  roar  has 
long  since  ceased  to  frighten  one.  First  we  went  to  the 
church  of  St.  Roch,  to  see  a famous  piece  of  mosaic-work 
there.  It  is  a famous  work  of  art,  and  was  bought  by  I 
don’t  know  what  king  for  I don’t  know  how  much  money. 
All  this  information  may  be  perfectly  relied  on,  though  the 
fact  is,  we  did  not  see  the  mosaic-work the  sacristan,  who 
guards  it,  was  yet  in  bed ; and  it  was  veiled  from  our  eyes 
in  a side-chapel  by  great  dirty  damask  curtains,  which 
could  not  be  moved,  except  when  the  sacristan’s  toilette  was 
done ; and  at  the  price  of  a dollar.  So  we  were  spared  this 

336 


FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO . 


337 


mosaic  exhibition;  and  I think  I always  feel  relieved^ 
when  such  an  event  occurs.  I feel  I have  done  my  duty  in 
coming  to  see  the  enormous  animal ; if  he  is  not  at  home, 
virtute  med  me,  &c.  — we  have  done  our  best,  and  mortal 
can  do  no  more. 

In  order  to  reach  that  church  of  the  forbidden  mosaic, 
we  had  sweated  up  several  most  steep  and  dusty  streets  — 
hot  and  dusty,  although  it  was  but  nine  o’clock  in  the 
morning.  Thence  the  guide  conducted  us  into  some  little 
dust-powdered  gardens,  in  which  the  people  make  believe 
to  enjoy  the  verdure,  and  whence  you  look  over  a great 
part  of  the  arid,  dreary,  stony  city.  There  was  no  smoke, 
as  in  honest  London,  only  dust  — dust  over  the  gaunt 
houses  and  the  dismal  yellow  strips  of  gardens.  Many 
churches  were  there,  and  tall,  half-baked-looking  public 
edifices,  that  had  a dry,  uncomfortable,  earthquaky  look,  to 
my  idea.  The  ground-floors  of  the  spacious  houses  by 
which  we  passed  seemed  the  coolest  and  pleasantest  por- 
tions of  the  mansion.  They  were  cellars  or  warehouses, 
for  the  most  part,  in  which  white-jacketed  clerks  sat  smok- 
ing easy  cigars.  The  streets  were  plastered  with  placards 
of  a bull-fight,  to  take  place  the  next  evening  ( there  was 
no  opera  at  that  season  ) ; but  it  was  not  a real  Spanish 
tauromachy  — only  a theatrical  combat,  as  you  could  see 
by  the  picture,  in  which  the  horseman  was  cantering  off  at 
three  miles  an  hour,  the  bull  tripping  after  him  with  tips 
to  his  gentle  horns.  Mules  interminable,  and  almost  all 
excellently  sleek  and  handsome,  were  pacing  down  every 
street : here  and  there,  but  later  in  the  day,  came  clatter- 
ing along  a smart  rider  on  a prancing  Spanish  horse ; and  in 
the  afternoon  a few  families  might  be  seen  in  the  queerest 
old-fashioned  little  carriages,  drawn  by  their  jolly  mules, 
and  swinging  between,  or  rather  before,  enormous  wheels. 

The  churches  I saw  were  of  the  florid  periwig  architect- 
ure — I mean  of  that  pompous,  cauliflower  kind  of  ornament 
which  was  the  fashion  in  Louis  the  Fifteenth’s  time,  at 
which  unlucky  period  a building  mania  seems  to  have 
seized  upon  many  of  the  monarchs  of  Europe,  and  innumer- 
able public  edifices  were  erected.  It  seems  to  me  to  have 
been  the  period  in  all  history  when  society  was  the  least 
natural,  and  perhaps  the  most  dissolute  ; and  I have  always 
fancied  that  the  bloated  artificial  forms  of  the  architecture 
partake  of  the  social  disorganization  of  the  time.  Who 
can  respect  a simpering  ninny,  grinning  in  a Eoman  dress 
22 


338 


EASTERN  SKETCHES . 


and  a full-bottomed  wig,  who  is  made  to  pass  off  for  a hero ; 
or  a fat  woman  in  a hoop,  and  of  a most  doubtful  virtue, 
who  leers  at  you  as  a goddess  ? In  the  palaces  which  we 
saw,  several  court  allegories  were  represented,  which,  atro- 
cious as  they  were  in  point  of  art,  might  yet  serve  to 
attract  the  regard  of  the  moralizer.  There  were  Faith, 
Hope,  and  Charity  restoring  Don  John  to  the  arms  of  his 
happy  Portugal : there  were  Virtue,  Valor,  and  Victory 
saluting  Don  Emanuel:  Reading,  Writing,  and  Arithmetic 
( for  what  I know,  or  some  mythologic  nymphs  ) dancing 
before  Don  Miguel  — the  picture  is  there  still,  at  the 
Ajuda  ; and  ah  me  ! where  is  poor  Mig  ? Well,  it  is  these 
state  lies  and  ceremonies  that  we  persist  in  going  to  see ; 
whereas  a man  would  have  a much  better  insight  into  Por- 
tugese manners,  by  planting  himself  at  a corner,  like  yon- 
der beggar,  and  watching  the  real  transactions  of  the  day. 

A drive  to  Belem  is  the  regular  route  practised  by  the 
traveller  who  has  to  make  only  a short  stay,  and  accord- 
ingly a couple  of  carriages  were  provided  for  our  party,  and 
we  were  driven  through  the  long  merry  street  of  Belem, 
peopled  by  endless  strings  of  mules— by  thousands  of 
gallegos,  with  water-barrels  on  their  shoulders,  or  loung- 
ing by  the  fountains  to  hire,  — by  the  Lisbon  and  Belem 
omnibuses,  with  four  mules,  jingling  along  at  a good  pace ; 
and  it  seemed  to  me  to  present  a far  more  lively  and  cheer- 
ful, though  not  so  regular,  an  appearance  as  the  stately  quar- 
ters of  the  city  we  had  left  behind  us.  The  little  shops 
were  at  full  work  — the  men  brown,  well-dressed,  manly,  and 
handsome  : so  much  cannot,  I am  sorry  to  say,  be  said  for 
the  ladies,  of  whom,  with  every  anxiety  to  do  so,  our  party 
could  not  perceive  a single  good-looking  specimen  all  day. 
The  noble  blue  Tagus  accompanies  you  all  along  these  three 
miles  of  busy,  pleasant  street,  whereof  the  chief  charm,  as  I 
thought,  was  its  look  of  genuine  business  — that  appearance 
of  comfort  which  the  cleverest  court-architect  never  knows 
how  to  give. 

The  carriages  ( the  canvas  one  with  four  seats  and  the 
chaise  in  which  I drove  ) were  brought  suddenly  up  to 
a gate  with  the  royal  arms  over  it  ; and  here  we  were 
introduced  to  as  queer  an  exhibition  as  the  eye  has  often 
looked  on.  This  was  the  state  carriage-house,  where  there 
is  a museum  of  huge  old  tumble-down  gilded  coaches  of  the 
last  century,  lying  here,  mouldy  and  dark,  in  a sort  of 
limbo.  The  gold  has  vanished  from  the  great  lumbering 


FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO . 


339 


old  wheels  and  panels;  the  velvets  are  wofully  tarnished. 
When  one  thinks  of  the  patches  and  powder  that  have  sim- 
pered out  of  those  plate-glass  windows — the  mitred  bishops, 
the  big-wigged  marshals,  the  shovel-hatted  abbes  which  they 
have  borne  in  their  time — the  human  mind  becomes  affected 
in  no  ordinary  degree.  Some  human  minds  heave  a sigh  for 
the  glories  of  bygone  days;  while  others,  considering  rather 
the  lies  and  humbug,  the  vice  and  servility,  which  went 
framed  and  glazed  and  enshrined,  creaking  along  in  those 
old  Juggernaut  cars,  with  fools  worshipping  under  the 
wheels,  console  themselves  for  the  decay  of  institutions 
that  may  have  been  splendid  and  costly,  but  were  ponder- 
ous, clumsy,  slow,  and  unfit  for  daily  wear.  The  guardian 
of  these  defunct  old  carriages  tells  some  prodigious  fibs 
concerning  them : he  pointed  out  one  carriage  that  was  six 
hundred  years  old  in  his  calendar ; but  any  connoisseur  in 
bric-a-brac  can  see  it  was  built  at  Paris  in  the  Regent 
Orleans’  time. 

Hence  it  is  but  a step  to  an  institution  in  full  life  and 
vigor,  — a noble  orphan-school  for  one  thousand  boys  and 
girls,  founded  by  Don  Pedro,  who  gave  up  to  its  use  the 
superb  convent  of  Belem,  with  its  splendid  cloisters,  vast 
airy  dormitories  and  magnificent  church.  Some  Oxford 
gentlemen  would  have  wept  to  see  the  desecrated  edifice, — 
to  think  that  the  shaven  polls  and  white  gowns  were  ban- 
ished from  it  to  give  place  to  a thousand  children,  who 
have  not  even  the  clergy  to  instruct  them.  “ Every  lad 
here  may  choose  his  trade,  ” our  little  informant  said,  who 
addressed  us  in  better  French  than  any  of  our  party  spoke, 
whose  manners  were  perfectly  gentlemanlike  and  respectful, 
and  whose  clothes,  though  of  a common  cotton  stuff,  were 
cut  and  worn  with  a military  neatness  and  precision.  All 
the  children  whom  we  remarked  were  dressed  with  similar 
neatness,  and  it  was  a pleasure  to  go  through  their  various 
rooms  for  study,  where  some  were  busy  at  mathematics, 
some  at  drawing,  some  attending  a lecture  on  tailoring, 
while  others  were  sitting  at  the  feet  of  a professor  of  the 
science  of  shoemaking.  All  the  garments  of  the  establish- 
ment were  made  by  the  pupils  ; even  the  deaf  and  dumb 
were  drawing  and  reading,  and  the  blind  were,  for  the  most 
part,  set  to  peform  on  musical  instruments,  and  got  up  a 
concert  for  the  visitors.  It  was  then  we  wished  ourselves 
of  the  numbers  of  the  deaf  and  dumb,  for  the  poor  fellows 
made  noises  so  horrible,  that  even  as  blind  beggars  they 
could  hardly  get  a livelihood  in  the  musical  way. 


340 


EASTERN  SKETCHES . 


Hence  we  were  driven  to  the  huge  palace  of  Necessidades, 
which  is  but  a wing  of  a building  that  no  King  of  Portugal 
ought  ever  to  be  rich  enough  to  complete,  and  which,  if  per- 
fect, might  outvie  the  Tower  of  Babel.  The  mines  of  Brazil 
must  have  been  productive  of  gold  and  silver  indeed  when 
the  founder  imagined  this  enormous  edifice.  From  the 
elevation  on  which  it  stands  it  commands  the  noblest  views, 
— the  city  is  spread  before  it,  with  its  many  churches  and 
towers,  and  for  many  miles  you  see  the  magnificent  Tagus, 
rolling  by  banks  crowned  with  trees  and  towers.  But  to 
arrive  at  this  enormous  building  you  have  to  climb  a steep 
suburb  of  wretched  huts,  many  of  them  with  dismal  gar- 
dens of  dry,  cracked  earth,  where  a few  reedy  sprouts  of 
Indian  corn  seemed  to  be  the  chief  cultivation,  and  which 
were  guarded  by  huge  plants  of  spiky  aloes,  on  which  the 
rags  of  the  proprietors  of  the  huts  were  sunning  them- 
selves. The  terrace  before  the  palace  was  similarly  en- 
croached upon  by  these  wretched  habitations.  A few 
millions  judiciously  expended  might  make  of  this  arid  hill 
one  of  the  most  magnificent  gardens  in  the  world ; and 
the  palace  seems  to  me  to  excel  for  situation  any  royal  edi- 
fice I have  ever  seen.  But  the  huts  of  these  swarming  poor 
have  crawled  up  close  to  its  gates,  — the  superb  walls  of 
hewn  stone  stop  all  of  a sudden  with  a lath-and-plaster 
hitch;  and  capitals,  and  hewn  stones  for  columns,  still 
lying  about  on  the  deserted  terrace,  may  lie  there  for  ages 
to  come,  probably,  and  never  take  their  places  by  the  side 
of  their  brethren  in  yonder  tall  bankrupt  galleries.  The 
air  of  this  pure  sky  has  little  effect  upon  the  edifices, — the 
edges  of  the  stone  look  as  sharp  as  if  the  builders  had  just 
left  their  work  ; and  close  to  the  grand  entrance  stands  an 
out-building,  part  of  which  may  have  been  burnt  fifty  years 
ago,  but  is  in  such  cheerful  preservation  that  you  might 
fancy  the  fire  had  occurred  yesterday.  It  must  have  been 
an  awful  sight  from  this  hill  to  have  looked  at  the  city^ 
spread  before  it,  and  seen  it  reeling  and  swaying  in  the 
time  of  the  earthquake.  I thought  it  looked  so  hot  and 
shaky,  that  one  might  fancy  a return  of  the  fit.  In  several 
places  still  remain  gaps  and  chasms,  and  ruins  lie  here  and 
there  as  they  cracked  and  fell. 

Although  the  palace  has  not  attained  anything  like  its 
full  growth,  yet  what  exists  is  quite  big  enough  for  the 
monarch  of  such  a little  country  ; Versailles  or  Windsor 
has  not  apartments  more  nobly  proportioned.  The  Queen 


FROM  CORN  HILL  TO  CAIRO . 


341 


resides  in  the  Ajuda,  a building  of  much  less  pretensions, 
of  which  the  yellow  walls  and  beautiful  gardens  are  seen 
between  Belem  and  the  city.  The  Necessidades  are  only 
used  for  grand  galas,  receptions  of  ambassadors,  and  cere- 
monies of  state.  In  the  throne-room  is  a huge  throne, 
surmounted  by  an  enormous  gilt  crown,  than  which  I have 
never  seen  anything  larger  in  the  finest  pantomime  at 
Drury  Lane  ; but  the  effect  of  this  splendid  piece  is  less- 
ened by  a shabby  old  Brussels  carpet,  almost  the  only  other 
article  of  furniture  in  the  apartment,  and  not  quite  large 
enough  to  cover  its  spacious  floor.  The  looms  of  Kidder- 
minster have  supplied  the  web  which  ornaments  the 
“ Ambassadors’  Waiting-Room,”  and  the  ceilings  are  paint- 
ed with  huge  allegories  in  distemper;  which  pretty  well 
correspond  with  the  other  furniture.  Of  all  the  undigni- 
fied objects  in  the  world,  a palace  out  at  elbows  is  surely 
the  meanest.  Such  places  ought  not  to  be  seen  in  adver- 
sity,— splendor  is  their  decency, — and  when  no  longer  able* 
to  maintain  it,  they  should  sink  to  the  level  of  their 
means,  calmly  subside  into  manufactories,  or  go  shabby  in 
seclusion. 

There  is  a picture-gallery  belonging  to  the  palace  that  is 
quite  of  a piece  with  the  furniture,  where  are  the  mytho- 
logical pieces  relative  to  the  kings  before  alluded  to,  and 
where  the  English  visitor  will  see  some  astonishing  pictures 
of  the  Duke  of  Wellington,  done  in  a very  characteristic 
style  of  Portuguese  art.  There  is  also  a chapel,  which  has 
been  decorated  with  much  care  and  sumptuousness  of  orna- 
ment, — the  altar  surmounted  by  a ghastly  and  horrible 
carved  figure  in  the  taste  of  the  time  when  faith  was 
strengthened  by  the  shrieks  of  Jews  on  the  rack,  and  en- 
livened by  the  roasting  of  heretics.  Other  such  fright- 
ful images  may  be  seen  in  the  churches  of  the  city ; those 
which  we  saw  were  still  rich,  tawdry,  and  splendid  to  out- 
ward show,  although  the  French,  as  usual,  had  robbed  their 
shrines  of  their  gold  and  silver,  and  the  statues  of  their 
jewels  and  crowns.  But  brass  and  tinsel  look  to  the  vis- 
itor full  as  well  at  a little  distance,  — as  doubtless  Soult 
and  Junot  thought,  when  they  despoiled  these  places  of 
worship,  like  French  philosophers  as  they  were. 

A friend,  with  a classical  turn  of  mind,  was  bent  upon 
seeing  the  aqueduct,  whither  we  went  on  a dismal  excursion 
of  three  hours,  in  the  worst  carriages,  over  the  most  diaboli- 
cal clattering  roads,  up  and  down  dreary  parched  hills,  on 


342 


EASTERN  SKETCHES , 


which  grew  a few  gray  olive-trees  and  many  aloes.  When 
we  arrived,  the  gate  leading  to  the  aqueduct  was  closed,  and 
we  were  entertained  with  a legend  of  some  respectable 
character  who  had  made  a good  livelihood  there  for  some 
time  past  lately,  having  a private  key  to  this  very  aque- 
duct, and  lying  in  wait  there  for  unwary  travellers  like 
ourselves,  whom  he  pitched  down  the  arches  into  the 
ravines  below,  and  there  robbed  them  at  leisure.  So  that 
all  we  saw  was  the  door  and  the  tall  arches  of  the  aqueduct, 
and  by  the  time  we  returned  to  town  it  was  time  to  go  on 
board  the  ship  again.  If  the  inn  at  which  we  had  so- 
journed was  not  of  the  best  quality,  the  bill,  at  least,  would 
have  done  honor  to  the  first  establishment  in  London.  We 
all  left  the  house  of  entertainment  joyfully,  glad  to  get  out 
of  the  sunburnt  city  and  go  home.  Yonder  in  the  steamer 
was  home,  with  its  black  funnel  and  gilt  portraiture  of 
“ Lady  Mary  Wood”  at  the  bows ; and  every  soul  on  board 
felt  glad  to  return  to  the  friendly  little  vessel.  But  the 
authorities  of  Lisbon,  however,  are  very  suspicious  of  the 
departing  stranger,  and  we  were  made  to  lie  an  hour  in  the 
river  before  the  Sanita  boat,  where  a passport  is  necessary 
to  be  procured  before  the  traveller  can  quit  the  country. 
Boat  after  boat,  laden  with  priests  and  peasantry,  with 
handsome  red-sashed  gallegos  clad  in  brown,  and  ill-favored 
women,  came  and  got  their  permits,  and  were  off,  as  we  lay 
bumping  up  against  the  old  hull  of  the  Sanita  boat : but 
the  officers  seemed  to  take  a delight  in  keeping  us  there 
bumping,  looked  at  us  quite  calmly  over  the  ship’s  sides, 
and  smoked  their  cigars  without  the  least  attention  to  the 
prayers  which  we  shrieked  out  for  release. 

If  we  were  glad  to  get  away  from  Lisbon,  we  were  quite 
as  sorry  to  be  obliged  to  quit  Cadiz,  which  we  reached  the 
next  night,  and  where  we  were  allowed  a couple  of  hours’ 
leave  to  land  and  look  about.  It  seemed  as  handsome 
within  as  it  is  stately  without : the  long  narrow  streets  of 
an  admirable  cleanliness,  man}r  of  the  tall  houses  of  rich 
and  noble  decorations,  and  all  looking  as  if  the  city  were  in 
full  prosperity.  I have  seen  no  more  cheerful  and  ani- 
mated sight  than  the  long  street  leading  from  the  quay 
where  we  were  landed,  and  the  market  blazing  in  sunshine, 
piled  with  fruit,  fish,  and  poultry,  under  many-colored 
awnings;  the  tall  white  houses  with  their  balconies  and 
galleries  shining  round  about,  and  the  sky  above  so  blue 
that  the  best  cobalt  in  all  the  paint-box  looks  muddy  and 


FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO . 


343 


dim  in  comparison  to  it.  There  were  pictures  for  a year  in 
that  market-place  — from  the  copper-colored  old  hags  and 
beggars  who  roared  to  you  for  the  love  of  heaven  to  give 
money,  to  the  swaggering  dandies  of  the  market,  with  red 
sashes  and  tight  clothes,  looking  on  superbly,  with  a hand 
on  the  hip  and  a cigar  in  the  mouth.  These  must  be  the 
chief  critics  at  the  great  bull-fight  house  yonder  by  the 
Alameda,  with  its  scanty  trees  and  cool  breezes,  facing  the 
water.  Nor  are  there  any  corks  to  the  bulls’  horns  here  as 
at  Lisbon.  A small  old  English  guide,  who  seized  upon  me 
the  moment  my  foot  was  on  shore,  had  a store  of  agreeable 
legends  regarding  the  bulls,  men,  and  horses  that  had  been 
killed  with  unbounded  profusion  in  the  late  entertainments 
which  have  taken  place. 

It  was  so  early  an  hour  in  the  morning  that  the  shops 
were  scarcely  opened  as  yet ; the  churches,  however,  stood 
open  for  the  faithful,  and  we  met  scores  of  women  tripping 
towards  them  with  pretty  feet,  and  smart  black  mantillas, 
from  which  looked  out  fine  dark  eyes  and  handsome  pale 
faces,  very  different  from  the  coarse  brown  countenances 
we  had  seen  at  Lisbon.  A very  handsome  modern  cathe- 
dral, built  by  the  present  bishop  at  his  own  charges,  was 
the  finest  of  the  public  edifices  we  saw  ; it  was  not,  how- 
ever, nearly  so  much  frequented  as  another  little  church, 
crowded  with  altars  and  fantastic  ornaments,  and  lights 
and  gilding,  where  we  were  told  to  look  behind  a huge  iron 
grille,  and  beheld  a bevy  of  black  nuns  kneeling.  Most  of 
the  good  ladies  in  the  front  ranks  stopped  their  devotions, 
and  looked  at  the  strangers  with  as  much  curiosity  as  we 
directed  at  them  through  the  gloomy  bars  of  their  chapel. 
The  men’s  convents  are  closed : that  which  contains  the 
famous  Murillos  has  been  turned  into  an  academy  of  the 
fine  arts ; but  the  English  guide  did  not  think  the  pictures 
were  of  sufficient  interest  to  detain  strangers,  and  so  hur- 
ried us  back  to  the  shore,  and  grumbled  at  only  getting 
three  shillings  at  parting  for  his  trouble  and  his  informa- 
tion. And  so  our  residence  in  Andalusia  began  and  ended 
before  breakfast,  and  we  went  on  board  and  steamed  for 
Gibraltar,  looking,  as  we  passed,  at  Joinville’s  black  squad- 
ron, and  the  white  houses  of  St.  Mary’s  across  the  bay, 
with  the  hills  of  Medina  Sidonia  and  Granada  lying  purple 
beyond  them.  'There’s  something  even  in  those  names 
which  is  pleasant  to  write  down ; to  have  passed  only  two 
hours  in  Cadiz  is  something  — to  have  seen  real  donnas 


344 


EASTERN  SKETCHES . 


with  comb  and  mantle' — real  Caballeros  with  cloak  and 
cigar  — real  Spanish  barbers  lathering  out  of  brass  basins, 
— and  to  have  heard  guitars  under  the  balconies:  there 
was  one  that  an  old  beggar  was  jangling  in  the  market, 
whilst  a huge  leering  fellow  in  bushy  whiskers  and  a faded 
velvet  dress  came  singing  and  jumping  after  our  party,  — 
not  singing  to  a guitar,  it  is  true,  but  imitating  one  cap- 
itally with  his  voice,  and  cracking  his  fingers  by  way  of 
castanets,  and  performing  a dance  such  as  Figaro  or  La- 
blache  might  envy.  How  clear  that  fellow’s  voice  thrums 


on  the  ear  even  now ; and  hoAv  bright  and  pleasant  remains 
the  recollection  of  the  fine  city  and  the  blue  sea,  and  the 
Spanish  flags  floating  on  the  boats  that  danced  over  it,  and 
Joinville’s  band  beginning  to  play  stirring  marches  as  we 
puffed  out  of  the  bay. 

The  next  stage  was  Gibraltar,  where  we  were  to  change 
horses.  Before  sunset  we  skirted  along  the  dark  savage 
mountains  of  the  African  coast,  and  came  to  the  Bock  just 


FROM  CORN  HILL  TO  CAIRO. 


345 


before  gun-fire.  It  is  the  very  image  of  an  enormous  -lion, 
crouched  between  the  Atlantic  and  the  Mediterranean,  and 
set  there  to  guard  the  passage  for  its  British  mistress. 
The  next  British  lion  is  Malta,  four  days  further  on  in  the 
Midland  Sea,  and  ready  to  spring  upon  Egypt  or  pounce 
upon  Syria,  or  roar  so  as  to  be  heard  at  Marseilles  in  case 
of  need. 

To  the  eyes  of  the  civilian  the  first-named  of  these  fa- 
mous fortifications  is  by  far  the  most  imposing.  The  Bock 
looks  so  tremendous,  that  to  ascend  it,  even  without  the 
compliment  of  shells  or  shot,  seems  a dreadful  task  — what 
would  it  be  when  all  those  mysterious  lines  of  batteries 
were  vomiting  fire  and  brimstone ; when  all  those  dark 
guns  that  you  see  poking  their  grim  heads  out  of  every 
imaginable  cleft  and  zigzag  should  salute  you  with  shot, 
both  hot  and  cold ; and  when,  after  tugging  up  the  hideous 
perpendicular  place,  you  were  to  find  regiments  of  British 
grenadiers  ready  to  plunge  bayonets  into  your  poor  pant- 
ing stomach,  and  let  out  artificially  the  little  breath  left 
there  ? It  is  a marvel  to  think  that  soldiers  will  mount 
such  places  for  a shilling — ensigns  for  five  and  ninepence 
— a day : a cabman  would  ask  double  the  money  to  go  half 
way  ! One  meekly  reflects  upon  the  above  strange  truths, 
leaning  over  the  ship’s  side,  and  looking  up  the  huge  moun- 
tain, from  the  tower  nestled  at  the  foot  of  it  to  the  thin 
flagstaff  at  the  summit,  up  to  which  have  been  piled  the 
most  ingenious  edifices  for  murder  Christian  science  ever 
adopted.  My  hobby-horse  is  a quiet  beast,  suited  for 
Park  riding,  or  a gentle  trot  to  Putney  and  back  to  a snug 
stable,  and  plenty  of  feeds  of  corn  : — it  can’t  abide  climb- 
ing hills,  and  is  not  at  all  used  to  gunpowder.  Some  men’s 
animals  are  so  spirited  that  the  very  appearance  of  a stone- 
wall sets  them  jumping  at  it ; regular  chargers  of  hobbies, 
which  snort  and  say  — “ Ha,  ha ! ” at  the  mere  notion  of  a 
battle. 


CHAPTER  III. 


THE  “ LADY  MARY  WOOD.  ” 


JR  week’s  voyage  is  now 
drawing  to  a close.  We 
have  just  been  to  look  at 
Cape  Trafalgar,  shining 
white  over  the  finest  blue 
sea.  (We,  who  were  look- 
ing at  Trafalgar  Square 
only  the  other  day  ! ) The 
sight  of  that  cape  must 
have  disgusted  Joinville 
and  his  fleet  of  steamers, 
as  they  passed  yesterday 
into  Cadis  bay,  and  to- 
morrow will  give  them  a 
sight  of  St.  Vincent. 

One  of  their  steam-ves- 
sels has  been  lost  off  the 
coast  of  Africa ; they  were  obliged  to  burn  her,  lest  the 
Moors  should  take  possession  of  her.  She  was  a virgin 
vessel,  just  out  of  Brest.  Poor  innocent!  to  die  in  the 
very  first  month  of  her  union  with  the  noble  whiskered  god 
of  war ! 

We  Britons  on  board  the  English  boat  received  the  news 
of  the  “ Groenenland’s  ” abrupt  demise  with  grins  of  satis- 
faction. It  was  a sort  of  national  compliment,  and  cause  of 
agreeable  congratulation.  “ The  lubbers  ! ” we  said  ; “ the 
clumsy  humbugs ! there’s  none  but  Britons  to  rule  the 
waves  ! ” and  we  gave  ourselves  piratical  airs,  and  went 
down  presently  and  were  sick  in  our  little  buggy  berths. 
It  was  pleasant,  certainly,  to  laugh  at  Joinville’s  admiral’s 
flag  floating  at  his  foremast,  in  yonder  black  ship,  with  its 
two  thundering  great  guns  at  the  bows  and  stern,  its  busy 
crew  swarming  on  the  deck,  and  a crowd  of  obsequious 
shore-boats  bustling  round  the  vessel  — and  to  sneer  at  the 

346 


FROM  CORN  HILL  TO  CAIRO. 


347 


Mogador  warrior,  and  vow  that  we  English,  had  we  been 
inclined  to  do  the  business,  would  have  performed  it  a great 
deal  better. 

Now  yesterday  at  Lisbon  we  saw  H.  M.  S.  “ Caledonia.” 
This , on  the  contrary,  inspired  us  with  feelings  of  respect 
and  awful  pleasure.  There  she  lay  — the  huge  sea-castle  — - 
bearing  the  unconquerable  flag  of  our  country.  She  had 
but  to  open  her  jaws,  as  it  were,  and  she  might  bring  a 
second  earthquake  on  the  city  — batter  it  into  kingdom- 
come  — with  the  Ajuda  palace  and  the  Necessidades,  the 
churches,  and  the  lean,  dry,  empty  streets,  and  Don  John, 
tremendous  on  horseback,  in  the  midst  of  Black  Horse 
Square.  Wherever  we  looked  we  could  see  that  enormous 
“ Caledonia,  ” with  her  flashing  three  lines  of  guns.  We 
looked  at  the  little  boats  which  ever  and  anon  came  out  of 
this  monster,  with  humble  wonder.  There  was  the  lieuten- 
ant who  boarded  us  at  midnight  before  we  dropped  anchor 
in  the  river : ten  white-jacketed  men  pulling  as  one,  swept 
along  with  the  barge,  gig,  boat,  curricle,  or  coach-and-six, 
with  which  he  came  up  to  us.  We  examined  him — his  red 
whiskers — his  collars  turned  down — his  duck  trousers,  his 
bullion  epaulets  — with  awe.  With  the  same  reverential 
feeling  we  examined  the  seamen  — the  young  gentleman  in 
the  bows  of  the  boat  — the  handsome  young  officers  of 
marines  we  met  sauntering  in  the  town  next  day  — the 
Scotch  surgeon  who  boarded  us  as  we  weighed  anchor  — 
every  man,  down  to  the  broken-nosed  mariner  who  was 
drunk  in  a wine-house,  and  had  “ Caledonia”  written  on  his 
hat.  Whereas  at  the  Frenchmen  we  looked  with  undis- 
guised contempt.  We  were  ready  to  burst  with  laughter 
as  we  passed  the  prince’s  vessel — there  was  a little  French 
boy  in  a French  boat  alongside  cleaning  it,  and  twirling 
about  a little  French  mop — we  thought  it  the  most  comical, 
contemptible  French  boy,  mop,  boat,  steamer,  prince  — 
Psha ! it  is  of  this  wretched  vaporing  stuff  that  false  patri- 
otism is  made.  I write  this  as  a sort  of  homily  apropos  of 
the  day,  and  Cape  Trafalgar,  off  which  we  lie.  What 
business  have  I to  strut  the  deck,  and  clap  my  wings,  and 
cry  “ Cock-a-doodle-doo  ” over  it  ? Some  compatriots  are  at 
that  work  even  now. 

We  have  lost  one  by  one  all  our  jovial  company.  There 
were  the  five  Oporto  wine  merchants  — all  hearty  English 
gentlemen  — gone  to  their  wine-butts,  and  their  red-legged 


348 


EASTERN  SKETCHES . 


partridges,  and  their  duels  at  Oporto.  It  appears  that 
these  gallant  Britons  tight  every  morning  among  them- 
selves, and  give  the  benighted  people  among  whom  they 
live  an  opportunity  to  admire  the  spirit  national.  There  is 
the  brave,  honest  major,  with  his  wooden  leg — the  kindest 
and  simplest  of  Irishmen : he  has  embraced  his  children, 
and  reviewed  his  little  invalid  garrison  of  fifteen  men,  in 
the  fort  which  he  commands  at  Belem,  by  this  time,  and,  I 
have  no  doubt,  played  to  every  soul  of  them  the  twelve 
tunes  of  his  musical-box.  It  was  pleasant  to  see  him  with 
that  musical-box  — how  pleased  he  wound  it  up  after 
dinner  — how  happily  he  listened  to  the  little  clinking 
tunes  as  they  galloped,  ding-dong,  after  each  other.  A man 
who  carries  a musical-box  is  always  a good-natured  man. 

Then  there  was  his  Grace,  or  his  Grandeur,  the  Arch- 
bishop of  Beyrouth  (in  the  parts  of  the  infidels),  his 
Holiness’s  Nuncio  to  the  court  of  her  Most  Faithful  Maj- 
esty, and  who  mingled  among  us  like  any  simple  mortal,  — 
except  that  he  had  an  extra  smiling  courtesy,  which  simple 
mortals  do  not  always  possess  ; and  when  you  passed  him 
as  such,  and  puffed  your  cigar  in  his  face,  took  off  his  hat 
with  a grin  of  such  prodigious  rapture,  as  to  lead  you  to 
suppose  that  the  most  delicious  privilege  of  his  whole  life 
was  that  permission  to  look  at  the  tip  of  your  nose  or  of 
your  cigar.  With  this  most  reverend  prelate  was  his 
Grace’s  brother  and  chaplain  — a very  greasy  and  good- 
natured  ecclesiastic,  who,  from  his  physiognomy,  I would 
have  imagined  to  be  a dignitary  of  the  Israelitish  rather  than 
the  Bomish  church  — as  profuse  in  smiling  courtesy  as  his 
Lordship  of  Beyrouth.  These  two  had  a meek  little  secre- 
tary between  them,  and  a tall  French  cook  and  valet,  who, 
at  meal  times,  might  be  seen  busy  about  the  cabin  where 
their  reverences  lay.  They  were  on  their  backs  for  the 
greater  part  of  the  voyage ; their  yellow  countenances  were 
not  only  unshaved,  but,  to  judge  from  appearances,  un- 
washed. They  ate  in  private  ; and  it  was  only  of  evenings, 
as  the  sun  was  setting  over  the  western  wave,  and,  com- 
forted by  the  dinner,  the  cabin  passengers  assembled  on  the 
quarter-deck,  that  we  saw  the  dark  faces  of  the  reverend 
gentlemen  among  us  for  a while.  They  sank  darkly  into 
their  berths  when  the  steward’s  bell  tolled  for.  tea. 

At  Lisbon,  where  we  came  to  anchor  at  midnight,  a special 
boat  came  off,  whereof  the  crew  exhibited  every  token  of  rev- 
erence for  the  ambassador  of  the  ambassador  of  heaven,  and 


FROM  C0RNH1LL  TO  CAIRO . 


349 


carried  him  off  from  our  company.  This  abrupt  departure 
in  the  darkness  disappointed  some  of  us,  who  had  promised 
ourselves  the  pleasure  of  seeing  his  Grandeur  depart  in 
state  in  the  morning,  shaved,  clean,  and  in  full  pontificals, 
the  tripping  little  secretary  swinging  an  incense-pot  before 
him,  and  the  greasy  chaplain  bearing  his  crosier. 

Next  day  we  had  another  bishop,  who  occupied  the  very 
same  berth  his  Grace  of  Beyrouth  had  quitted — was  sick  in 
the  very  same  way  — so  much  so  that  this  cabin  of  the 
“ Lady  Mary  Wood”  is  to  be  christened  “ the  bishop’s 
berth  ” henceforth ; and  a handsome  mitre  is  to  be  painted 
on  the  basin. 

Bishop  No.  2 was  a very  stout,  soft,  kind-looking  old 
gentleman  in  a square  cap,  with  a handsome  tassel  of  green 
and  gold  round  his  portly  breast  and  back.  He  was  dressed 
in  black  robes  and  tight  purple  stockings  : and  we  carried 
him  from  Lisbon  to  the  little  flat  coast  of  Faro,  of  which 
the  meek  old  gentleman  was  the  chief  pastor. 

We  had  not  been  half  an  hour  from  our  anchorage  in  the 
Tagus,  when  his  lordship  dived  down  into  the  episcopal 
berth.  All  that  night  there  was  a good  smart  breeze  ; it 
blew  fresh  all  the  next  day,  as  we  went  jumping  over  the 
blue  bright  sea ; and  there  was  no  sign  of  his  lordship  the 
bishop  until  we  were  opposite  the  purple  hills  of  Algarve, 
which  lay  some  ten  miles  distant,  — a yellow  sunny  shore 
stretching  flat  before  them,  whose  long  sandy  flats  and 
villages  we  could  see  with  our  telescope  from  the  steamer. 

Presently  a little  vessel,  with  a huge  shining  lateen  sail, 
and  bearing  the  blue  and  white  Portugese  flag,  was  seen 
playing  a sort  of  leap-frog  on  the  jolly  waves,  jumping  over 
them,  and  ducking  down  as  merry  as  could  be.  This  little 
boat  came  towards  the  steamer  as  quick  as  ever  she  could 
jump ; and  Captain  Cooper  roaring  out,  “ Stop  her  ! ” to 
“ Lady  Mary  Wood,  ” her  ladyship’s  paddles  suddenly 
ceased  twirling,  and  news  was  carried  to  the  good  bishop 
that  his  boat  was  almost  alongside,  and  that  his  hour  was 
come. 

It  was  rather  an  affecting  sight  to  see  the  poor  old  fat 
gentleman,  looking  wistfully  over  the  water  as  the  boat 
now  came  up,  and  her  eight  seamen,  with  great  noise, 
energy,  and  gesticulation  laid  her  by  the  steamer.  The 
steamer  steps  were  let  down ; his  lordship’s  servant,  in  blue 
and  yellow  livery,  (like  the  “ Edinburgh  Review,  ” ) cast 
over  the  episcopal  luggage  into  the  boat,  along  with  his  own 


350 


EASTERN  SKETCHES . 


bundle  and  the  jack-boots  with  which  he  rides  postilion  on 
one  of  the  bishop’s  fat  mules  at  Faro.  The  blue  and  yellow 
domestic  went  down  the  steps  into  the  boat.  Then  came 
the  bishop’s  turn ; but  he  couldn’t  do  it  for  a long  while. 
He  went  from  one  passenger  to  another,  sadly  shaking  them 
by  the  hand,  often  taking  leave  and  seeming  loth  to  depart, 
until  Captain  Cooper,  in  a stern  but  respectful  tone,  touched 
him  on  the  shoulder,  and  said,  I know  not  with  what  cor- 
rectness, being  ignorant  of  the  Spanish  language,  Senor 
’Bispo,  Senor  ’Bispo  ! ” on  which  summons  the  poor  old 
man,  looking  ruefully  round  him  once  more,  put  his  square 
cap  under  his  arm,  tucked  up  his  long  black  petticoats,  so 
as  to  show  his  purple  stockings  and  jolly  fat  calves,  and 
went  trembling  down  the  steps  towards  the  boat.  The 
good  old  man  ! I wish  I had  had  a shake  of  that  trembling 
podgy  hand  somehow  before  he  went  upon  his  sea  martyr- 
dom. I felt  a love  for  that  soft-hearted  old  Christian.  Ah  ! 
let  us  hope  his  governante  tucked  him  comfortably  in  bed 
when  he  got  to  Faro  that  night,  and  made  him  a warm  gruel 
and  put  his  feet  in  warm  water.  The  men  clung  around 
him,  and  almost  kissed  him  as  they  popped  him  into  the 
boat,  but  he  did  not  heed  their  caresses.  Away  went  the 
boat  scudding  madly  before  the  wind.  Bang!  another 
lateen-sailed  boat  in  the  distance  fired  a gun  in  his  honor ; 
but  the  wind  was  blowing  away  from  the  shore,  and  who 
knows  when  that  meek  bishop  got  home  to  his  gruel ! 

I think  these  were  the  notables  of  our  party.  I will  not 
mention  the  laughing,  ogling  lady  of  Cadiz,  whose  manners, 
I very  much  regret  to  say,  were  a great  deal  too  lively  for 
my  sense  of  propriety  ; nor  those  fair  sufferers,  her  com- 
panions, who  lay  on  deck  with  sickly,  smiling,  female 
resignation : nor  the  heroic  children,  who  no  sooner  ate 
biscuit  than  they  were  ill,  and  no  sooner  were  ill  than 
they  began  eating  biscuit  again ; but  just  allude  to  one 
other  martyr,  the  kind  lieutenant  in  charge  of  the  mails, 
and  who  bore  his  cross  with  what  I can’t  help  but  think  a 
very  touching  and  noble  resignation. 

There’s  a certain  sort  of  man  whose  doom  in  the  world  is 
disappointment,  — who  excels  in  it,  — and  whose  luckless 
triumphs  in  his  meek  career  of  life,  I have  often  thought, 
must  be  regarded  by  the  kind  eyes  above  with  as  much  favor 
as  the  splendid  successes  and  achievements  of  coarser  and 
more  prosperous  men.  As  I sat  with  the  lieutenant  upon 
deck,  his  telescope  laid  over  his  lean  legs,  and  he  looking  at 


FROM  CORN  LULL  TO  CAIRO. 


351 


the  sunset  with  a pleased,  withered  old  face,  he  gave  me  a 
little  account  of  his  history.  I take  it  he  is  in  no  wise  dis- 
inclined to  talk  about  it,  simple  as  it  is  : he  has  been  seven- 
and-thirty  years  in  the  navy,  being  somewhat  more  mature 
in  the  service  than  Lieutenant  Peel,  Rear-Admiral  Prince 
de  Joinville,  and  other  commanders  who  need  not  be  men- 
tioned. He  is  a very  well-educated  man,  and  reads  prodig- 
iously, — travels,  histories,  lives  of  eminent  worthies  and 
heroes,  in  his  simple  way.  He  is  not  in  the  least  angry  at 
his  want  of  luck  in  the  profession.  “ Were  I a boy  to-mor- 
row, ” he  said,  “ I would  begin  it  again ; and  when  I see  my 
schoolfellows,  and  how  they  have  got  on  in  life,  if  some  are 
better  off  than  I am,  I find  many  are  worse,  and  have  no 
call  to  be  discontented.”  So  he  carries  her  Majesty’s  mails 
meekly  through  this  world,  waits  upon  port-admirals  and 
captains  in  his  old  glazed  hat,  and  is  as  proud  of  the  pennon 
at  the  bow  of  his  little  boat,  as  if  it  were  flying  from  the 
mainmast  of  a thundering  man-of-war.  He  gets  two  hun- 
dred a year  for  his  services,  and  has  an  old  mother  and  a 
sister  living  in  England  somewhere,  who  I will  wager 
(though  he  never,  I swear,  said  a word  about  it)  have  a 
good  portion  of  this  princely  income. 

Is  it  breaking  a confidence  to  tell  Lieutenant  Bundy’s 
history  ? Let  the  motive  excuse  the  deed.  It  is  a good, 
kind,  wholesome,  and  noble  character.  Why  should  we 
keep  all  our  admiration  for  those  who  win  in  this  world,  as 
we  do,  sycophants  as  we  are  ? When  we  write  a novel,  our 
great,  stupid  imaginations  can  go  no  further  than  to  marry 
the  hero  to  a fortune  at  the  end,  and  to  find  out  that 
he  is  a lord  by  right.  0 blundering,  lickspittle  morality  ! 
And  yet  I would  like  to  fancy  some  happy  retributive 
Utopia  in  the  peaceful  cloudland,  where  my  friend  the 
meek  lieutenant  should  find  the  yards  of  his  ship  manned 
as  he  went  on  board,  all  the  guns  firing  an  enormous  salute 
( only  without  the  least  noise  or  vile  smell  of  powder  ),  and 
he  be  saluted  on  the  deck  as  Admiral  Sir  James,  or  Sir 
Joseph  — ay,  or  Lord  Viscount  Bundy,  knight  of  all  the 
orders  above  the  sun. 

I think  this  is  a sufficient,  if  not  a complete  catalogue  of 
the  worthies  on  board  the  “ Lady  Mary  Wood.  ” In  the 
week  we  were  on  board  — it  seemed  a year  by  the  way  — 
we  came  to  regard  the  ship  quite  as  a home.  We  felt  for  the 
captain  — the  most  good-humored,  active,  careful,  ready  of 
captains  — a filial,  a fraternal  regard ; for  the  provider, 


352 


EASTERN  SKETCHES. 


who  provided  for  us  with  admirable  comfort  and  generosity, 
a genial  gratitude  ; and  for  the  brisk  steward’s  lads  — 
brisk  in  serving  the  banquet,  sympathizing  in  handing  the 
basin  — every  possible  sentiment  of  regard  and  good-will. 
What  winds  blew  and  how  many  knots  we  ran,  are  all  noted 
down,  no  doubt,  in  the  ship’s  log : and  as  for  what  ships  we 
saw  — every  one  of  them  with  their  gunnage,  tonnage,  their 
nation,  their  direction  whither  they  were  bound  — were 
not  these  all  noted  down  with  surprising  ingenuity  and 
precision  by  the  lieutenant,  at  a family  desk  at  which  he 
sat  every  night,  before  a great  paper  elegantly  and  myste- 
riously ruled  off  with  his  large  ruler  ? I have  a regard 
for  every  man  on  board  that  ship,  from  the  captain  down 
to  the  crew  — down  even  to  the  cook,  with  tattooed  arms, 
sweating  among  the  saucepans  in  the  galley,  who  used  ( with 
a touching  affection  ) to  send  us  locks  of  his  hair  in  the 
soup.  And  so,  while  our  feelings  and  recollections  are 
warm,  let  us  shake  hands  with  this  knot  of  good  fellows, 
comfortably  floating  about  in  their  little  box  of  wood  and 
iron,  across  Channel,  Biscay  Bay,  and  the  Atlantic,  from 
Southampton  Water  to  Gibraltar  Straits. 


CHAPTER  IV.  v 

GIBRALTAR. 


TPPOSE  all  the  nations  of 
the  earth  to  send  fitting 
ambassadors  to  represent 
them  at  Wapping  or  Ports- 
mouth Point,  with  each, 
under  its  own  national 
signboard  and  language, 
its  appropriate  house  of 
call,  and  your  imagination 
may  figure  the  Main  Street 
of  Gibraltar:  almost  the 
only  part  of  the  town,  I 
believe,  which  boasts  of  the 
name  of  street  at  all,  the  re- 
maining house-rows  being 
modestly  called  lanes,  such 
as  Bomb  Lane,  Battery 
Lane,  Fusee  Lane,  and  so 
on.  In  Main  Street  the  Jews  predominate,  the  Moors 
abound ; and  from  the  “Jolly  Sailor,  ” or  the  brave  “Horse 
Marine,”  where  the  people  of  our  nation  are  drinking  British 
beer  and  gin,  you  hear  choruses  of  “ Garry owen  ” or  “ The 
Lass  I left  behind  me  ; ” while  through  the  flaring  lattices 
of  the  Spanish  ve litas  come  the  clatter  of  castanets  and  the 
jingle  and  moan  of  Spanish  guitars  and  ditties.  It  is  a 
curious  sight  at  evening  this  thronged  street,  with  the  peo- 
ple, in  a hundred  different  costumes,  bustling  to  and  fro 
under  the  coarse  flare  of  the  lamps  ; swarthy  Moors,  in  white 
or  crimson  robes ; dark  Spanish  smugglers  in  tufted  hats, 
with  gay  silk  handkerchiefs  round  their  heads  ; fuddled 
seamen  from  men-of-war,  or  merchantmen ; porters,  Gali- 
cian or  Genoese  ; and  at  every  few  minutes7  interval,  little 
squads  of  soldiers  tramping  to  relieve  guard  at  some  one  of 
the  innumerable  posts  in  the  town. 

23  353 


EASTERN  SKETCHES . 


354 

Some  of  our  party  went  to  a Spanish  venta,  as  a more 
convenient  or  romantic  place  of  residence  than  an  English 
house ; others  made  choice  of  the  club-house  in  Commercial 
Square  ; of  which  1 formed  an  agreeable  picture  in  my 
imagination  ; rather,  perhaps,  resembling  the  Junior  United 
Service  Club  in  Charles  Street,  by  which  every  Londoner 
has  passed  ere  this  with  respectful  pleasure,  catching 
glimpses  of  magnificent  blazing  candelabras,  under  which 
sit  neat  half-pay  officers,  drinking  half-pints  of  port.  The 
club-house  of  Gibraltar  is  not,  however,  of  the  Charles 
Street  sort;  it  may  have  been  cheerful  once,  and  there  are 
yet  relics  of  splendor  about  it.  When  officers  wore  pigtails, 
and  in  the  time  of  Governor  O’Hara,  it  may  have  been  a 
handsome  place ; but  it  is  mouldy  and  decrepit  now ; and 
though  his  Excellency,  Mr.  Bulwer,  was  living  there,  and 
made  no  complaints  that  1 heard  of,  other  less  distin- 
guished persons  thought  they  had  reason  to  grumble. 
Indeed,  what  is  travelling  made  of  ? At  least  half  its 
pleasures  and  incidents  come  out  of  inns  ; and  of  them  the 
tourist  can  speak  with  much  more  truth  and  vivacity  than 
of  historical  recollections  compiled  out  of  histories,  or 
filched  out  of  handbooks.  But  to  speak  of  the  best  inn  in  a 
place  needs  no  apology ; that,  at  least,  is  useful  informa- 
tion ; as  every  person  intending  to  visit  Gibraltar  cannot 
have  seen  the  flea-bitten  countenances  of  our  companions, 
who  fled  from  their  Spanish  venta  to  take  refuge  at  the 
club  the  morning  after  our  arrival,  they  may  surely  be 
thankful  for  being  directed  to  the  best  house  of  accommo- 
dation in  one  of  the  most  unromantic,  uncomfortable,  and 
prosaic  of  towns. 

If  one  had  a right  to  break  the  sacred  confidence  of  the 
mahogany,  I could  entertain  you  with  many  queer  stories 
of  Gibraltar  life,  gathered  from  the  lips  of  the  gentlemen 
who  enjoyed  themselves  round  the  dingy  tablecloth  of  the 
club-house  coffee-room,  richly  decorated  with  cold  gravy 
and  spilt  beer.  I heard  there  the  very  names  of  the  gen- 
tlemen who  wrote  the  famous  letters  from  the  “ Warspite” 
regarding  the  French  proceedings  at  Mogador;  and  met 
several  refugee  Jews  from  that  place,  who  said  that  they 
were  much  more  afraid  of  the  Kabyles  without  the  city 
than  of  the  guns  of  the  French  squadron,  of  which  they 
seemed  to  make  rather  light.  I heard  the  last  odds  on  the 
ensuing  match  between  Captain  Smith’s  b.  g.  Bolter,  and 
Captain  Brown’s  ch.  c.  Roarer  : how  the  gun-room  of  her 


FROM  C0RNH1LL  TO  CAIRO . 


355 


Majesty’s  ship  “Purgatory”  had  “cobbed”  a tradesman  of 
the  town,  and  of  the  row  in  consequence.  I heard  capital 
stories  of  the  way  in  which  Wilkins  had  escaped  the  guard, 
and  Thompson  had  been  locked  up  among  the  mosquitoes 
for  being  out  after  ten  without  the  lantern.  I heard  how  the 

governor  was  an  old , but  to  say  what,  would  be  breaking 

a confidence ; only  this  may  be  divulged,  that  the  epithet 
was  exceedingly  complimentary  to  Sir  Robert  Wilson.  All 
the  while  these  conversations  were  going  on,  a strange 
scene  of  noise  and  bustle  was  passing  in  the  market-place, 
in  front  of  the  window,  where  Moors,  Jews,  Spaniards, 
soldiers  were  thronging  in  the  sun  ; and  a ragged  fat  fellow, 
mounted  on  a tobacco-barrel,  with  his  hat  cocked  on  his 
ear,  was  holding  an  auction,  and  roaring  with  an  energy  and 
impudence  that  would  have  done  credit  to  Covent  Garden. 

The  Moorish  castle  is  the  only  building  about  the  Rock 
which  has  an  air  at  all  picturesque  or  romantic ; there  is  a 
plain  Roman  Catholic  cathedral,  a hideous  new  Protestant 
church  of  the  cigardivan  architecture,  and  a Court-house 
with  a portico  which  is  said  to  be  an  imitation  of  the  Parthe- 
non : the  ancient  religious  houses  of  the  Spanish  town  are 
gone,  or  turned  into  military  residences,  and  marked  so  that 
you  would  never  know  their  former  pious  destination.  You 
walk  through  narrow  white-washed  lanes,  bearing  such 
martial  names  as  are  before  mentioned,  and  by-streets  with 
barracks  on  either  side  : small  Newgate-like  looking  build- 
ings, at  the  doors  of  which  you  may  see  the  sergeants’ 
ladies  conversing ; or  at  the  open  windows  of  the  officers’ 
quarters,  Ensign  Fipps  lying  on  his  sofa  and  smoking  his 
cigar,  or  Lieutenant  Simson  practising  the  flute  to  while 
away  the  weary  hours  of  garrison  dulness.  I was  sur- 
prised not  to  find  more  persons  in  the  garrison  library, 
where  is  a magnificent  reading-room,  and  an  admirable 
collection  of  books. 

In  spite  of  the  scanty  herbage  and  the  dust  on  the 
trees,  the  Alameda  is  a beautiful  walk  ; of  which  the  vege- 
tation has  been  as  laboriously  cared  for  as  the  tremendous 
fortifications  which  flank  it  on  either  side.  The  vast  Rock 
rises  on  one  side  with  its  interminable  works  of  defence, 
and  Gibraltar  Bay  is  shining  on  the  other,  out  on  which 
from  the  terraces  immense  cannon  are  perpetually  looking, 
surrounded  by  plantations  of  cannon-balls  and  beds  of 
bomb-shells,  sufficient,  one  would  think,  to  blow  away  the 
whole  Peninsula.  The  horticultural  and  military  mixture 


356 


EASTERN  SKETCHES . 


is  indeed  very  queer : here  and  there  temples,  rustic  sum- 
mer-seats, &c.  have  been  erected  in  the  garden,  but  .you  are 
sure  to  see  a great  squat  mortar  look  up  from  among  the 
flower-pots  : and  amidst  the  aloes  and  geraniums  sprouts 
the  green  petticoat  and  scarlet  coat  of  a Highlander.  Fa- 
tigue-parties are  seen  winding  up  the  hill,  and  busy  about 
the  endless  cannon-ball  plantations  ; awkward  squads  are 
drilling  in  the  open  spaces  : sentries  marching  everywhere, 
and  ( this  is  a caution  to  artists  ) I am  told  have  orders  to 
run  any  man 'through,  who  is  discovered  making  a sketch  of 
the  place.  It  is  always  beautiful,  especially  at  evening, 
when  the  people  are  sauntering  along  the  walks,  and  the 
moon  is  shining  on  the  waters  of  the  bay  and  the  hills  and 
twinkling  white  houses  of  the  opposite  shore.  Then  the 
place  becomes  quite  romantic : it  is  too  dark  to  see  the 
dust  on  the  dried  leaves  ; the  cannon-balls  do  not  intrude 
too  much,  but  have  subsided  into  the  shade ; the  awkward 
squads  are  in  bed  ; even  the  loungers  are  gone,  the  fan- 
flirting Spanish  ladies,  the  sallow  black-eyed  children,  and 
the  trim  white-jacketed  dandies.  A fife  is  heard  from 
some  craft  at  roost  on  the  quiet  waters  somewhere  ; or  a 
faint  cheer  from  yonder  black  steamer  at  the  Mole,  which 
is  about  to  set  out  on  some  night  expedition.  You  forget 
that  the  town  is  at  all  like  Wapping,  and  deliver  yourself 
up  entirely  to  romance ; the  sentries  look  noble  pacing 
there,  silent  in  the  moonlight,  and  Sandy’s  voice  is  quite 
musical  as  he  challenges  with  a “ Who  goes  there  ? ” 

“ All’s  well  ” is  very  pleasant  when  sung  decently  in 
tune,  and  inspires  noble  and  poetic  ideas  of  duty,  courage, 
and  danger  : but  when  you  hear  it  shouted  all  the  night 
through,  accompanied  by  a clapping  of  muskets  in  a time 
of  profound  peace,  the  sentinel’s  cry  becomes  no  more 
romantic  to  the  hearer  than  it  is  to  the  sandy  Connaught- 
man  or  the  barelegged  Highlander  who  delivers  it.  It  is 
best  to  read  about  wars  comfortably  in  Harry  Lorrequer  or 
Scott’s  novels,  in  which  knights  shout  their  war-cries,  and 
jovial  Irish  bayoneteers  hurrah,  without  depriving  you  of 
any  blessed  rest.  Men  of  a different  way  of  thinking,  how- 
ever, can  suit  themselves  perfectly  at  Gibraltar;  where 
there  is  marching  and  counter-marching,  challenging  and 
relieving  guard  all  the  night  through.  And  not  here  in 
Commercial  Square  alone,  but  all  over  the  huge  Eock  in 
the  darkness  — all  through  the  mysterious  zig-zags,  and 
round  the  dark  cannon-ball  pyramids,  and  along  the  vast 


FROM  CORN  HILL  TO  CAIRO. 


357 


rock-galleries,  and  up  to  the  topmost  flagstaff,  where  the 
sentry  can  look  out  over  two  seas,  poor  fellows  are  march- 
ing and  clapping  muskets,  and  crying  “ All’s  Well,”  dressed 
in  cap  and  feather,  in  place  of  honest  nightcaps  best 
befitting  the  decent  hours  of  sleep. 

All  these  martial  noises  three  of  us  heard  to  the  utmost 
advantage,  lying  on  iron  bedsteads  at  the  time  in  a cracked 
old  room  on  the  ground  floor,  the  open  windows  of  which 
looked  into  the  square.  No  spot  could  be  more  favorably 
selected  for  watching  the  humors  of  a garrison-town  by 
night.  About  midnight,  the  door  hard  by  us  was  visited 
by  a party  of  young  officers,  who  having  had  quite  as  much 
drink  as  was  good  for  them,  were  naturally  inclined  for 
more  ; and  when  we  remonstrated  through  the  windows, 
one  of  them  in  a young  tipsy  voice  asked  after  our  mothers, 
and  finally  reeled  away.  How  charming  is  the  conversa- 
tion of  high-spirited  youth  ! I don’t  know  whether  the 
guard  got  hold  of  them : but  certainly  if  a civilian  had  been 
hiccupping  through  the  streets  at  that  hour  he  would  have 
been  carried  off  to  the  guard-house,  and  left  to  the  mercy 
of  the  mosquitoes  there,  and  had  up  before  the  Governor  in 
the  morning.  The  youhg  man  in  the  coffee-room  tells  me 
he  goes  to  sleep  every  night  with  the  keys  of  Gibraltar 
under  his  pillow.  It  is  an  awful  image,  and  somehow  com- 
pletes the  notion  of  the  slumbering  fortress.  Fancy  Sir 
Robert  Wilson,  his  nose  just  visible  over  the  sheets,  his 
night-cap  and  the  huge  key  ( you  see  the  very  identical  one 
in  Reynolds’s  portrait  of  Lord  Heathfield)  peeping  out 
from  under  the  bolster ! 

If  I entertain  you  with  accounts  of  inns  and  nightcaps  it 
is  because  I am  more  familiar  with  these  subjects  than  with 
history  and  fortifications  : as  far  as  I can  understand  the 
former,  Gibraltar  is  the  great  British  depot  for  smuggling 
goods  into  the  Peninsula.  You  see  vessels  lying  in  the 
harbor,  and  are  told  in  so  many  words  they  are  smugglers  ; 
all  those  smart  Spaniards  with  cigar  and  mantles  are  smug- 
glers, and  run  tobaccos  and  cotton  into  Catalonia ; all  the 
respected  merchants  of  the  place  are  smugglers.  The  other 
day  a Spanish  revenue  vessel  was  shot  to  death  under  the 
thundering  great  guns  of  the  fort,  for  neglecting  to  bring 
to,  but  it  so  happened  that  it  was  in  chase  of  a smuggler ; 
in  this  little  corner  of  her  dominions  Britain  proclaims  war 
to  custom-houses,  and  protection  to  free  trade.  Perhaps 


358 


EASTERN  SKETCHES . 


ere  a very  long  day,  England  may  be  acting  that  part 
towards  the  world,  which  Gibraltar  performs  towards  Spain 
now ; and  the  last  war  in  which  we  shall  ever  engage  may 
be  a custom-house  war.  For  once  establish  railroads  and 
abolish  preventive  duties  through  Europe,  and  what  is  there 
left  to  fight  for  ? It  will  matter  very  little  then  under 
what  flag  people  live,  and  foreign  ministers  and  ambassa- 
dors may  enjoy  a dignified  sinecure  ; the  army  will  rise  to 
the  rank  of  peaceful  constables,  not  having  any  more  use 
for  their  bayonets  than  those  worthy  people  have  for  their 
weapons  now  who  accompany  the  law  at  assizes  under  the 
name  of  javelin-men.  The  apparatus  of  bombs  and  eighty- 
four-pounders  may  disappear  from  the  Alameda,  and  the 
crops  of  cannon-balls  which  now  grow  there  may  give  place 
to  other  plants  more  pleasant  to  the  eye ; and  the  great 
key  of  Gibraltar  may  be  left  in  the  gate  for  anybody  to 
turn  at  will,  and  Sir  Robert  Wilson  may  sleep  at  quiet. 

I am  afraid  I thought  it  was  rather  a release,  when, 
having  made  up  our  minds  to  examine  the  Rock  in  detail 
and  view  the  magnificent  excavations  and  galleries,  the 
admiration  of  all  military  men,  and  the  terror  of  any  ene- 
mies who  may  attack  the  fortress,  we  received  orders  to 
embark  forthwith  in  the  “ Tagus,”  which  was  to  carry  us 
to  Malta  and  Constantinople.  So  we  took  leave  of  this 
famous  Rock  this  great  blunderbuss  — which  we  seized 
out  of  the  hands  of  the  natural  owners  a hundred  and  forty 
years  ago,  and  which  we  have  kept  ever  since  tremendously 
loaded  and  cleaned  and  ready  for  use.  To  seize  and  have  it 
is  doubtless  a gallant  thing ; it  is  like  one  of  those  tests  of 
courage  which  one  reads  of  in  the  chivalrous  romances, 
when,  for  instance,  Sir  Huon  of  Bordeaux  is  called  upon  to 
prove  his  knighthood  by  going  to  Babylon  and  pulling  out 
the  Sultan’s  beard  and  front  teeth  in  the  midst  of  his  court 
there.  But,  after  all,  justice  must  confess  it  was  rather 
hard  on  the  poor  Sultan.  If  we  had  the  Spaniards  estab- 
lished at  Land’s  End,  with  impregnable  Spanish  fortifica- 
tions on  St.  Michael’s  Mount,  we  should  perhaps  come  to 
the  same  conclusion.  Meanwhile  let  us  hope,  during  this 
long  period  of  deprivation,  the  Sultan  of  Spain  is  reconciled 
to  the  loss  of  his  front  teeth  and  bristling  whiskers  — let 
us  even  try  to  think  that  he  is  better  without  them.  At 
all  events,  right  or  wrong,  whatever  may  be  our  title  to  the 
property,  there  is  no  Englishman  but  must  think  with 
pride  of  the  manner  in  which  his  countrymen  have  kept  it5 


FROM  CORN  HILL  TO  CAIRO. 


859 


and  of  the  courage,  endurance,  and  sense  of  duty  with 
which  stout  old  Eliot  and  his  companions  resisted  Crillion 
and  the  Spanish  battering-ships  and  his  fifty  thousand  men. 
There  seems  to  be  something  more  noble  in  the  success  of 
a gallant  resistance  than  of  an  attack,  however  brave. 
After  failing  in  his  attack  on  the  fort,  the  French  General 
visited  the  English  Commander  who  had  foiled  him,  and 
parted  from  him  and  his  garrison  in  perfect  politeness  and 
good  humor.  The  English  troops,  Drinkwater  says,  gave 
him  thundering  cheers  as  he  went  away,  and  the  French  in 
return  complimented  us  on  our  gallantry,  and  lauded  the 
humanity  of  our  people.  If  we  are  to  go  on  murdering 
each  other  in  the  old-fashioned  way,  what  a pity  it  is  that 
our  battles  cannot  end  in  the  old-fashioned  way  too. 

One  of  our  fellow-travellers,  who  had  written  a book,  and 
had  suffered  considerably  from  sea-sickness  during  our 
passage  along  the  coasts  of  France  and  Spain,  consoled  us 
all  by  saying  that  the  very  minute  we  got  into  the  Medi- 
terranean we  might  consider  ourselves  entirely  free  from 
illness ; and,  in  fact,  that  it  was  unheard  of  in  the  Inland 
Sea.  Even  in  the  Bay  of  Gibraltar  the  water  looked  bluer 
than  anything  I have  ever  seen  — except  Miss  Smith’s  eyes. 
I thought,  somehow,  the  delicious  faultless  azure  never 
could  look  angry  — just  like  the  eyes  before  alluded  to  — 
and  under  this  assurance  we  passed  the  Strait,  and  began 
coasting  the  African  shore  calmly  and  without  the  least 
apprehension,  as  if  we  were  as  much  used  to  the  tempest  as 
Mr.  T.  P.  Cooke. 

But  when,  in  spite  of  the  promise  of  the  man  who  had 
written  the  book,  we  found  ourselves  worse  than  in  the 
worst  part  of  the  Bay  of  Biscay,  or  off  the  storm-lashed 
rocks  of  Finisterre,  we  set  down  the  author  in  question  as 
a gross  impostor,  and  had  a mind  to  quarrel  with  him  for 
leading  us  into  this  cruel  error.  The  most  provoking  part 
of  the  matter,  too,  was,  that  the  sky  was  deliciously  clear 
and  cloudless,  the  air  balmy,  the  sea  so  insultingly  blue 
that  it  seemed  as  if  we  had  no  right  to  be  ill  at  all,  and 
that  the  inumerable  little  waves  that  frisked  round  about 
our  keel  were  enjoying  an  anerithmon  gelasma  (this  is  one 
of  my  four  Greek  quotations  : depend  on  it  I will  manage 
to  introduce  the  other  three  before  the  tour  is  done  ) — 
seemed  to  be  enjoying,  I say,  the  above  named  Greek 
quotation  at  our  expense.  Here  is  the  dismal  log  of  Wed- 
nesday, 4th  of  September : — “ All  attempts  at  dining 


360 


EASTERN  SKETCHES . 


very  fruitless.  Basins  in  requisition.  Wind  hard  ahead. 
Que  diable  allais-je  faire  dans  cette  galore?  Writing  or 
thinking  impossible : so  read  letters  from  the  iEgean.” 
These  brief  words  give,  I think,  a complete  idea  of  wretch- 
edness, despair,  remorse,  and  prostration  of  soul  and  body. 
Two  days  previously  we  passed  the  forts  and  moles  and 
yellow  buildings  of  Algiers,  rising  very  stately  from  the 
sea,  and  skirted  by  gloomy  purple  lines  of  African  shore, 
with  fires  smoking  in  the  mountains,  and  lonely  settle- 
ments here  and  there. 

On  the  5th,  to  the  inexpressible  joy  of  all,  we  reached 
Valetta,  the  entrance  to  the  harbor  of  which  is  one  of  the 
most  stately  and  agreeable  scenes  ever  admired  by  sea-sick 
traveller.  The  small  basin  was  busy  writh  a hundred  ships, 
from  the  huge  guard-ship,  which  lies  there  a city  in  itself; 

— merchant-men  loading  and  crews  cheering,  under  all  the 
flags  of  the  world  flaunting  in  the  sunshine ; a half-score  of 
busy  black  steamers  perpetually  coming  and  going,  coaling 
and  painting,  and  puffing  and  hissing  in  and  out  of  harbor ; 
slim  men-of-war’s  barges  shooting  to  and  fro,  with  long 
shining  oars  flashing  like  wings  over  the  water ; hundreds 
of  painted  town-boats,  with  high  heads  and  white  awnings, 

— down  to  the  little  tubs  in  which  some  naked,  tawny 
young  beggars  came  paddling  up  to  the  steamer,  entreating 
us  to  let  them  dive  for  halfpence.  Bound  this  busy  blue 
water  rise  rocks,  blazing  in  sunshine,  and  covered  with 
every  imaginable  device  of  fortification ; to  the  right,  St. 
Elmo,  with  flag  and  light-house  ; and  opposite,  the  Military 
Hospital,  looking  like  a palace  ; and  all  round,  the  houses  of 
the  city,  for  its  size  the  handsomest  and  most  stately  in 
the  world. 

Nor  does  it  disappoint  you  on  a closer  inspection,  as  many 
a foreign  town  does.  The  streets  are  thronged  with  a lively, 
comfortable-looking  population ; the  poor  seem  to  inhabit 
handsome  stone  palaces,  with  balconies  and  projecting  win- 
dows of  heavy  carved  stone.  The  lights  and  shadows,  the 
cries  and  stenches,  the  fruit-shops  and  fish-stalls,  the  dresses 
and  chatter  of  all  nations ; the  soldiers  in  scarlet,  and 
women  in  black  mantillas  ; the  beggars,  boatmen,  barrels 
of  pickled  herrings  and  maccaroni ; the  shovel-hatted  priests 
and  bearded  capuchins  ; the  tobacco,  grapes,  onions,  and 
sunshine ; the  signboards,  bottled-porter  stores,  the  statues 
of  saints  and  little  chapels  which  jostle  the  stranger’s  eyes 
as  he  goes  up  the  famous  stairs  from  the  Water-gate,  make 


FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO . 


361 


a scene  of  such  pleasant  confusion  and  liveliness  as  I have 
never  witnessed  before.  And  the  effects  of  the  multitu- 
dinous actors  in  this  busy,  cheerful  drama  is  heightened, 
as  it  were,  by  the  decorations  of  the  stage.  The  sky  is 
delightfully  brilliant;  all  the  houses  and  ornaments  are 
stately  ; castles  and  palaces  are  rising  all  around  ; and  the 
flag,  towers,  and  walls  of  Fort  St.  Elmo  look  as  fresh  and 
magnificent  as  if  they  had  been  erected  only  yesterday. 

The  Strada  Reale  has  a much  more  courtly  appearance 
than  that  one  described.  Here  are  palaces,  churches,  court- 
houses and  libraries,  the  genteel  London  shops,  and  the 
latest  articles  of  perfumery.  Gay  young  officers  are  strolling 
about  in  shell-jackets  much  too  small  for  them  : midshipmen 
are  clattering  by  on  hired  horses  ; squads  of  priests,  habited 
after  the  fashion  of  Don  Basilio  in  the  opera,  are  demurely 
pacing  to  and  fro ; professional  beggars  run  shrieking 
after  the  stranger ; and  agents  for  horses,  for  inns,  and 
for  worse  places  still,  follow  him  and  insinuate  the  excel- 
lence of  their  goods.  The  houses  where  they  are  selling 
carpet-bags  and  pomatum  were  the  palaces  of  the  successors 
of  the  goodliest  company  of  gallant  knights  the  world  ever 
heard  tell  of.  It  seems  unromantic  ; but  these  were  not  the 
romantic  Knights  of  St.  John.  The  heroic  days  of  the  Or- 
der ended  as  the  last  Turkish  galley  lifted  anchor  after  the 
memorable  siege.  The  present  stately  houses  were  built 
in  times  of  peace  and  splendor  and  decay.  I doubt  whether 
the  Auberge  de  Provence,  where  the  “ Union  Club  ” flour- 
ishes now,  has  ever  seen  anything  more  romantic  than  the 
pleasant  balls  held  in  the  great  room  there. 

The  Church  of  Saint  John,  not  a handsome  structure  with- 
out, is  magnificent  within  : a noble  hall  covered  with  a rich 
embroidery  of  gilded  carving,  the  chapels  of  the  different 
nations  on  either  side,  but  not  interfering  with  the  main 
structure,  of  which  the  whole  is  simple,  and  the  details  only 
splendid ; it  seemed  to  me  a fitting  place  for  this  wealthy 
body  of  aristocratic  soldiers,  who  made  their  devotions  as 
it  were  on  parade,  and,  though  on  their  knees,  never  forgot 
their  epaulets  or  their  quarters  of  nobility.  This  mixture 
of  religion  and  worldly  pride  seems  incongruous  at  first ; 
but  have  we  not  at  church  at  home  similar  relics  of  feudal 
ceremony  ? — the  verger  with  the  silver  mace  who  precedes 
the  vicar  to  the  desk ; the  two  chaplains  of  my  lord  arch- 
bishop, who  bow  over  his  grace  as  he  enters  the  commun- 
ion-table gate ; even  poor  John,  who  follows  my  lady  with  a 


EASTERN  SKETCHES. 


362 

coroneted  prayer-book,  and  makes  his  conye  as  lie  hands  it 
into  the  pew.  What  a chivalrous  absurdity  is  the  banner  of 
some  high  and  mighty  prince,  hanging  over  his  stall  in 
Windsor  Chapel,  when  you  think  of  the  purpose  for  which 
men  are  supposed  to  assemble  there  ! The  church  of  the 
Knights  of  St.  John  is  paved  over  with  sprawling  heraldic 
devices  of  the  dead  gentlemen  of  the  dead  Order ; as  if,  in 
the  next  world,  they  expected  to  take  rank  in  conformity 
with  their  pedigrees,  and  would  be  marshalled  into  heaven 
according  to  the  orders  of  precedence.  Cumbrous  handsome 
paintings  adorn  the  walls  and  chapels,  decorated  with  pom- 
pous monuments  of  Grand  Masters.  Beneath  is  a crypt, 
where  more  of  these  honorable  and  reverend  warriors  lie, 
in  a state  that  a Simpson  would  admire.  In  the  altar  are 
said  to  lie  three  of  the  most  gallant  relics  in  the  world : 
the  keys  of  Acre,  Rhodes  and  Jerusalem.  What  blood  was 
shed  in  defending  these  emblems  ! What  faith,  endurance, 
genius,  and  generosity ; what  pride,  hatred,  ambition,  and 
savage  lust  of  blood  were  roused  together  for  their  guard- 
ianship ! 

In  the  lofty  halls  and  corridors  of  the  Governor’s  house, 
some  portraits  of  the  late  Grand  Masters  still  remain : a 
very  fine  one,  by  Caravaggio,  of  a knight  in  gilt  armor, 
hangs  in  the  dining-room,  near  a full-length  of  poor  Louis 
XVI.,  in  royal  robes,  the  very  picture  of  uneasy  impotency. 
But  the  portrait  of  De  Vignacourt  is  the  only  one  which 
has  a respectable  air ; the  other  chiefs  of  the  famous  society 
are  pompous  old  gentlemen  in  black,  with  huge  periwigs, 
and  crowns  round  their  hats,  and  a couple  of  melancholy 
pages  in  yellow  and  red.  But  pages  and  wigs  and  Grand 
Masters  have  almost  faded  out  of  the  canvas,  and  are  van- 
ishing into  Hades  with  a most  melancholy  indistinctness. 
The  names  of  most  of  these  gentlemen,  however,  live  as 
yet  in  the  forts  of  the  place,  which  all  seem  to  have  been 
eager  to  build  and  christen:  so  that  it  seems  as  if,  in  the 
Malta  mythology,  they  had  been  turned  into  freestone. 

In  the  armory  is  the  very  suit  painted  by  Caravaggio,  by 
the  side  of  the  armor  of  the  noble  old  La  Valette,  whose 
heroism  saved  his  island  from  the  efforts  of  Mustapha  and 
Dragut,  and  an  army  quite  as  fierce  and  numerous  as  that 
which  was  baffled  before  Gibraltar,  by  similar  courage  and 
resolution.  The  sword  of  the  last-named  famous  corsair 
( a most  truculent  little  scimitar  ),  thousands  of  pipes  and 
halberts,  little  old  cannons  and  wall-pieces,  helmets  and 


FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO. 


363 


cuirasses,  which  the  knights  or  their  people  wore,  are 
trimly  arranged  against  the  wall,  and,  instead  of  spiking 
Turks  or  arming  warriors,  now  serve  to  point  morals  and 
adorn  tales.  And  here  likewise  are  kept  many  thousand 
muskets,  swords,  and  boarding-pikes  for  daily  use,  and  a 
couple  of  ragged  old  standards  of  one  of  the  English  regi- 
ments, who  pursued  and  conquered  in  Egypt  the  remains  of 
the  haughty  and  famous  French  Republican  army,  at  whose 
appearance  the  last  knights  of  Multa  flung  open  the  gates 
of  all  their  fortresses,  and  consented  to  be  extinguished 
without  so  much  as  a remonstrance,  or  a kick,  or  a struggle. 

We  took  a drive  into  what  may  be  called  the  country ; 
where  the  fields  are  rocks,  and  the  hedges  are  stones — pass- 
ing by  the  stone  gardens  of  the  Florian,  and  wondering  at 
the  number  and  handsomeness  of  the  stone  villages  and 
churches  rising  everywhere  among  the  stony  hills.  Hand- 
some villas  were  passed  everywhere,  and  we  drove  for  a 
long  distance  along  the  sides  of  an  aqueduct,  quite  a royal 
work  of  the  Caravaggio  in  gold  armor,  the  Grand  Master 
I)e  Yignacourt.  A most  agreeable  contrast  to  the  arid 
rocks  of  the  general  scenery  was  the  garden  at  the  Gov- 
ernor’s country-house ; with  the  orange-trees  and  water, 
its  beautiful  golden  grapes,  luxuriant  flowers,  and  thick 
cool  shrubberies.  The  eye  longs  for  this  sort  of  refresh- 
ment, after  being  seared  with  the  hot  glare  of  the  general 
country ; and  St.  Antonio  was  as  pleasant  after  Malta  as 
Malta  was  after  the  sea. 

We  paid  the  island  a subsequent  visit  in  November,  pass- 
ing seventeen  days  at  an  establishment  called  Fort  Manuel 
there,  and  by  punsters  the  Manuel  des  Voyageurs ; where 
Government  accommodates  you  with  quarters ; where  the 
authorities  are  so  attentive  as  to  scent  letters  with  aromatic 
vinegar  before  you  receive  them,  and  so  careful  of  3^our 
health  as  to  lock  you  up  in  your  room  every  night  lest  you 
should  walk  in  your  sleep,  and  so  over  the  battlements  in- 
to the  sea : if  you  escape  drowning  in  the  sea,  the  sentries 
on  the  opposite  shore  would  fire  at  you,  hence  the  nature  of 
the  precaution.  To  drop,  however,  this  satirical  strain  : 
those  who  know  what  quarantine  is,  may  fancy  that  the 
place  somehow  becomes  unbearable  in  which  it  has  been 
endured.  And  though  the  November  climate  of  Malta  is 
like  the  most  delicious  May  in  England,  and  though  there 
is  every  gayety  and  amusement  in  the  town,  a comfortable 
little  opera,  a good  old  library  filled  full  of  good  old  books 


364 


EASTERN  SKETCHES . 


( none  of  your  works  of  modern  science,  travel,  and  history, 
but  good  old  useless  books  of  the  last  two  centuries  ),  and 
nobody  to  trouble  you  in  reading  them,  and  though  the 
society  of  Valetta  is  most  hospitable,  varied,  and  agreeable, 
yet  somehow  one  did  not  feel  safe  in  the  island,  with  per- 
petual glimpses  of  Fort  Manuel  from  the  opposite  shore ; 
and,  lest  the  quarantine  authorities  should  have  a fancy  to 
fetch  one  back  again,  on  a pretext  of  posthumous  plague, 
we  made  our  way  to  Naples  by  the  first  opportunity — those 
who  remained,  that  is,  of  the  little  Eastern  expedition. 
They  were  not  all  there.  The  Giver  of  life  and  death  had 
removed  two  of  our  company  : one  was  left  behind  to  die  in 
Egypt,  with  a mother  to  bewail  his  loss;  another  we  buried 
in  the  dismal  lazaretto  cemetery. 

One  is  bound  to  look  at  this,  too,  as  a part  of  our  jour- 
ney. Disease  and  death  are  knocking  perhaps  at  your 
next  cabin-  door.  Your  kind  and  cheery  companion  has 
ridden  his  last  ride  and  emptied  his  last  glass  beside  you. 
And  while  fond  hearts  are  yearning  for  him  far  away,  and 
his  own  mind,  if  conscious,  is  turning  eagerly  towards  the 
spot  of  the  world  whither  affection  or  interest  calls  it — the 
Great  Father  summons  the  anxious  spirit  from  earth  to 
himself,  and  ordains  that  the  nearest  and  dearest  shall 
meet  here  no  more. 

Such  an  occurrence  as  a death  in  a lazaretto,  mere  selfish- 
ness renders  striking.  We  were  walking  with  him  but  two 
days  ago  on  deck.  One  has  a sketch  of  him,  another  his 
card,  with  the  address  written  yesterday,  and  given  with 
an  invitation  to  come  and  see  him  at  home  in  the  country, 
where  his  children  are  looking  for  him.  He  is  dead  in  a 
day,  and  buried  in  the  walls  of  the  prison.  A doctor  felt 
his  pulse  by  deputy — a clergyman  comes  from  the  town  to 
read  the  last  service  over  him — and  the  friends,  who  attend 
his  funeral,  are  marshalled  by  lazaretto-guardians,  so  as  not 
to  touch  each  other.  Every  man  goes  back  to  his  room 
and  applies  the  lesson  to  himself.  One  would  not  so  de- 
part without  seeing  again  the  dear,  dear  faces.  We  reckon 
up  those  we  love : they  are  but  very  few,  but  I think  one 
loves  them  better  than  ever  now.  Should  it  be  your  turn 
next  ? — and  why  not  ? Is  it  pity  or  comfort  to  think  of 
that  affection  which  watches  and  survives  you  ? 

The  Maker  has  linked  together  the  whole  race  of  man 
with  this  chain  of  love.  I like  to  think  that  there  is  no 


FROM  CORN  HILL  TO  CAIRO. 


365 


man  but  has  had  kindly  feelings  for  some  other,  and  he  for 
his  neighbor,  until  we  bind  together  the  whole  family  of 
Adam.  Nor  does  it  end  here.  It  joins  heaven  and  earth 
together.  For  my  friend  or  my  child  of  past  days  is  still 
my  friend  or  my  child  to  me  here,  or  in  the  home  prepared 
for  us  by  the  Father  of  all.  If  identity  survives  the  grave, 
as  our  faith  tells  us,  is  it  not  a consolation  to  think  that 
there  may  be  one  or  two  souls  among  the  purified  and  just, 
whose  affection  watches  us  invisible,  and  follows  the  poor 
sinner  on  earth. 


CHAPTER  V. 


ATHENS. 


OT  feeling  any  enthusiasm 
myself  about  Athens,  my 
bounden  duty  of  course 
is  clear,  to  sneer  and 
laugh  heartily  at  all  who 
have.  In  fact,  what  busi- 
ness has  a lawyer,  who 
was  in  Pump  Court  this 
day  three  weeks,  and 
whose  common  reading  is 
law  reports  or  the  news- 
paper, to  pretend  to  fall 
in  love  for  the  long  vaca- 
tion with  mere  poetry,  of 
which  I swear  a great  deal 
is  very  doubtful,  and  to  get 
up  an  enthusiasm  quite  foreign  to  his  nature  and  usual  call- 
ing in  life  ? What  call  have  ladies  to  consider  Greece 
“romantic, ” they  who  get  their  notions  of  mythology  from 
the  well-known  pages  of  “ Tooke’s  Pantheon  ? 7?  What  is 
the  reason  that  blundering  Yorkshire  squires,  young  dan- 
dies from  Corfu  regiments,  jolly  sailors  from  ships  in  the 
harbor,  and  yellow  old  Indians  returning  from  P>undelcund, 
should  think  proper  to  be  enthusiastic  about  a country  of 
which  they  know  nothing ; the  mere  physical  beauty  of 
which  they  cannot,  for  the  most  part,  comprehend ; and 
because  certain  characters  lived  in  it  two  thousand  four 
hundred  years  ago  ? What  have  these  people  in  common 
with  Pericles,  what  have  these  ladies  in  common  with 
Aspasia  (0  fie)?  Of  the  race  of  Englishmen  who  come 
wondering  about  the  tomb  of  Socrates,  do  you  think  the 
majority  would  not  have  voted  to  hemlock  him  ? Yes  : 
for  the  very  same  superstition  which  leads  men  by  the  nose 

366 


FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO . 


367 


now,  drove  them  onward  in  the  days  when  the  lowly  hus- 
band of  Xantippe  died  for  daring  to  think  simply  and  to 
speak  the  truth.  I know  of  no  quality  more  magnificent 
in  fools  than  their  faith : that  perfect  consciousness  they 
have,  that  they  are  doing  virtuous  and  meritorious  actions, 
when  they  are  performing  acts  of  folly,  murdering  Socrates, 
or  pelting  Aristides  with  holy  oyster-shells,  all  for  Virtue’s 
sake  ; and  a “ History  of  Dulness  in  all  Ages  of  the  World,” 
is  a book  which  a philosopher  would  surely  be  hanged,  but 
as  certainly  blessed,  for  writing. 

If  papa  and  mamma  ( honor  be  to  them ) ! had  not 
followed  the  faith  of  their  fathers,  and  thought  proper 
to  send  away  their  only  beloved  son  ( afterwards  to  be 
celebrated  under  the  name  of  Titmarsh ) into  ten  years’ 
banishment  of  infernal  misery,  tyranny,  annoyance ; to 
give  over  the  fresh  feelings  of  the  heart  of  the  little 
Michael  Angelo  to  the  discipline  of  vulgar  bullies,  who,  in 
order  to  lead  tender  young  children  to  the  Temple  of  Learn- 
ing (as  they  do  in  the  spelling-books  ),  drive  them  on  with 
clenched  fists  and  low  abuse ; if  they  fainted,  revived  them 
with  a thump,  or  assailed  them  with  a curse  ; if  they  were 
miserable,  consoled  them  with  a brutal  jeer,  — if,  I say,  my 
dear  parents,  instead  of  giving  me  the  inestimable  benefit  of 
a ten  years’  classical  education,  had  kept  me  at  home  with 
my  dear  thirteen  sisters,  it  is  probable  I should  have  liked 
this  country  of  Attica,  in  sight  of  the  blue  shores  of  which 
the  present  pathetic  letter  is  written  ; but  I was  made  so 
miserable  in  youth  by  a classical  education,  that  all  con- 
nected with  it  is  disagreeable  in  my  eyes  ; and  I have  the 
same  recollection  of  Greek  in  youth  that  I have  of  castor-oil. 

So  in  coming  in  sight  of  the  promontory  of  Sunium, 
where  the  Greek  muse,  in  an  awful  vision,  came  to  me,  and 
said  in  a patronizing  way,  “ Why,  my  dear,”  (she  always,  the 
old  spinster,  adopts  this  high  and  mighty  tone  ),  — “ Why, 
my  dear,  are  you  not  charmed  to  be  in  this  famous  neigh- 
borhood, in  this  land  of  poets  and  heroes,  of  whose  history 
your  classical  education  ought  to  have  made  you  a master; 
if  it  did  not,  you  have  wofully  neglected  your  opportuni- 
ties, and  your  dear  parents  have  wasted  their  money  in 
sending  you  to  school.  I replied  : “ Madam,  your  company 
in  youth  was  made  so  laboriously  disagreeable  to  me,  that 
I can’t  at  present  reconcile  myself  to  you  in  age.  I read 
your  poets,  but  it  was  in  fear  and  trembling ; and  a cold 
sweat  is  but  an  ill  accompaniment  to  poetry.  I blundered 


368 


EASTERN  SKETCHES . 


through  your  histories ; but  history  is  so  (lull  (saving  your 
presence)  of  herself,  that  when  the  brutal  dulness  of  a 
schoolmaster  is  superadded  to  her  own  slow  conversation, 
the  union  becomes  intolerable : hence  I have  not  the  slight- 
est pleasure  in  renewing  my  acquaintance  with  a lady  who 
has  been  the  source  of  so  much  bodily  and  mental  discom- 
fort to  me.  77  To  make  a long  story  short,  I am  anxious  to 
apologize  for  a want  of  enthusiasm  in  the  classical  line, 
and  to  excuse  an  ignorance  which  is  of  the  most  undeniable 
sort. 

This  is  an  improper  frame  of  mind  for  a person  visiting 
the  land  of  iEschylus  and  Euripides ; add  to  which,  we 
have  been  abominably  overcharged  at  the  inn : and  what 
are  the  blue  hills  of  Attica,  the  silver  calm  basin  of  Piraeus, 
the  heathery  heights  of  Pentelicus,  and  yonder  rocks 
crowned  by  the  Doric  columns  of  the  Parthenon,  and  the 
thin  Ionic  shafts  of  the  Erechtheum,  to  a man  who  has  had 
little  rest,  and  is  bitten  all  over  by  bugs  ? Was  Alcibiades 
bitten  by  bugs,  I wonder  5 and  did  the  brutes  crawl  over 
him  as  he  lay  in  the  rosy  arms  of  Phryne  ? I wished  all 
night  for  Socrates7  hammock  or  basket,  as  it  is  described  in 
the  “ Clouds  ; 77  in  which  resting-place,  no  doubt,  the  abom- 
inable animals  kept  perforce  clear  of  him. 

A French  man-of-war,  lying  in  the  silvery  little  harbor, 
sternly  eying  out  of  its  stern  port-holes  a saucy  little 
English  corvette  beside,  began  playing  sounding  marches 
as  a crowd  of  boats  came  paddling  up  to  the  steamer’s  side 
to  convey  us  travellers  to  shore.  There  were  Russian 
schooners  and  Greek  brigs  lying  in  this  little  bay  ; dumpy 
little  windmills  whirling  round  on  the  sunburnt  heights 
round  about  it ; an  improvised  town  of  quays  and  marine 
taverns  has  sprung  up  on  the  shore ; a host  of  jingling 
barouches,  more  miserable  than  any  to  be  seen  even  in 
Germany,  were  collected  at  the  landing-place ; and  the 
Greek  drivers  ( how  queer  they  looked  in  skull-caps,  shabby 
jackets  with  profuse  embroidery  of  worsted,  and  endless 
petticoats  of  dirty  calico)  ! began,  in  a generous  ardor  for 
securing  passengers,  to  abuse  each  other’s  horses  and  car- 
riages in  the  regular  London  fashion.  Satire  could  certainly 
hardly  caricature  the  vehicle  in  which  we  are  made  to  jour- 
ney to  Athens ; and  it  is  only  by  thinking  that,  bad  as  they 
were,  these  coaches  were  much  more  comfortable  contriv- 
ances than  any  Alcibiades  or  Cimon  ever  had,  that  we 
consoled  ourselves  along  the  road.  It  was  flat  for  six  miles 


FROM  CORN  HILL  TO  CAIRO . 


369 


along  the  plain  to  the  city : and  you  see  for  the  greater 
part  of  the  way  the  purple  mount  on  which  the  Acropolis 
rises,  and  the  gleaming  houses  of  the  town  spread  beneath. 
Round  this  wide,  yellow,  barren  plain,  — a stunt  district  of 
olive-trees  is  almost  the  only  vegetation  visible  — there 
rises,  as  it  were,  a sort  of  chorus  of  the  most  beautiful 
mountains ; the  most  elegant,  gracious,  and  noble  the  eye 
ever  looked  on.  These  hills  did  not  appear  at  all  lofty  or 
terrible,  but  superbly  rich  and  aristocratic.  The  clouds 
were  dancing  round  about  them  ; you  could  see  their  rosy, 
purple  shadows  sweeping  round  the  clear,  serene  summits 
of  the  hill.  To  call  a hill  aristocratic  seems  affected 
or  absurd ; but  the  difference  between  these  hills  and  the 
others,  is  the  difference  between  Newgate  Prison  and  the 
“ Traveller’s  Club,  ” for  instance  : both  are  buildings  ; but 
the  one  stern,  dark,  and  coarse  ; the  other  rich,  elegant, 
and  festive.  At  least,  so  I thought.  With  such  a stately 


palace  as  munificent  Nature  had  built  for  these  people,  what 
could  they  be  themselves  but  lordly,  beautiful,  brilliant, 
brave,  and  wise  ? We  saw  four  Greeks  on  donkeys  on  the 
road  ( which  is  a dust-whirlwind  where  it  is  not  a puddle  ) ; 
and  other  four  were  playing  with  a dirty  pack  of  cards,  at  a 
barrack  that  English  poets  have  christened  the  “ Half-way 
House. 99  Does  external  nature  and  beauty  influence  the 
soul  to  good  ? You  go  about  Warwickshire,  and  fancy  that 
from  merely  being  born  and  wandering  in  those  sweet 
sunny  plains  and  fresh  woodlands  Shakspeare  must  have 
drunk  in  a portion  of  that  frank,  artless  sense  of  beauty, 
which  lies  about  his  works  like  a bloom  or  dew  ; but  a 
Coventry  ribbon  maker,  or  a slang  Leamington  squire,  are 
looking  on  those  very  same  landscapes  too,  and  what  do 
they  profit  ? You  theorize  about  the  influence  which  the 
24 


370 


EASTERN  SKETCHES. 


climate  and  appearance  of  Attica  must  have  had  in  enno- 
bling those  who  were  born  there  ; yonder  dirty,  swindling, 
ragged  blackguards,  lolling  over  greasy  cards  three  hours 
before  noon,  quarrelling  and  shrieking,  armed  to  the  teeth 
and  afraid  to  light,  are  bred  out  of  the  same  land  which 
begot  the  philosophers  and  heroes.  But  the  “ Half-way 
House  ” is  past  by  this  time,  and  behold  ! we  are  in  the  cap- 
ital of  King  Otho. 

I swear  solemnly  that  I would  rather  have  two  hundred 
a year  in  Fleet  Street,  than  be  King  of  the  Greeks,  with 
Basileus  written  before  my  name  round  their  beggarly 
coin ; with  the  bother  of  perpetual  revolutions  in  my  huge 
plaster-of-Paris  palace,  with  no  amusement  but  a drive  in 
the  afternoon  over  a wretched  arid  country,  where  roads 
are  not  made,  with  ambassadors  ( the  deuce  knows  why,  for 
what  good  can  the  English,  or  the  French,  or  the  Russian 
party  get  out  of  such  a bankrupt  alliance  as  this  ) ? perpet- 
ually pulling  and  tugging  at  me,  away  from  honest  Ger- 
many, where  there  is  beer  and  aesthetic  conversation,  and 
operas  at  a small  cost.  The  shabbiness  of  this  place  actu- 
ally beats  Ireland  and  that  is  a strong  word.  The  palace 
of  the  Basileus  is  an  enormous  edifice  of  plaster,  in  a 
square  containing  six  houses,  three  donkeys,  no  roads,  no 
fountains  (except  in  the  picture  of  the  inn)  ; backwards  it 
seems  to  look  straight  to  the  mountain  — on  one  side  is  a 
beggarly  garden  — the  king  goes  out  to  drive  ( revolutions 
permitting)  at  five  — some  four-and-twenty  blackguards 
sauntering  up  to  the  sandhill  of  a terrace,  as  his  Majesty 
passes  by  in  a gilt  barouche  and  an  absurd  fancy  dress ; the 
gilt  barouche  goes  plunging  down  the  sandhills : the  two 
dozen  soldiers,  who  have  been  presenting  arms,  slouch  off 
to  their  quarters : the  vast  barrack  of  a palace  remains 
entirely  white,  ghastly,  and  lonely : and,  save  the  braying 
of  a donkey  now  and  then,  ( which  long-eared  minstrels  are 
more  active  and  sonorous  in  Athens  than  in  any  place  I 
know  ),  all  is  entirely  silent  round  Basileus’s  palace.  How 
could  people  who  knew  Leopold  fancy  he  would  be  so 
“ jolly  green  ” as  to  take  such  a berth  ? It  was  only  a 
gobemouche  of  a Bavarian  that  could  ever  have  been 
induced  to  accept  it. 

I beseech  you  to  believe  that  it  was  not  the  bill  and  the 
bugs  at  the  inn  which  induced  the  writer  hereof  to  speak  so 
slightingly  of  the  residence  of  Basileus.  These  evils  are 
now  cured  and  forgotten.  This  is  written  off  the  leaden 


FROM  CORN  HILL  TO  CAIRO . 


371 


flats  and  mounds  which  they  call  the  Troad.  It  is  stern 
justice  alone  which  pronounces  this  excruciating  sentence. 
It  was  a farce  to  make  this  place  into  a kingly  capital ; and 
I make  no  manner  of  doubt  that  King  Otho,  the  very  day 
he  can  get  away  unperceived,  and  get  together  the  passage- 
money,  will  be  off  for  dear  old  Deutschland,  Fatherland, 
Beerland ! 

I have  never  seen  a town  in  England  which  may  be  com- 
pared to  this  ; for  though  Herne  Bay  is  a ruin  now,  money 
was  once  spent  upon  it  and  houses  built ; here,  beyond  a 
few  score  of  mansions  comfortably  laid  out,  the  town  is 
little  better  than  a rickety  agglomeration  of  larger  and 
smaller  huts,  tricked  out  here  and  there  with  the  most 
absurd  cracked  ornaments  and  cheap  attempts  at  elegance. 
But  neatness  is  the  elegance  of  poverty,  and  these  people 
despise  such  a homely  ornament.  I have  got  a map  with 
squares,  fountains,  theatres,  public  gardens,  and  Places 
d’Othon  marked  out ; but  they  only  exist  in  the  paper  cap- 
ital — the  wretched  tumble-down  wooden  one  boasts  of 
none. 

One  is  obliged  to  come  back  to  the  old  disagreeable  com- 
parison of  Ireland.  Athens  may  be  about  as  wealthy  a 
place  as  Carlow  or  Killarney,  — the  streets  swarm  with 
idle  crowds,  the  innumerable  little  lanes  flow  over  with 
dirty  little  children,  they  are  playing  and  puddling  about 
in  the  dirt  everywhere,  with  great  big  eyes,  yellow  faces, 
and  the  queerest  little  gowns  and  skull-caps.  But  in  the 
outer  man,  the  Greek  has  far  the  advantage  of  the  Irish- 
man : most  of  them  are  well  and  decently  dressed  ( if  five- 
and-twenty  yards  of  petticoat  may  not  be  called  decent, 
what  may  ) ? they  swagger  to  and  fro  with  huge  knives  in 
their  girdles.  Almost  all  the  men  are  handsome,  but  live 
hard,  it  is  said,  in  order  to  decorate  their  backs  with  those 
fine  clothes  of  theirs.  I have  seen  but  two  or  three  hand- 
some women,  and  these  had  the  great  drawback  which  is 
common  to  the  race  — I mean,  a sallow,  greasy,  coarse  com- 
plexion, at  which  it  was  not  advisable  to  look  too  closely. 

And  on  this  score  I think  we  English  may  pride  our- 
selves on  possessing  an  advantage  ( by  we , I mean  the 
lovely  ladies  to  whom  this  is  addressed  with  the  most  re- 
spectful compliments  ) over  the  most  classical  country  in 
the  world.  I don’t  care  for  beauty  which  will  only  bear  to 
be  looked  at  from  a distance,  like  a scene  in  a theatre. 
What  is  the  most  beautiful  nose  in  the  world,  if  it  be 


372 


EASTERN  SKETCHES . 


covered  with  a skin  of  the  texture  .and  color  of  coarse 
whity-brown  paper ; and  if  Nature  has  made  it  as  slippery 
and  shining  as  though  it  had  been  anointed  with  poma- 
tum? They  may  talk  about  beauty,  but  would  3'ou  wear 
a flower  that  had  been  dipped  in  a grease-pot  ? No  ; give 
me  a fresh,  dewy,  healthy  rose  out  of  Somersetshire ; not 
one  of  those  superb,  tawdry,  unwholesome  exotics,  which 
are  only  good  to  make  poems  about.  Lord  Byron  wrote 
more  cant  of  this  sort  than  any  poet  I know  of.  Think  of 
“ the  peasant  girls  with  dark-blue  eyes  ” of  the  Rhine  — 
the  brown-faced,  flat-nosed,  thick-lipped,  dirty  wenches  ! 
Think  of  “ filling  high  a cup  of  Samian  wine ; ” small-beer 
is  nectar  compared  to  it,  and  Byron  himself  always  drank 
gin.  That  man  never  wrote  from  his  heart.  He  got  up 
rapture  and  enthusiasm  with  an  eye  to  the  public ; but  this 
is  dangerous  ground,  even  more  dangerous  than  to  look 
Athens  full  in  the  face,  and  say  that  your  eyes  are  not 
dazzled  by  its  beauty.  The  Great  Public  admires  Greece 
and  Byron  ; the  public  knows  best.  Murray’s  “ Guide- 
book ” calls  the  latter  u our  native  bard.  ” Our  native  bard  ! 
Mon  Dieu  ! He  Shakspeare’s,  Milton’s,  Keat’s,  Scott’s  na- 
tive bard  ! Well,  woe  be  to  the  man  who  denies  the  public 
gods ! 

The  truth  is,  then,  that  Athens  is  a disappointment ; and 
I am  angry  that  it  should  be  so.  To  a skilled  antiquarian, 
or  an  enthusiastic  Greek  scholar,  the  feelings  created  by  a 
sight  of  the  place  of  course  will  be  different ; but  you  who 
would  be  inspired  by  it  must  undergo  a long  preparation  of 
reading,  and  possess,  too,  a particular  feeling;  both  of 
which,  I suspect,  are  uncommon  in  our  busy  commercial 
newspaper-reading  country.  Men  only  say  they  are  enthu- 
siastic about  the  Greek  and  Roman  authors  and  history, 
because  it  is  considered  proper  and  respectable.  And  we 
know  how  gentlemen  in  Baker  Street  have  editions  of  the 
classics  handsomely  bound  in  the  library,  and  how  they  use 
them.  Of  course  they  don’t  retire  to  read  the  newspaper  ; 
it  is  to  look  over  a favorite  ode  of  Pindar,  or  to  discuss  an 
obscure  passage  in  Athenaeus ! Of  course  country  magis- 
trates and  Members  of  Parliament  are  always  studying 
Demosthenes  and  Cicero  ; we  know  it  from  their  continual 
habit  of  quoting  the  Latin  grammar  in  Parliament.  But  it 
is  agreed  that  the  classics  are  respectable ; therefore  we  are 
to  be  enthusiastic  about  them.  Also  let  us  admit  that 
Byron  is  to  be  held  up  as  u our  native  bard.  ” 


FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO. 


373 


I am  not  so  entire  a heathen  as  to  be  insensible  to  the 
beauty  of  those  relics  of  Greek  art,  of  which  men  much 
more  learned  and  enthusiastic  have  written  such  piles  of 
descriptions.  I thought  I could  recognize  the  towering 
beauty  of  the  prodigious  columns  of  the  Temple  of  Jupiter ; 
and  admire  the  astonishing  grace,  severity,  elegance,  com- 
pleteness of  the  Parthenon.  The  little  Temple  of  Victory, 
with  its  fluted  Corinthian  shafts,  blazed  under  the  sun 
almost  as  fresh  as  it  must  have  appeared  to  the  eyes  of  its 
founders ; I saw  nothing  more  charming  and  brilliant, 
more  graceful,  festive,  and  aristocratic  than  this  sumptuous 
little  building.  The  Roman  remains  which  lie  in  the  town 
below  look  like  the  works  of  barbarians  beside  these  perfect 
structures.  They  jar  strangely  on  the  eye,  after  it  has 
been  accustoming  itself  to  perfect  harmony  and  proportions. 
If,  as  the  schoolmaster  tells  us,  the  Greek  writing  is  as 
complete  as  the  Greek  art ; if  an  ode  of  Pindar  is  as  glit- 
tering and  pure  as  the  Temple  of  Victory  ; or  a discourse 
of  Plato  as  polished  and  calm  as  yonder  mystical  portico  of 
the  Erechtheum ; what  treasures  of  the  senses  and  delights 
of  the  imagination  have  those  lost  to  whom  the  Greek 
books  are  as  good  as  sealed ! 

And  yet  one  meets»with  very  dull  first-class  men.  Genius 
won’t  transplant  from  one  brain  to  another,  or  is  ruined  in 
the  carriage,  like  fine  Burgundy.  Sir  Robert  Peel  and  Sir 
John  Hobhouse  are  both  good  scholars  ; but  their  poetry  in 
Parliament  does  not  strike  one  as  fine.  Muzzle,  the  school- 
master, who  is  bullying  poor  trembling  little  boys,  was  a 
fine  scholar  when  he  was  a sizar,  and  a ruffian  then  and  ever 
since.  Where  is  the  great  poet,  since  the  days  of  Milton, 
who  has  improved  the  natural  offshoots  of  his  brain  by 
grafting  it  from  the  Athenian  tree  ? 

I had  a volume  of  Tennyson  in  my  pocket,  which  some- 
how settled  that  question,  and  ended  the  querulous  dispute 
between  me  and  Conscience,  under  the  shape  of  the  neg- 
lected and  irritated  Greek  muse,  which  had  been  going  on 
ever  since  I had  commenced  my  walk  about  Athens.  The 
old  spinster  saw  me  wince  at  the  idea  of  the  author  of  Dora 
and  Ulysses,  and  tried  to  follow  up  her  advantage  by  fur- 
ther hints  of  time  lost,  and  precious  opportunities  thrown 
away.  “You  might  have  written  poems  like  them,  ” said 
she  ; “ or,  no,  not  like  them  perhaps,  but  you  might  have 
done  a neat  prize-poem,  and  pleased  your  papa  and  mamma. 
You  might  have  translated  Jack  and  Gill  into  Greek 


374 


EASTERN  SKETCHES . 


iambics,  and  been  a credit  to  your  college.”  I turned  test- 
ily away  from  her.  “ Madam,  ” says  I,  “ because  an  eagle 
houses  on  a mountain,  or  soars  to  the  sun,  don’t  you  be 
angry  with  a sparrow  that  perches  on  a garret  window,  or 
twitters  on  a twig.  Leave  me  to  myself  ; look,  my  beak  is 
not  aquiline  by  any  means. ” 

And  so,  my  dear  friend,  you  who  have  been  reading  this 
last  page  in  wonder,  and  who,  instead  of  a description  of 
Athens,  have  been  accommodated  with  a lament  on  the  part 
of  the  writer,  that  he  was  idle  at  school,  and  does  not 
know  Greek,  excuse  this  momentary  outbreak  of  egotistic 
despondency.  To  say  truth,  dear  Jones,  when  one  walks 
among  the  nests  of  the  eagles,  and  sees  the  prodigious  eggs 
they  laid,  a certain  feeling  of  discomfiture  must  come  over 
us  smaller  birds.  You  and  I could  not  invent  — it  even 
stretches  our  minds  painfully  to  try  and  comprehend  part 
of  the  beauty  of  the  Parthenon  — ever  so  little  of  it, — -the 
beauty  of  a single  column,  — a fragment  of  a broken  shaft 
lying  under  the  astonishing  blue  sky  there,  in  the  midst  of 
that  unrivalled  landscape.  There  may  be  grander  aspects 
of  nature,  but  none  more  deliciously  beautiful.  The  hills 
rise  in  perfect  harmony,  and  fall  in  the  most  exquisite  ca- 
dences, — the  sea  seems  brighter,  the  islands  more  purple, 
the  clouds  more  light  and  rosy  than  elsewhere.  As  you 
look  up  through  the  open  roof,  you  are  almost  oppressed 
by  the  serene  depth  of  the  blue  overhead.  Look  even  at 
the  fragments  of  the  marble,  how  soft  and  pure  it  is,  glit- 
tering, and  white  like  fresh  snow!  “I  was  all  beautiful,” 
it  seems  to  say  : “ even  the  hidden  parts  of  me  were  spot- 
less, precious,  and  fair”  — and  so,  musing  over  this  won- 
derful scene,  perhaps  I get  some  feeble  glimpse  or  idea  of 
that  ancient  Greek  spirit  which  peopled  it  with  sublime 
races  of  heroes  and  gods ; * and  which  I never  could  get 
out  of  a Greek  book,  — no,  not  though  Muzzle  flung  it  at 
my  head. 

* Saint  Paul,  speaking  from  the  Areopagus  and  rebuking  these 
superstitions  away,  yet  speaks  tenderly  to  the  people  before  him,  whose 
devotions  he  had  marked;  quotes  their  poets,  to  bring  them  to  think  of 
the  God  unknown,  whom  they  had  ignorantly  worshipped ; and  says, 
that  the  times  of  this  ignorance  God  winked  at>  but  that  now  it  was  time 
to  repent.  No  rebuke  can  surely  be  more  gentle  than  this  delivered  by 
the  upright  Apostle. 


CHAPTER  VI. 


SMYRNA  — FIRST  GLIMPSES  OF  THE  EAST. 


AM  glad  that  the  Turkish 
part  of  Athens  was  ex- 
tinct, so  that  I should 
not  be  balked  of  the 
pleasure  of  entering  an 
Eastern  town  by  an  intro- 
duction to  any  garbled  or 
incomplete  specimen  of 
one.  Smyrna  seems  to 
me  the  most  Eastern  of 
all  I have  seen ; as  Calais 
will  probably  remain  to 
the  Englishman  the  most 
French  town  in  the  world. 
The  jack-boots  of  the 
postilions  don’t  seem  so 
huge  elsewhere,  or  the 
tight  stockings  of  the  maid-servants  so  Gallic.  The 
churches  and  the  ramparts,  and  the  little  soldiers  on  them, 
remain  for  ever  impressed  upon  your  memory  ; from  which 
larger  temples  and  buildings,  and  whole  armies  have  subse- 
quently disappeared : and  the  first  words  of  actual  French 
heard  spoken,  and  the  first  dinner  at  “ Quillaeq’s,”  remain 
after  twenty  years  as  clear  as  on  the  first  day.  Dear 
Jones,  can’t  you  remember  the  exact  smack  of  the  white 
hermitage,  and  the  toothless  old  fellow  singing  “ Largo  al 
factotum  ? ” 

The  first  day  in  the  East  is  like  that.  After  that  there 
is  nothing.  The  wonder  is  gone,  and  the  thrill  of  that  de- 
lightful shock,  which  so  seldom  touches  the  nerves  of  plain 
men  of  the  world,  though  they  seek  for  it  everywhere. 
One  such  looked  out  at  Smyrna  from  our  steamer,  and 
yawned  without  the  least  excitement,  and  did  not  betray 
the  slightest  emotion,  as  boats  with  real  Turks  on  board 

375 


376 


EASTERN  SKETCHES. 


came  up  to  the  ship.  There  lay  the  town  with  minarets 
and  cypresses,  domes  and  castles  ; great  guns  were  firing 
off,  and  the  blood-red  flag  of  the  Sultan  flaring  over  the  fort 
ever  since  sunrise ; woods  and  mountains  came  down  to  the 
gulfs  edge,  and  as  you  looked  at  them  with  the  telescope, 
there  peeped  out  of  the  general  mass  a score  of  pleasant 
episodes  of  Eastern  life  — there  were  cottages  with  quaint 
roofs ; silent  cool  kiosks,  where  the  chief  of  the  eunuchs 
brings  down  the  ladies  of  the  harem.  I saw  Hassan,  the 
fisherman,  getting  his  nets  ; and  Ali  Baba  going  off  with 
his  donkey  to  the  great  forest  for  wood.  Smith  looked  at 
these  wonders  quite  unmoved ; and  I was  surprised  at  his 
apathy:  but  he  had  been  at  Smyrna  before.  A man  only 
sees  the  miracle  once  ; though  you  yearn  after  it  ever  so, 
it  won’t  come  again.  I saw  nothing  of  Ali  Baba  and  Has- 
san the  next  time  we  came  to  Smyrna,  and  had  some  doubts 
( recollecting  the  badness  of  the  inn)  about  landing  at  all. 
A person  who  wishes  to  understand  France  and  the  East 
should  come  in  a yacht  to  Calais  or  Smyrna,  land  for  two 
hours,  and  never  afterwards  go  back  again. 

But  those  two  hours  are  beyond  measure  delightful. 
Some  of  us  were  querulous  up  to  that  time,  and  doubted 
of  the  wisdom  of  making  the  voyage.  Lisbon,  we  owned, 
was  a failure ; Athens  a dead  failure ; Malta  very  well,  but 
not  worth  the  trouble  and  sea-sickness : in  fact,  Baden- 
Baden  or  Devonshire  would  be  a better  move  than  this  ; 
when  Smyrna  came,  and  rebuked  all  mutinous  Cockneys 
into  silence.  Some  men  may  read  this  who  are  in  want  of 
a sensation.  If  they  love  the  odd  and  picturesque,  if  they 
loved  the  “ Arabian  Nights  ” in  their  youth,  let  them  book 
themselves  on  board  one  of  the  Peninsular  and  Oriental 
vessels,  and  try  one  dip  into  Constantinople  or  Smyrna. 
Walk  into  the  bazaar,  and  the  East  is  unveiled  to  you ; how 
often  and  often  have  you  tried  to  fancy  this,  lying  out  on 
a summer  holiday  at  school ! It  is  wonderful,  too,  how 
like  it  is  ; you  may  imagine  that  you  have  been  in  the  place 
before,  you  seem  to  know  it  so  well. 

The  beauty  of  that  poetry  is,  to  me,  that  it  was  never  too 
handsome ; there  is  no  fatigue  of  sublimity  about  it.  Shac- 
abac  and  the  little  Barber  play  as  great  a part  in  it  as  the 
heroes ; there  are  no  uncomfortable  sensations  of  terror ; 
you  may  be  familiar  with  the  great  Afreet,  who  was  going 
to  execute  the  travellers  for  killing  his  son  with  a date- 
stone.  Morgiana,  when  she  kills  the  forty  robbers  with 


FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO. 


m 


boiling  oil,  does  not  seem  to  hurt  them  in  the  least ; and 
though  King  Schahriar  makes  a practice  of  cutting  oft’  his 
wives’  heads,  yet  you  fancy  they  have  got  them  on  again  in 
some  of  the  back  rooms  of  the  palace,  where  they  are 
dancing  and  playing  on  dulcimers.  How  fresh,  easy,  good- 
natured,  is  all  this  ! How  delightful  is  that  notion  of  the 
pleasant  Eastern  people  about  knowledge,  where  the  height 
of  science  is  made  to  consist  in  the  answering  of  riddles  ! 
and  all  the  mathematicians  and  magicians  bring  their  great 
beards  to  bear  on  a conundrum  ! 

When  I got  into  the  bazaar,  among  this  race,  somehow  I 
felt  as  if  they  were  all  friends.  There  sat  the  merchants  in 
their  little  shops,  quiet  and  solemn,  but  with  friendly  looks. 
There  was  no  smoking,  it  was  the  Ramazan  ; no  eating,  the 
fish  and  meats  fizzing  in  the  enormous  pots  of  the  cook- 
shops  are  only  for  the  Christians.  The  children  abounded ; 
the  law  is  not  so  stringent  upon  them,  and  many  wandering 
merchants  were  there  selling  figs  (in  the  name  of  the 
Prophet,  doubtless),  for  their  benefit,  and  elbowing  on- 
wards with  baskets  of  grapes  and  cucumbers.  Countrymen 
passed  bristling  over  with  arms,  each  with  a huge  bellyful  of 
pistols  and  daggers  in  his  girdle  ; fierce  but  not  the  least 
dangerous.  Wild  swarthy  Arabs,  who  had  come  in  with  the 
caravans,  walked  solemnly  about,  very  different  in  look  and 
demeanor  from  the  sleek  inhabitants  of  the  town.  Greeks 
and  Jews  squatted  and  smoked,  their  shops  tended  by 
sallow-faced  boys,  with  large  eyes,  who  smiled  and  wel- 
comed you  in ; negroes  bustled  about  in  gaudy  colors  ; and 
women,  with  black  nose-bags  and  shuffling  yellow  slippers, 
chattered  and  bargained  at  the  doors  of  the  little  shops. 
There  was  the  rope  quarter  and  the  sweetmeat  quarter,  and 
the  pipe  bazaar,  and  the  arm  bazaar,  and  the  little  turned- 
up-shoe  quarter,  and  the  shops  where  ready-made  jackets 
and  pelisses  were  swinging,  and  the  region  where,  under 
the  ragged  awnings,  regiments  of  tailors  were  at  work. 
The  sun  peeps  through  these  awnings  of  mat  or  canvas, 
which  are  hung  over  the  narrow  lanes  of  the  bazaar,  and  or- 
naments them  with  a thousand  freaks  of  light  and  shadow. 
Cogia  Hassan  Alhabbal’s  shop  is  in  a blaze  of  light ; while 
his  neighbor,  the  barber  and  coffee-house  keeper,  has  his 
premises,  his  low  seats  and  narghiles,  his  queer  pots  and 
basins,  in  the  shade.  The  cobblers  are  always  good-natured ; 
there  was  one,  who,  I am  sure,  has  been  revealed  to  me  in 
my  dreams,  in  a dirty  old  green  turban,  with  a pleasant 


378 


EASTERN  SKETCHES . 


wrinkled  face  like  an  apple,  twinkling  his  little  gray  eyes 
as  he  held  them  up  to  talk  to  the  gossips,  and  smiling  under 
a delightful  old  gray  beard,  which  did  the  heart  good  to  see. 
You  divine  the  conversation  between  him  and  the  cucumber- 
man,  as  the  Sultan  used  to  understand  the  language  of 
birds.  Are  any  of  those  cucumbers  stuffed  with  pearls, 
and  is  that  Armenian  with  the  black  square  turban  Haroun 
Alraschid  in  disguise,  standing  yonder  by  the  fountain 
where  the  children  are  drinking  — the  gleaming  marble 
fountain,  chequered  all  over  with  light  and  shadow,  and 
engraved  with  delicate  Arabesques  and  sentences  from  the 
Koran  ? 

But  the  greatest  sensation  of  all  is  when  the  camels  come. 
Whole  strings  of  real  camels,  better  even  than  in  the  pro- 
cession of  Blue  Beard,  with  soft  rolling  eyes  and  bended 
necks,  swaying  from  one  side  of  the  bazaar  to  the  other  to 
and  fro,  and  treading  gingerly  with  their  great  feet.  O 
you  fairy  dreams  of  boyhood  ! 0 you  sweet  meditations  of 

half-holidays,  here  you  are  realized  for  half  an  hour  ! The 
genius  which  presides  over  youth  led  us  to  do  a good  action 
that  day.  There  was  a man  sitting  in  an  open  room,  orna- 
mented with  fine  long-tailed  sentences  of  the  Koran : some 
in  red,  some  in  blue ; some  written  diagonally  over  the  paper ; 
some  so  shaped  as  to  represent  ships,  dragons,  or  myste- 
rious animals.  The  man  squatted  on  a carpet  in  the  middle 
of  this  room,  with  folded  arms,  waggling  his  head  to  and 
fro,  swaying  about,  and  singing  through  his  nose  choice 
phrases  from  the  sacred  work.  But  from  the  room  above 
came  a clear  noise  of  many  little  shouting  voices,  much 
more  musical  than  that  of  Kaso  in  the  matted  parlor,  and 
the  guide  told  us  it  was  a school,  so  we  went  up  stairs  to 
look. 

I declare  on  my  conscience,  the  master  was  in  the  act  of 
bastinadoing  a little  mulatto  boy ; his  feet  were  in  a bar, 
and  the  brute  was  laying  on  with  a cane  ; so  we  witnessed 
the  howling  of  the  poor  boy,  and  the  confusion  of  the  brute 
who  was  administering  the  correction.  The  other  children 
were  made  to  shout,  I believe,  to  drown  the  noise  of  their 
little  comrade’s  howling;  but  the  punishment  was  instantly 
discontinued  as  our  hats  came  up  over  the  stairtrap,  and 
the  boy  cast  loose,  and  the  bamboo  huddled  into  a corner, 
and  the  schoolmaster  stood  before  us  abashed.  All  the 
small  scholars  in  red  caps,  and  the  little  girls  in  gaudy 
handkerchiefs,  turned  their  big  wondering  dark  eyes 


FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO. 


379 


towards  us  ; and  the  caning  was  over  for  that  time,  let  us 
trust.  I don’t  envy  some  schoolmasters  in  a future  state. 
I pity  that  poor  little  blubbering  Mahometan ; he  will 
never  be  able  to  relish  the  “ Arabian  Nights”  in  the  origi- 
nal all  his  life  long. 

From  this  scene  we  rushed  off  somewhat  discomposed  to 
make  a breakfast  off  red  mullets  and  grapes,  melons,  pome- 
granates, and  Smyrna  wine,  at  a dirty  little  comfortable 
inn,  to  which  we  were  recommended  : and  from  the  win- 
dows of  which  we  had  a fine  cheerful  view  of  the  gulf  and 
its  busy  craft,  and  the  loungers  and  merchants  along  the 
shore.  There  were  camels  unloading  at  one  wharf,  and 
piles  of  melons  much  bigger  than  the  Gibraltar  cannon- 
balls at  another.  It  was  the  fig-season,  and  we  passed 
through  several  alleys  encumbered  with  long  rows  of  fig- 
dressers,  children  and  women  for  the  most  part,  who  were 
packing  the  fruit  diligently  into  drums,  dipping  them  in 
salt-water  first,  and  spreading  them  neatly  over  with 
leaves  ; while  the  figs  and  leaves  are  drying,  large  white 
worms  crawl  out  of  them,  and  swarm  over  the  decks  of  the 
ships  which  carry  them  to  Europe  and  to  England,  where 
small  children  eat  them  with  pleasure — I mean  the  figs,  not 
the  worms — and  where  they  are  still  served  at  wine-parties 
at  the  Universities.  When  fresh  they  are  not  better  than 
elsewhere ; but  the  melons  are  of  admirable  flavor,  and  so 
large,  that  Cinderella  might  almost  be  accommodated  with 
a coach  made  of  a big  one,  without  any  very  great  disten- 
tion of  its  original  proportions. 

Our  guide,  an  accomplished  swindler,  demanded  two 
dollars  as  a fee  for  entering  the  mosque,  which  others  of 
our  party  subsequently  saw  for  sixpence,  so  we  did  not 
care  to  examine  that  place  of  worship.  But  there  were 
other  cheaper  sights,  which  were  to  the  full  as  picturesque, 
for  which  there  was  no  call  to  pay  money,  or,  indeed,  for  a 
day,  scarcely  to  move  at  all.  I doubt  whether  a man  who 
would  smoke  his  pipe  on  a bazaar  counter  all  day,  and  let 
the  city  flow  by  him,  would  not  be  almost  as  well  employed 
as  the  most  active  curiosity -hunter. 

To  be  sure  he  would  not  see  the  women.  Those  in  the 
bazaar  were  shabby  people  for  the  most  part,  whose  black 
masks  nobody  would  feel  a curiosity  to  remove.  You  could 
see  no  more  of  their  figures  than  if  they  had  been  stuffed 
in  bolsters  ; and  even  their  feet  were  brought  to  a general 
splay  uniformity  by  the  double  yellow  slippers  which  the 


380 


EASTERN  SKETCHES . 


wives  of  true  believers  wear.  But  it  is  in  the  Greek  and 
Armenian  quarters,  and  among  those  poor  Christians  who 
were  pulling  figs,  that  you  see  the  beauties ; and  a man  of 
a generous  disposition  may  lose  his  heart  half  a dozen  times 
a day  in  Smyrna.  There  was  the  pretty  maid  at  work  at  a 
tambour-frame  in  an  open  porch,  with  an  old  duenna  spin- 
ning by  her  side,  and  a goat  tied  up  to  the  railings  of  the 
little  court-garden;  there  was  the  nymph  who  came  down  the 
stair  with  the  pitcher  on  her  head,  and  gazed  with  great  calm 
eyes,  as  large  and  stately  as  Juno’s ; there  was  the  gentle 
mother,  bending  over  a queer  cradle,  in  which  lay  a small 
crying  bundle  of  infancy.  All  these  three  charmers  were 


seen  in  a single  street  in  the  Armenian  quarter,  where  the 
house-doors  are  all  open,  and  the  women  of  the  families  sit 
under  the  arches  in  the  court.  There  was  the  fig-girl,  beau- 
tiful beyond  all  others,  with  an  immense  coil  of  deep  black 
hair  twisted  round  a head  of  which  Raphael  was  worthy  to 
draw  the  outline,  and  Titian  to  paint  the  color.  I won- 
der the  Sultan  has  not  swept  her  off,  or  that  the  Persian 
merchants,  who  come  with  silks  and  sweetmeats,  have  not 
kidnapped  her  for  the  Shah  of  Tehran. 

We  went  to  see  the  Persian  merchants  at  their  khan,  and 
purchased  some  silks  there  from  a swarthy,  black-bearded 


FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO . 


381 


man,  with  a conical  cap  of  lambs  wool.  Is  it  not  hard  to 
think  that  silks  bought  of  a man  in  a lambs  wool  cap,  in  a 
caravanserai,  brought  hither  on  the  backs  of  camels,  should 
have  been  manufactured  after  all  at  Lyons  ? Others  of  our 
party  bought  carpets,  for  which  the  town  is  famous  ; and 
there  was  one  who  absolutely  laid  in  a stock  of  real  Smyrna 
figs ; and  purchased  three  or  four  real  Smyrna  sponges  for 
his  carriage ; so  strong  was  his  passion  for  the  genuine 
article. 

I wonder  that  no  painter  has  given  us  familiar  views  of 
the  East : not  processions,  grand  sultans,  or  magnificent 
landscapes  ; but  faithful  transcripts  of  every-day  Oriental 
life,  such  as  each  street  will  supply  to  him.  The  camels 
afford  endless  motives,  couched  in  the  market-places,  lying 
by  thousands  in  the  camel  square,  snorting  and  bubbling 
after  their  manner,  the  sun  blazing  down  on  their  backs, 
their  slaves  and  keepers  lying  behind  them  in  the  shade  : 
and  the  Caravan  Bridge,  above  all,  would  afford  a painter 
subjects  for  a dozen  of  pictures.  Over  this  Eoman  arch, 
which  crosses  the  Meles  river,  all  the  caravans  pass  on 
their  entrance  to  the  town.  On  one  side,  as  we  sat  and 
looked  at  it,  was  a great  row  of  plane-trees  ; on  the  oppo- 
site bank,  a deep  wood  of  tall  cypresses  — in  the  midst  of 
which  rose  up  innumerable  gray  tombs,  surmounted  with 
the  turbans  of  the  defunct  believers.  Beside  the  stream,  the 
view  was  less  gloomy.  There  was  under  the  plane-trees  a 
little  coffee-house,  shaded  by  a trellis-work,  covered  over 
with  a vine,  and  ornamented  with  many  rows  of  shining  pots 
and  water-pipes,  for  which  there  was  no  use  at  noonday  now, 
in  the  time  of  Bamazan.  Hard  by  the  coffee-house  was  a 
garden  and  a bubbling  marble  fountain,  and  over  the  stream 
was  a broken  summer-house,  to  which  amateurs  may  ascend, 
for  the  purpose  of  examining  the  river ; and  all  round  the 
plane-trees  plenty  of  stools  for  those  who  were  inclined  to 
sit  and  drink  sweet  thick  coffee,  or  cool  lemonade  made 
of  fresh  green  citrons.  The  master  of  the  house,  dressed 
in  a white  turban  and  light  blue  pelisse,  lolled  under  the 
coffee-house  awning ; the  slave  in  white  with  a crimson 
striped  jacket,  his  face  as  black  as  ebony,  brought  us  pipes 
and  lemonade  again,  and  returned  to  his  station  at  the 
coffee-house,  where  he  curled  his  black  legs  together,  and 
began  singing  out  of  his  flat  nose  to  the  thrumming  of  a 
long  guitar  with  wire  strings.  The  instrument  was  not 
bigger  than  a soup-ladle,  with  a long  straight  handle,  but 


382 


EASTERN  SKETCHES. 


its  music  pleased  the  performer  ; for  his  eyes  rolled  shin- 
ing about,  and  his  head  wagged,  and  he  grinned  with  an  in- 
nocent intensity  of  enjoyment  that  did  one  good  to  look  at. 
And  there  was  a friend  to  share  his  pleasure  : a Turk 
dressed  in  scarlet,  and  covered  all  over  with  daggers  and 
pistols,  sat  leaning  forward  on  his  little  stool,  rocking 
about,  and  grinning  quite  as  eagerly  as  the  black  minstrel. 
As  he  sang  and  we  listened,  figures  of  women  bearing 
pitchers  went  passing  over  the  Koman  bridge,  which  we 
saw  between  the  large  trunks  of  the  planes  ; or  gray  forms 
of  camels  were  seen  stalking  across  it,  the  string  preceded 
by  the  little  donkey,  who  is  always  here  their  long-eared 
conductor.  These  are  very  humble  incidents  of  travel. 
Wherever  the  steamboat  touches  the  shore  adventure  re- 
treats into  the  interior,  and  what  is  called  romance  van- 
ishes. It  won’t  bear  the  vulgar  gaze ; or  rather  the  light 
of  common  day  puts  it  out,  and  it  is  only  in  the  dark  that 
it  shines  at  all.  There  is  no  cursing  and  insulting  of 
G-iaours  now.  If  a Cockney  looks  or  behaves  in  a particu- 
larly ridiculous  way,  the  little  Turks  come  out  and  laugh 
at  him.  A Londoner  is  no  longer  a spittoon  for  true  be- 
lievers : and  now  that  dark  Hassan  sits  in  his  divan  and 
drinks  champagne,  and  Selim  has  a French  watch,  and 
Zuleika  perhaps  takes  Morrison’s  pills,  Byronism  becomes 
absurd  instead  of  sublime,  and  is  only  a foolish  expression 
of  Cockney  wonder.  They  still  occasionally  beat  a man 
for  going  into  a mosque,  but  this  is  almost  the  only  sign 
of  ferocious  vitality  left  in  the  Turk  of  the  Mediterranean 
coast,  and  strangers  may  enter  scores  of  mosques  without 
molestation.  The  paddle-wheel  is  the  great  conqueror. 
Wherever  the  captain  cries  “ Stop  her  ! ” Civilization  stops, 
and  lands  in  the  ship’s  boat,  and  makes  a permanent  ac- 
quaintance with  the  savages  on  shore.  Whole  hosts  of 
crusaders  have  passed  and  died,  and  butchered  here  in  vain. 
But  to  manufacture  European  iron  into  pikes  and  helmets 
was  a waste  of  metal  : in  the  shape  of  piston-rods  and  fur- 
nace-pokers it  is  irresistible ; and  I think  an  allegory 
might  be  made  showing  how  much  stronger  commerce  is 
than  chivalry,  and  finishing  with  a grand  image  of  Ma- 
homet’s crescent  being  extinguished  in  Fulton’s  boiler. 

This  I thought  was  the  moral  of  the  day’s  sights  and  ad- 
ventures. We  pulled  off  to  the  steamer  in  the  afternoon 
— -the  Inbat  blowing  fresh,  and  setting\all  the  craft  in  the 
gulf  dancing  over  its  blue  waters.  We  were-  presently 


FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO. 


333 


under  weigh  again,  the  captain  ordering  his  engines  to  work 
only  at  half  power,  so  that  a French  steamer  which  was 
quitting  Smyrna  at  the  same  time  might  come  up  with  us, 
and  fancy  she  could  beat  the  irresistible  “ Tagus.  ” Vain 
hope  ! Just  as  the  Frenchman  neared  us,  the  “ Tagus 77 
shot  out  like  an  arrow,  and  the  discomfited  Frenchman 
went  behind.  Though  we  all  relished  the  joke  exceedingly, 
there  was  a French  gentleman  on  board  who  did  not  seem 
to  be  by  any  means  tickled  with  it ; but  he  had  received 
papers  at  Smyrna,  containing  news  of  Marshal  Bugeaud’s 
victory  at  Isley,  and  had  this  land  victory  to  set  against 
our  harmless  little  triumph  at  sea. 

That  night  we  rounded  the  Island  of  Mitylene : and  the 
next  day  the  coast  of  Troy  was  in  sight,  and  the  tomb  of 
Achilles  — a dismal-looking  mound  that  rises  in  a low, 
dreary,  barren  shore  — less  lively  and  not  more  picturesque 
than  the  Scheldt  or  the  mouth  of  the  Thames.  Then  we 
passed  Tenedos  and  the  forts  and  town  at  the  mouth  of  the 
Dardanelles.  The  weather  was  not  too  hot,  the  water  as 
smooth  as  at  Putney,  and  everybody  happy  and  excited  at 
the  thought  of  seeing  Constantinople  to-morrow.  We  had 
music  on  board  all  the  way  from  Smyrna.  A German 
commis-voyageur,  with  a guitar,  who  had  passed  unnoticed 
until  that  time,  produced  his  instrument  about  mid-day,  and 
began  to  whistle  waltzes.  He  whistled  so  divinely  that  the 
ladies  left  their  cabins,  and  men  laid  down  their  books. 
He  whistled  a polka  so  bewitchingly  that  two  young  Ox- 
ford men  began  whirling  round  the  deck,  and  performed 
that  popular  dance  with  much  agility  until  they  sank  down 
tired.  He  still  continued  an  unabated  whistling,  and  as 
nobody  would  dance,  pulled  off  his  coat,  produced  a pair 
of  castanets,  and  whistling  a mazurka,  performed  it  with 
tremendous  agility.  His  whistling  made  everybody  gay 
and  happy  — made  those  acquainted  who  had  never  spoken 
before,  and  inspired  such  a feeling  of  hilarity  in  the  ship, 
that  that  night,  as  we  floated  over  the  sea  of  Marmora,  a 
general  vote  was  expressed  for  broiled  bones  and  a regular 
supper-party.  Punch  was  brewed,  and  speeches  were  made, 
and  after  a lapse  of  fifteen  years,  I heard  the  “ Old  English 
Gentlemen  ” and  “ Bright  Chanticleer  Proclaims  the  Morn,?y 
sung  in  such  style  that  you  would  almost  fancy  the  proc- 
tors must  hear,  and  send  us  all  home. 


CHAPTER  VII. 


CONSTANTINOPLE. 


IEN  we  rose  at  sunrise  to 
see  the  famous  entry  to 
Constantinople,  we  found, 
in  the  place  of  the  city 
and  the  sun,  a bright 
white  fog,  which  hid  both 
from  sight,  and  which 
only  disappeared  as  the 
vessel  advanced  towards 
the  Golden  Horn.  There 
the  fog  cleared  off  as  it 
were  by  flakes,  as  you  see 
gauze  curtains  lifted  away, 
one  by  one,  before  a great 
fairy  scene  at  the  theatre. 
This  will  give  idea  enough 
of  the  fog;  the  difficulty 
is  to  describe  the  scene  afterwards,  which  was  in  truth  the 
great  fairy  scene,  than  which  it  is  impossible  to  conceive 
anything  more  brilliant  and  magnificent.  I can’t  go  to  any 
more  romantic  place  than  Drury  Lane  to  draw  my  similes 
from  — Drury  Lane,  such  as  we  used  to  see  it  in  our  youth, 
when  to  our  sight  the  grand  last  pictures  of  the  melodrama 
or  pantomime  were  as  magnificent  as  any  objects  of  nature 
we  have  seen  with  maturer  eyes.  Well,  the  view  of  Con- 
stantinople is  as  fine  as  any  of  Stanfield’s  best  theatrical 
pictures,  seen  at  the  best  period  of  youth,  when  fancy  had 
all  the  bloom  on  her  — when  all  the  heroines  who  danced 
before  the  scene  appeared  as  ravishing  beauties,  when  there 
shone  an  unearthly  splendor  about  Baker  and  Diddear  — 
and  the  sound  of  the  bugles  and  fiddles,  and  the  cheerful 
clang  of  the  cymbals,  as  the  scene  unrolled,  and  the  gor- 
geous procession  meandered  triumphantly  through  it  — 

384 


FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO. 


385 


EA  S TERN  SKETCHES. 


:>8G 


caused  a thrill  of  pleasure,  and  awakened  an  innocent 
fulness  of  sensual  enjoyment  that  is  only  given  to  boys. 

The  above  sentence  contains  the  following  propositions : 

— The  enjoyments  of  boyish  fancy  are  the  most  intense 
and  delicious  in  the  world.  Stanfield’s  panorama  used  to 
be  the  realization  of  the  most  intense  youthful  fancy.  1 
puzzle  my  brains  and  find  no  better  likeness  for  the  place. 
The  view  of  Constantinople  resembles  the  ne  plus  ultra  of 
a Stanfield  diorama,  with  a glorious  accompaniment  of 
music,  spangled  liouris,  warriors,  and  winding  processions, 
feasting  the  eyes  and  soul  with  light,  splendor,  and  har- 
mony. If  you  were  never  in  this  way  during  your  youth 
ravished  at  the  play-house,  of  course  the  whole  comparison 
is  useless : and  you  have  no  idea,  from  this  description,  of 
the  effect  which  Constantinople  produces  on  the  mind. 
But  if  you  were  never  affected  by  a theatre,  no  words  can 
work  upon  your  fancy,  and  typographical  attempts  to  move 
it  are  of  no  use.  For,  suppose  we  combine  mosque,  min- 
aret, gold,  cypress,  water,  blue,  caiques,  seventy-four,  Gala- 
ta,  Tophana,  Ramazan,  Backallum,  and  so  forth,  together, 
in  ever  so  many  ways,  your  imagination  will  never  be  able 
to  depict  a city  out  of  them.  Or,  suppose  I say  the 
Mosque  of  St.  Sophia  is  four  hundred  and  seventy-three 
feet  in  height,  measuring  from  the  'middle  nail  of  the  gilt 
crescent  surmounting  the  dome  to  the  ring  in  the  centre 
stone ; the  circle  of  the  dome  is  one  hundred  and  twenty- 
three  feet  in  diameter,  the  windows  ninety-seven  in  number 

— and  all  this  may  be  true,  for  anything  I know  to  the  con- 

trary : yet  who  is  to  get  an  idea  of  St.  Sophia  from  dates, 
proper  names,  and  calculations  with  a measuring-line  ? It 
can’t  be  done  by  giving  the  age  and  measurement  of  all 
the  buildings  along  the  river,  the  names  of  all  the  boatmen 
who  ply  on  it.  Has  your  fancy,  which  pooh-poohs  a simile, 
faith  enough  to  build  a city  with  a foot-rule  ? Enough 
said  about  descriptions  and  similes  (though  whenever  I am 
uncertain  of  one  I am  naturally  most  anxious  to  fight  for 
it ) : it  is  a scene  not  perhaps  sublime,  but  charming,  mag- 
nificent, and  cheerful  beyond  any  I have  ever  seen  — the 
most  superb  combination  of  city  and  gardens,  domes  and 
shipping,  hills  and  water,  with  the  healthiest  breeze  blow- 
ing over  it,  and  above  it  the  brightest  and  most  cheerful 
sky.  # ' 

Tf  is  proper,  they  say,  to  be  disappointed  on  entering  the 
Iowa,  or  any  of  the  various  quarters  of  it,  Decause  ztie 


FROM  CORNU  ILL  TO  CAIRO . 


387 


houses  are  not  so  magnificent  on  inspection,  and  seen  singly 
as  they  are  when  beheld  en  masse  from  the  waters.  But 
why  form  expectations  so  lofty  ? If  you  see  a group  of 
peasants  picturesquely  disposed  at  a fair,  you  don’t  suppose 
that  they  are  all  faultless  beauties,  or  that  the  men’s  coats 
have  no  rags,  and  the  women’s  gowns  are  made  of  silk  and 
velvet : the  wild  ugliness  of  the  interior  of  Constantinople 
or  Pera  has  a charm  of  its  own,  greatly  more  amusing  than 
rows  of  red  bricks  or  drab  stones,  however  symmetrical. 
With  brick  or  stone  they  could  never  form  those  fantastic 
ornaments,  railings,  balconies,  roofs,  galleries,  which  jut  in 
and  out  of  the  rugged  houses  of  the  city.  As  we  went  from 
Galata  to  Pera  up  a steep  hill,  which  new-comers  ascend 
with  some  difficulty,  but  which  a porter,  with  a couple  of 
hundredweight  on  his  back,  paces  up  without  turning  a 
hair,  I thought  the  wooden  houses  far  from  being  disagree- 
able objects,  sights  quite  as  surprising  and  striking  as  the 
grand  one  we  had  just  left. 

1 do  not  know  how  the  custom-house  of  his  Highness  is 
made  to  be  a profitable  speculation.  As  I left  the  ship,  a 
man  pulled  after  my  boat,  and  asked  for  backsheesh,  which 
was  given  him  to  the  amount  of  about  twopence.  He  was 
a custom-house  officer,  but  I doubt  whether  this  sum  which 
he  levied  ever  went  to  the  revenue. 

I can  fancy  the  scene  about  the  quays  somewhat  to 
resemble  the  river  of  London  in  olden  times,  before  coal- 
smoke  had  darkened  the  whole  city  with  soot,  and  when, 
according  to  the  old  writers,  there  really  was  bright  weather. 
The  fleets  of  caiques  bustling  along  the  shore,  or  scudding 
over  the  blue  water,  are  beautiful  to  look  at : in  Hollar’s 
print  London  river  is  so  studded  over  with  wherry-boats, 
which  bridges  and  steamers  have  since  destroyed.  Here 
the  caique  is  still  in  full  perfection  : there  are  thirty  thou- 
sand boats  of  the  kind  plying  between  the  cities  ; every 
boat  is  neat,  and  trimly  carved  and  painted ; and  I scarcely 
saw  a man  pulling  in  one  of  them  that  was  not  a fine  speci- 
men of  his  race,  brawny  and  brown,  with  an  open  chest  and 
a handsome  face.  They  wear  a thin  shirt  of  exceedingly 
light  cotton,  which  leaves  their  fine  brown  limbs  full  play ; 
and  with  a purple  sea  for  a background,  every  one  of  these 
dashing  boats  forms  a brilliant  and  glittering  picture. 
Passengers  squat  in  the  inside  of  the  boat;  so  that  as  it 
passes  you  see  little  more  than  the  heads  of  the  true  be- 
lievers, with  their  red  fez  and  blue  tassel,  and  that  placid 


EASTERN  SKETCHES. 


388 

gravity  of  expression  which  the  sucking  of  a tobacco-pipe 
is  sure  to  give  to  a man. 

The  Bosphorus  is  enlivened  by  a multiplicity  of  other 
kinds  of  craft.  There  are  the  dirty  men-of- war’s  boats  of 
the  Russians,  with  unwashed,  mangy  crews ; the  great 
ferry-boats  carrying  hundreds  of  passengers  to  the  villages ; 
the  melon-boats  piled  up  with  enormous  golden  fruit;  his 
Excellency  the  Pasha’s  boat,  with  twelve  men  bending  to 
their  oars ; and  his  Highness’s  own  caique,  with  a head  like 
a serpent,  and  eight-and-twenty  tugging  oarsmen,  that  goes 
shooting  by  amidst  the  thundering  of  the  cannon.  Ships 
and  steamers,  with  black  sides  and  flaunting  colors,  are 
moored  everywhere,  showing  their  flags,  Russian  and  Eng- 
lish, Austrian,  American,  and  Greek ; and  along  the  quays 
country  ships  from  the  Black  Sea  or  the  islands,  with  high 
carved  poops  and  bows,  such  as  you  see  in  the  pictures  of 
the  shipping  of  the  seventeenth  century.  The  vast  groves 
and  towers,  domes  and  quays,  tall  minarets  and  spired 
spreading  mosques  of  the  three  cities,  rise  all  around  in 
endless  magnificence  and  variety,  and  render  this  water- 
street  a scene  of  such  delightful  liveliness  and  beauty,  that 
one  never  tires  of  looking  at  it.  I lost  a great  number  of 
the  sights  in  and  round  Constantinople  through  the  beauty 
of  this  admirable  scene  : but  what  are  sights  after  all  ? 
and  isn’t  that  the  best  sight  which  makes  you  most  happy  ? 

We  were  lodged  at  Pera  at  “ Misseri’s  Hotel,”  the  host  of 
which  has  been  made  famous  ere  this  time  by  the  excellent 
book  “Eothen,  ” — a work  for  which  all  the  passengers  on 
board  our  ship  had  been  battling,  and  which  had  charmed 
all  — from  our  great  statesman,  our  polished  lawyer,  our 
young  Oxonian,  who  sighed  over  certain  passages  that  he 
feared  were  wicked,  down  to  the  writer  of  this,  who,  after 
perusing  it  with  delight,  laid  it  down  with  wonder,  exclaim- 
ing, “ Aut  Diabolus  aut  ” — a book  which  has  since  ( greatest 
miracle  of  all)  excited  a feeling  of  warmth  and  admira- 
tion in  the  bosom  of  the  godlike,  impartial,  stony  Athe- 
naeum. Misseri,  the  faithful  and  chivalrous  Tartar,  is 
transformed  into  the  most  quiet  and  gentlemanlike  of  land- 
lords, a great  deal  more  gentlemanlike  in  manner  and 
appearance  than  most  of  us  who  sat  at  his  table,  and  smoked 
cool  pipes  on  his  house-top,  as  we  looked  over  the  hill  and 
the  Russian  palace  to  the  water,  and  the  Seraglio  gardens 
shining  in  the  blue.  We  confronted  Misseri,  “Eothen” 
in  hand,  and  found,  on  examining  him,  that  it  was  “aut 


FROM  CORN  HILL  TO  CAIRO. 


389 


Diabolus  aut  amicus  ” — but  the  name  is  a secret ; I will 
never  breathe  it,  though  I am  dying  to  tell  it. 

The  last  good  description  of  a Turkish  bath,  I think,  was 
Lady  Mary  Wortley  Montagu’s — which  voluptuous  picture 
must  have  been  painted  at  least  a hundred  and  thirty  years 
ago  : so  that  another  sketch  may  be  attempted  by  a hum- 
bler artist  in  a different  manner.  The  Turkish  bath  is 
certainly  a novel  sensation  to  an  Englishman,  and  may  be 
set  down  as  a most  queer  and  surprising  event  of  his  life. 
I made  the  valet-de-place  or  dragoman  ( it  is  rather  a fine 
thing  to  have  a dragoman  in  one’s  service  ) conduct  me 
forthwith  to  the  best  appointed  hummums  in  the  neighbor- 
hood ; and  we  walked  to  a house  at  Tophana,  and  into  a 
spacious  hall  lighted  from  above,  which  is  the  cooling-room 
of  the  bath. 

The  spacious  hall  has  a large  fountain  in  the  midst,  a 
painted  gallery  running  round  it ; and  many  ropes  stretched 
from  one  gallery  to  another,  ornamented  with  profuse  dra- 
peries of  towels  and  blue  cloths,  for  the  use  of  the  frequent- 
ers of  the  place.  All  round  the  room  and  the  galleries  were 
matted  inclosures,  fitted  with  numerous  neat  beds  and 
cushions  for  reposing  on,  where  lay  a dozen  of  true  believ- 
ers smoking,  or  sleeping,  or  in  the  happy  half-dozing  state. 
I was  led  up  to  one  of  these  beds,  to  rather  a retired  corner, 
in  consideration  of  my  modesty ; and  to  the  next  bed  pres- 
ently came  a dancing  dervish,  who  forthwith  began  to 
prepare  for  the  bath. 

When  the  dancing  dervish  had  taken  off  his  yellow-sugar- 
loaf  cap,  his  gown,  shawl,  &c.,.he  was  arrayed  in  two  large 
blue  cloths ; a white  one  being  thrown  over  his  shoulders, 
and  another  in  the  shape  of  a turban  plaited  neatly  round 
his  head ; the  garments  of  which  he  divested  himself  were 
folded  up  in  another  linen,  and  neatly  put  by.  I beg  leave 
to  state  I was  treated  in  precisely  the  same  manner  as  the 
dancing  dervish. 

The  reverend  gentleman  then  put  on  ‘a  pair  of  wooden 
pattens,  which  elevated  him  about  six  inches  from  the 
ground ; and  walked  down  the  stairs,  and  paddled  across  the 
moist  marble  floor  of  the  hall,  and  in  at  a little  door,  by  the 
which  also  Titmarsh  entered.  But  I had  none  of  the  pro- 
fessional agility  of  the  dancing  dervish ; I staggered  about 
very  ludicrously  upon  the  high  wooden  pattens  ; and  should 
have  been  down  on  my  nose  several  times,  had  not  the 
dragoman  and  the  master  of  the  bath  supported  me  down 


390 


EASTERN  SKETCHES . 


stairs  and  across  the  hall.  Dressed  in  three  large  cotton 
napkins,  with  a white  turban  round  my  head,  I thought  of 
Pall  Mall  with  a sort  of  despair.  I passed  the  little  door, 
it  was  closed  behind  me  — I was  in  the  dark  — I couldn’t 
speak  the  language  — in  a white  turban.  Mon  Dieu  what 
was  going  to  happen  ! 

The  dark  room  was  the  tepidarium,  a moist  oozing 
arched  den,  with  a light  faintly  streaming  from  an  orifice  in 
in  the  domed  ceiling.  Yells. of  frantic  laughter  and  song 
came  booming  and  clanging  through  the  echoing  arches,  the 
doors  clapped  to  with  loud  reverberations.  It  was  the  laugh- 
ter of  the  followers  of  Mahound,  rollicking  and  taking  their 
pleasure  in  the  public  bath.  I could  not  go  into  that  place  : 
I swore  I would  not ; they  promised  me  a private  room, 
and  the  dragoman  left  me.  My  agony  at  parting  from  that 
Christian  cannot  be  described. 

When  you  get  into  the  sudarium,  or  hot  room,  your 
first  sensations  only'  occur  about  half  a minute  after 
entrance,  when  you  feel  that  you  are  choking.  I found 
myself  in  that  state,  seated  on  a marble  slab ; the  bath  man 
was  gone ; he  had  taken  away  the  cotton  turban  and  shoul- 
der shawl : I saw  I was  in  a narrow  room  of  marble,  with  a 
vaulted  roof,  and  a fountain  of  warm  and  cold  water ; the 
atmosphere  was  in  a steam,  the  choking  sensation  went  off, 
and  I felt  a sort  of  pleasure  presently  in  a soft  boiling 
simmer,  which,  no  doubt,  potatoes  feel  when  they  are  steam- 
ing. You  are  left  in  this  state  for  about  ten  minutes  ; it  is 
warm  certainly,  but  odd  and  pleasant,  and  disposes  the 
mind  to  reverie. 

But  let  any  delicate  mind  in  Baker  Street  fancy  my  hor- 
ror, when,  on  looking  up  out  of  this  reverie,  I saw  a great 
brown  wretch  extended  before  me,  only  half  dressed,  stand- 
ing on  pattens,  and  exaggerated  by  them  and  the  steam 
until  he  looked  like  an  ogre,  grinning  in  the  most  horrible 
way,  and  waving  his  arm,  on  which  was  a horsehair  glove. 
He  spoke,  in  his  unknown  nasal  jargon,  words  which 
echoed  through  the  arched  room ; his  eyes  seemed  aston- 
ishingly large  and  bright,  his  ears  stuck  out,  and  his  head 
was  all  shaved,  except  a bristling  top-knot,  which  gave  it  a 
demoniac  fierceness. 

This  description,  I feel,  is  growing  too  frightful ; ladies 
who  read  it  will  be  going  into  hysterics,  or  saying,  “Well, 
upon  my  word,  this  is  the  most  singular,  the  most  extraor- 
dinary kind  of  language.  Jane,  my  love,  you  will  not  read 


FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO. 


391 


that  odious  book  ” — and  so  I will  be  brief.  This  grinning 
man  belabors  the  patient  violently  with  the  horse  brush. 
When  he  has  completed  the  horse-hair  part,  and  you  lie 
expiring  under  a squirting  fountain  of  warm  water,  and 
fancying  all  is  done,  he  reappears  with  a large  brass  basin 
containing  a quantity  of  lather,  in  the  midst  of  which  is 
something  like  old  Miss  MacWhirter’s  flaxen  wig  that  she 
is  so  proud  of,  and  that  we  have  all  laughed  at.  Just  as  you 
are  going  to  remonstrate,  the  thing  like  the  wig  is  dashed 
into  your  face  and  eyes,  covered  over  with  soap,  and  for 
five  minutes  you  are  drowned  in  lather : you  can’t  see,  the 
suds  are  frothing  over  your  eye-balls ; you  can’t  hear,  the 
soap  is  whizzing  into  your  ears ; can’t  gasp  for  breath,  Miss 
MacWhirter’s  wig  is  down  your  throat  with  half  a pailful 
of  suds  in  an  instant  — you  are  all  soap.  Wicked  children 
in  former  days  have  jeered  you,  exclaiming,  “How  are  you 
off  for  soap  ? ” You  little  knew  what  saponacity  was  till 
you  entered  a Turkish  bath. 

When  the  whole  operation  is  concluded,  you  are  led  — 
with  what  heartfelt  joy  I need  not  say — softly  back  to  the 
cooling-room,  having  been  robed  in  shawls  and  turbans  as 
before.  You  are  laid  gently  on  the  reposing  bed;  some- 
body brings  a narghile,  which  tastes  as  tobacco  must  taste 
in  Mahomet’s  Paradise ; a cool  sweet  dreamy  languor  takes 
possession  of  the  purified  frame  ; and  half  an  hour  of  such 
delicious  laziness  is  spent  over  the  pipe  as  is  unknown  in 
Europe,  where  vulgar  prejudice  has  most  shamefully  ma- 
ligned indolence,  calls  it  foul  names,  such  as  the  father  of 
all  evil,  and  the  like  ; in  fact,  does  not  know  how  to  edu- 
cate idleness  as  those  honest  Turks  do,  and  the  fruit,  which, 
when  properly  cultivated,  it  bears. 

The  after-bath  state  is  the  most  delightful  condition  of 
laziness  I ever  knew,  and  I tried  it  wherever  we  went  after- 
wards on  our  little  tour.  At  Smyrna  the  whole  business 
was  much  inferior  to  the  method  employed  in  the  capital. 
At  Cairo,  after  the  soap,  you  are  plunged  into  a sort  of 
stone  coffin,  full  of  water,  which  is  all  but  boiling.  This 
has  its  charms ; but  I could  not  relish  the  Egyptian  sham- 
pooing. A hideous  old  blind  man  ( but  very  dexterous  in 
his  art)  tried  to  break  my  back  and  dislocate  my  shoulders, 
but  I could  not  see  the  pleasure  of  the  practice  ; and  another 
fellow  began  tickling  the  soles  of  my  feet,  but  I rewarded 
him  with  a kick  that  sent  him  off  the  bench.  The  pure 
idleness  is  the  best,  and  I shall  never  enjoy  such  in  Europe 
again. 


392 


EASTERN  SKETCHES . 


Victor  Hugo,  in  his  famous  travels  on  the  Rhine,  Visiting 
Cologne  gives  a learned  account  of  what  he  didn't  see  there. , 
I have  a remarkable  catalogue  of  similar  objects  at  Constan- 
tinople. 1 didn’t  see  the  dancing  dervishes,  it  was  Rama- 
zan ; nor  the  howling  dervishes  at  Scutari,  it  was  Ramazan  ; 
nor  the  interior  of  St.  Sophia,  nor  the  women’s  apartment 
of  the  Seraglio,  nor  the  fashionable  promenade  of  the  Sweet 
Waters,  always  because  it  was  Ramazan  ; during  which  pe- 
riod the  dervishes  dance  and  howl  but  rarely,  their  legs  and 
lungs  being  unequal  to  much  exertion  during  a fast  of  four- 
teen hours.  On  account  of  the  tfame  holy  season,  the  royal 
palaces  and  mosques  are  shut ; and  though  the  valley  of 
the  Sweet  Waters  is  there,  no  one  goes  to  walk ; the  people 
remaining  asleep  all  day,  and  passing  the  night  in  feasting 
and  carousing.  The  minarets  are  illuminated  at  this  season ; 
even  the  humblest  mosque  at  Jerusalem,  or  Jaffa,  mounted 
a few  circles  of  dingy  lamps ; those  of  the  capital  were 
handsomely  lighted  with  many  festoons  of  lamps,  which 
had  a line  effect  from  the  water.  I need  not  mention  other 
and  constant  illuminations  of  the  city  which  innumerable 
travellers  have  described  — I mean  the  fires.  There  were 
three  in  Pera  during  our  eight  days’  stay  there ; but  they 
did  not  last  long  enough  to  bring  the  Sultan  out  of  bed  to 
come  and  lend  his  aid.  Mr.  Hobhouse  (quoted  in  the 
“ Guide-book  ” ) says,  if  a fire  lasts  an  hour,  the  Sultan  is 
bound  to  attend  it  in  person ; and  that  people  having  peti- 
tions to  present,  have  often  set  houses  on  fire  for  the 
purpose  of  forcing  out  this  royal  trump.  The  Sultan  can’t 
lead  a very  “ jolly  life,  ” if  this  rule  be  universal.  Fancy 
his  Highness,  in  the  midst  of  his  moon-faced  beauties, 
handkerchief  in  hand,  and  obliged  to  tie  it  round  his  face, 
and  go  out  of  his  warm  harem  at  midnight  at  the  cursed 
cry  of  “ Yang  en  Var  ! ” 

We  saw  his  Highness  in  the  midst  of  his  people  and  their 
petitions,  when  he  came  to  the  mosque  at  Tophana;  not  the 
largest,  but  one  of  the  most  picturesque  of  the  public  build- 
ings of  the  city.  The  streets  were  crowded  with  people 
watching  for  the  august  arrival,  and  lined  with  the  squat 
military  in  their  bastard  European  costume ; the  sturdy 
police,  with  bandeliers  and  brown  surtouts,  keeping  order, 
driving  off  the  faithful  from  the  railings  of  the  Esplanade 
through  which  their  Emperor  was  to  pass,  and  only  admit- 
ting ( with  a very  unjust  partiality,  I thought ) us  Euro- 
peans into  that  reserved  space.  Before  the  august  arrival, 


FROM  CORN  HILL  TO  CAIRO . 


393 


numerous  officers  collected,  colonels  and  pashas  went  by 
with  their  attendant  running  footmen;  the  most  active,  inso- 
lent, and  hideous  of  these  great  men,  as  I thought,  being  his 
Highness’s  black  eunuchs,  who  went  prancing  through  the 
crowd,  which  separated  before  them  with  every  sign  of 
respect. 

The  common  women  were  assembled  by  many  hun- 
dreds : the  yakmac,  a muslin  chin-cloth  which  they  wear, 
makes  almost  every  face  look  the  same ; but  the  eyes 
and  noses  of  these  beauties  are  generally  visible,  and,  for 
the  most  part,  both  these  features  are  good.  The  jolly 
negresses  wear  the  same  white  veil,  but  they  are  by  no 
means  so  particular  about  hiding  the  charms  of  their  good- 
natured  black  faces,  and  they  let  the  cloth  blow  about 
as  it  lists,  and  grin  unconfined.  Wherever  we  went  the 
negroes  seemed  happy.  They  have  the  organ  of  child- 
loving  ; little  creatures  were  always  prattling  on  their 
shoulders,  queer  little  things  in  night-gowns  of  yellow 
dimity,  with  great  flowers,  and  pink,  or  red,  or  yellow 
shawls,  with  great  eyes  glistening  underneath.  Of  such 
the  black  women  seemed  always  the  happy  guardians.  I 
saw  one  at  a fountain,  holding  one  child  in  her  arms,  and 
giving  another  a drink  — a ragged  little  beggar  — a sweet 
and  touching  picture  of  a black  charity. 

I am  almost  forgetting  his  Highness  the  Sultan.  About 
a hundred  guns  were  fired  off  at  clumsy  intervals  from  the 
Esplanade  facing  the  Bosphorus,  warning  us  that  the  mon- 
arch had  set  off  from  his  Summer  Palace,  and  was  on  the 
way  to  his  grand  canoe.  At  last  that  vessel  made  its 
appearance ; the  band  struck  up  his  favorite  air ; his 
caparisoned  horse  was  led  down  to  the  shore  to  receive 
him ; the  eunuchs,  fat  pashas,  colonels,  and  officers  of  state 
gathering  round  as  the  Commander  of  the  Faithful  mounted. 
I had  the  indescribable  happiness  of  seeing  him  at  a very 
short  distance.  The  Padishah,  or  Father  of  all  the  Sover- 
eigns on  earth,  has  not  that  majestic  air  which  some 
sovereigns  possess,  and  which  makes  the  beholder’s  eyes 
wink,  and  his  knees  tremble  under  him : he  has  a black 
beard,  and  a handsome  well-bred  face,  of  a French  cast ; he 
looks  like  a young  French  roue  worn  out  by  debauch  ; his 
eyes  bright,  with  black  rings  round  them ; his  cheeks  pale 
and  hollow.  He  was  lolling  on  his  horse  as  if  he  could 
hardly  hold  himself  on  the  saddle  : or  as  if  his  cloak,  fas- 
tened with  a blazing  diamond  clasp  on  his  breast,  and 


394 


EASTERN  SKETCHES . 


falling  over  his  horse’s  tail,  pulled  him  back.  But  the 
handsome  sallow  face  of  the  .Refuge  of  the  World  looked 
decidedly  interesting  and  intellectual.  I have  seen  many  a 
young  Don  Juan  at  Paris,  behind  a counter,  with  such  a 
beard  and  countenance  ; the  flame  of  passion  still  burning 
in  his  hollow  eyes,  while  on  his  damp  brow  was  stamped 
the  fatal  mark  of  premature  decay.  The  man  we  saw 
cannot  live  many  summers.  Women  and  wine  are  said  to 
have  brought  the  Zilullali  to  this  state ; and  it  is  whispered 
by  the  dragomans,  or  laquais-de-place,  ( from  whom  trav- 


ellers at  Constantinople  generally  get  their  political  infor- 
mation, )that  the  Sultan’s  mother  and  his  ministers  conspire 
to  keep  him  plunged  in  sensuality,  that  they  may  govern 
the  kingdom  according  to  their  own  fancies.  Mr.  Urquhart, 
I am  sure,  thinks  that  Lord  Palmerston  has  something  to 
do  with  the  business,  and  drugs  the  Sultan’s  champagne  for 
the  benefit  of  Russia. 

As  the  Pontiff  of  Mussulmans  passed  into  the  mosque,  a 
shower  of  petitions  was  flung  from  the  steps  where  the 
crowd  was  collected,  and  over  the  heads  of  the  gendarmes 


FROM  CORN  HILL  TO  CAIRO. 


395 


in  brown.  A general  cry,  as  for  justice,  rose  up;  and  one 
old  ragged  woman  came  forward  and  burst  through  the 
throng,  howling,  and  flinging  about  her  lean  arms,  and 
baring  her  old  shrunken  breast.  1 never  saw  a finer  action 
of  tragic  woe,  or  heard  sounds  more  pitiful  than  those  old 
passionate  groans  of  hers.  What  was  your  prayer,  poor 
old  wretched  soul  ? The  gendarmes  hemmed  her  round,  and 
hustled  her.  away,  but  rather  kindly.  The  Padishah  went 
on  quite  impassible — the  picture  of  debauch  and  ennui. 

I like  pointing  morals,  and  inventing  for  myself  cheap 
consolations,  to  reconcile  me  to  that  state  of  life  into  which 
it  has  pleased  heaven  to  call  me ; and  as  the  Light  of  the 
World  disappeared  round  the  corner,  I reasoned  pleasantly 
with  myself  about  his  Highness,  and  enjoyed  that  secret 
selfish  satisfaction  a man  has,  who  sees  he  is  better  off 
than  his  neighbor.  “ Michael  Angelo,  ” I said,  “ you  are 
still  ( by  courtesy ) young  : if  you  had  five  hundred  thou- 
sand a year,  and  were  a great  prince,  I would  lay  a wager 
that  men  would  discover  in  you  a magnificent  courtesy 
of  demeanor,  and  a majestic  presence  that  only  belongs  to 
the  sovereigns  of  the  world.  If  you  had  such  an  income, 
you  think  you  could  spend  it  with  splendor ! distributing- 
genial  hospitalities,  kindly  alms,  soothing  misery,  bidding- 
humility  be  of  good  heart,  rewarding  desert.  If  you  had 
such  means  of  purchasing  pleasure,  you  think,  you  rogue, 
you  could  relish  it  with  gusto.  But  fancy  being  brought  to 
the  condition  of  the  poor  Light  of  the  Universe  yonder; 
and  reconcile  yourself  with  the  idea  that  you  are  only  a 
farthing  rushlight.  The  cries  of  the  poor  widow  fall  as 
dead  upon  him  as  the  smiles  of  the  brightest  eyes  out  of 
Georgia.  He  can’t  stir  abroad  but  those  abominable  can- 
non begin  roaring  and  deafening  his  ears.  He  can’t  see 
the  world  but  over  the  shoulders  of  a row  of  fat  pashas, 
and  eunuchs,  with  their  infernal  ugliness.  His  ears  can 
never  be  regaled  with  a word  of  truth,  or  blessed  with  an 
honest  laugh.  The  only  privilege  of  manhood  left  to  him, 
he  enjoys  but  for  a month  in  the  year,  at  this  time  of  Ram- 
azan, when  he  is  forced  to  fast  for  fifteen  hours  ; and,  by 
consequence,  has  the  blessing  of  feeling  hungry.  ” Sunset 
during  Lent  appears  to  be  his  single  moment  of  pleasure ; 
they  say  the  poor  fellow  is  ravenous  by  that  time,  and  as 
the  gun  fires  the  dish-covers  are  taken  off,  so  that  for  five 
minutes  a day  he  lives  and  is  happy  over  pillau,  like 
another  mortal. 


396 


EASTERN  SKETCHES. 


And  yet,  when  floating  by  the  Summer  Palace,  a barbaric 
edifice  of  wood  and  marble,  with  gilded  suns  blazing  over 
the  porticos,  and  all  sorts  of  strange  ornaments  and  tro- 
phies figuring  on  the  gates  and  railings  — when  we  passed 
a long  row  of  barred  and  filigreed  windows,  looking  on  the 
water  — when  we  were  told  that  those  were  the  apartments 
of  his  Highness’s  ladies,  and  actually  heard  them  whisper- 
ing and  laughing  behind  the  bars  — a strange  feeling  of 
curiosity  came  over  some  ill-regulated  minds  — just  to  have 
one  peep,  one  look  at  all  those  wondrous  beauties,  singing 
to  the  dulcimers,  paddling  in  the  fountains,  dancing  in  the 
marble  halls,  or  lolling  on  the  golden  cushions,  as  the  gaudy 
black  slaves  brought  pipes  and  coffee.  This  tumultuous 
movement  was  calmed  by  thinking  of  that  dreadful  state- 
ment of  travellers,  that  in  one  of  the  most  elegant  halls 
there  is  a trap-door,  on  peeping  below  which  you  may  see 
the  Bosphorus  running  underneath,  into  which  some  luck- 
less beauty  is  plunged  occasionally,  and  the  trap-door  is 
shut,  and  the  dancing  and  the  singing,  and  the  smoking 
and  the  laughing  go  on  as  before.  They  say  it  is  death  to 
pick  up  any  of  the  sacks  thereabouts,  if  a stray  one  should 
float  by  you.  There  were  none  any  day  when  I passed,  at 
least  on  the  surface  of  the  water. 

It  has  been  rather  a fashion  of  our  travellers  to  apolo- 
gize for  Turkish  life,  of  late,  and  paint  glowing,  agreeable 
pictures  of  many  of  its  institutions.  The  celebrated  au- 
thor of  “ Palm-Leaves  ” (his  name  is  famous  under  the 
date-trees  of  the  Nile,  and  uttered  with  respect  beneath 
the  tents  of  the  Bedaween),  has  touchingly  described 
Ibrahim  Pasha’s  paternal  fondness,  who  cut  off  a black 
slave’s  head  for  having  dropped  and  maimed  one  of  his 
children  ; and  has  penned  a melodious  panegyric  of  “The 
Harem,  ” and  of  the  fond  and  beautiful  duties  of  the  in- 
mates of  that  place  of  love,  obedience,  and  seclusion.  I 
saw,  at  the  mausoleum  of  the  late  Sultan  Mahmoud’s  fam- 
ily, a good  subject  for  a Ghazul,  in  the  true  new  Oriental 
manner. 

These  royal  burial-places  are  the  resort  of  the  pious 
Moslems.  Lamps  are  kept  burning  there ; and  in  the  ante- 
chambers, copies  of  the  Koran  are  provided  for  the  use  of 
believers  ; and  you  never  pass  these  cemeteries  but  you  see 
Turks  washing  at  the  cisterns,  previous  to  entering  for 
prayer,  or  squatted  on  the  benches,  chanting  passages  from 
the  sacred  volume.  Christians,  I believe,  are  not  admitted, 


FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO. 


397 


but  may  look  through  the  bars,  and  see  the  coffins  of  the 
defunct  monarchs  and  children  of  the  royal  race.  Each 
lies  in  his  narrow  sarcophagus,  which  is  commonly  flanked 
by  huge  candles,  and  covered  with  a rich  embroidered  pall. 
At  the  head  of  each  coffin  rises  a slab,  with  a gilded  inscrip- 
tion ; for  the  princesses,  the  slab  is  simple,  not  unlike  our 
own  monumental  stones.  The  head-stones  of  the  tombs  of 
the  defunct  princes  are  decorated  with  a turban,  or,  since 
the  introduction  of  the  latter  article  of  dress,  with  the  red 
fez.  That  of  Mahmoud  is  decorated  with  the  imperial 
aigrette. 

In  this  dismal  but  splendid  museum,  I remarked  two 
little  tombs  with  little  red  fezzes,  very  small  and  for  very 
young  heads  evidently,  which  were  lying  under  the  little 
embroidered  palls  of  state.  I forget  whether  they  had 
candles  too ; but  their  little  flame  of  life  was  soon  extin- 
guished, and  there  was  no  need  of  many  pounds  of  wax  to 
typify  it.  These  were  the  tombs  of  Mahmoud’s  grandsons, 
nephews  of  the  present  Light  of  the  Universe,  and  children 
of  his  sister,  the  wife  of  Halil  Pacha.  Little  children  die 
in  all  ways ; these  of  the  much-maligned  Mahometan  royal 
race  perished  by  the  bowstring.  Sultan  Mahmoud  (may  he 
rest  in  glory  ! ) strangled  the  one  ; but,  having  some  spark 
of  human  feeling,  was  so  moved  by  the  wretchedness  and 
agony  of  the  poor  bereaved  mother,  his  daughter,  that  his 
royal  heart  relented  towards  her,  and  he  promised  that, 
should  she  ever  have  another  child,  it  should  be  allowed 
to  live.  He  died;  and  Abdul  Medjid  (may  his  name  be 
blessed ! ) the  debauched  young  man  whom  we  just  saw 
riding  to  the  mosque,  succeeded.  His  sister,  whom  he  is 
said  to  have  loved,  became  again  a mother,  and  had  a son. 
But  she  relied  upon  her  father’s  word  and  her  august 
brother’s  love,  and  hoped  that  this  little  one  should  be 
spared.  The  same  accursed  hand  tore  this  infant  out  of  its 
mother’s  bosom,  and  killed  it.  The  poor  woman’s  heart 
broke  outright  at  this  second  calamity,  and  she  died.  But 
on  her  death-bed  she  sent  for  her  brother,  rebuked  him  as  a 
perjurer  and  an  assassin,  and  expired  calling  down  the 
divine  justice  on  his  head.  She  lies  now  by  the  side  of 
the  two  little  fezzes. 

Now  I say  this  would  be  a fine  subject  for  an  Oriental 
poem.  The  details  are  dramatic  and  noble,  and  could  be 
grandly  touched  by  a fine  artist.  If  the  mother  had  borne 
a daughter,  the  child  would  have  been  safe  ; that  perplexity 


EASTERN  SKETCHES . 


398 


might  be  pathetically  depicted  as  agitating  the  bosom  of 
the  young  wife,  about  to  become  a mother.  A son  is  born  : 
you  can  see  her  despair  and  the  pitiful  looks  she  casts  on 
the  child,  and  the  way  in  which  she  hugs  it  every  time  the 
curtains  of  her  door  are  removed.  The  Sultan  hesitated 
probably; die  allowed  the  infant  to  live  for  six  weeks.  He 
could  not  bring  his  royal  soul  to  inflict  pain.  He  yields  at 
last ; he  is  a martyr  — to  be  pitied,  not  to  be  blamed.  If  he 
melts  at  his  daughter’s  agony,  he  is  a man  and  a father. 

There  are  men  and  fathers  too  in  the  much-maligned 
Orient. 

Then  comes  the  second  act  of  the  tragedy.  The  new 
hopes,  the  fond  yearnings,  the  terrified  misgivings,  the 
timid  belief,  and  weak  confidence;  the  child  that  is  born  — 
and  dies  smiling  prettily — and  the  mother’s  heart  is  rent 
so,  that  it  can  love,  or  hope,  or  suffer  no  more.  Allah  is 
God ! She  sleeps  by  the  little  fezzes.  Hark ! the  guns  are 
booming  over  the  water,  and  his  Highness  is  coming  from 
his  prayers. 

After  the  murder  of  that  little  child,  it  seems  to  me  one 
can  never  look  with  anything  but  horror  upon  the  butcherly 
Herod  who  ordered  it.  The  death  of  the  seventy  thousand 
Janissaries  ascends  to  historic  dignity,  and  takes  rank  as 
war.  But  a great  Prince  and  Light  of  the  Universe,  who 
procures  abortions  and  throttles  little  babies,  dwindles 
away  into  such  a frightful  insignificance  of  crime,  that 
those  may  respect  him  who  will.  I pity  their  Excellen- 
cies the  Ambassadors,  who  are  obliged  to  smirk  and  cringe 
to  such  a rascal.  To  do  the  Turks  justice  — and  two  days’ 
walk  in  Constantinople  will  settle  this  fact  as  well  as  a 
year’s  residence  in  the  city  — the  people  do  not  seem  in 
the  least  animated  by  this  Herodian  spirit.  I never  saw 
more  kindness  to  children  than  among  all  classes,  more 
fathers  walking  about  with  little  solemn  Mahometans  in 
red  caps  and  big  trousers,  more  business  going  on  than  in 
the  toy  quarter,  and  in  the  Atmeidan.  Although  you  may 
see  there  the  Thebaic  stone  set  up  by  the  Emperor  Theo- 
dosius, and  the  bronze  column  of  serpents  which  Murray 
says  was  brought  from  Delphi,  but  which  my  guide  in- 
formed me  was  the  very  one  exhibited  by  Moses  in  the 
wilderness,  yet  I found  the  examination  of  these  antiquities 
much  less  pleasant  than  to  look  at  the  many  troops  of 
children  assembled  on  the  plain  to  play  ; and  to  watch  them 
as  they  were  dragged  about  in  little  queer  arobas,  or  painted 


FROM  CORN  HILL  TO  CAIRO. 


399 


carriages,  which  are  there  kept  for  hire.  I have  a picture  of 
one  of  them  now  in  my  eyes  : a little  green  oval  machine, 
with  flowers  rudely  painted  round  the  window,  out  of  which 
two  smiling  heads  are  peeping,  the  pictures  of  happiness. 
An  old,  good-humored,  gray-bearded  Turk  is  tugging  the 
cart ; and  behind  it  walks  a lady  in  a yakmac  and  yellow  slip- 
pers, and  a black  female  slave,  grinning  as  usual,  towards 
whom  the  little  coach-riders  are  looking.  A small,  sturdy, 
barefooted  Mussulman  is  examining  the  cart  with  some  feel- 
ings of  envy : he  is  too  poor  to  purchase  a ride  for  himself 
and  the  round-faced  puppy-dog,  which  he  is  hugging  in  his 
arms  as  young  ladies  in  our  country  do  dolls. 

All  the  neighborhood  of  the  Atmeidan  is  exceedingly 
picturesque — the  mosque  court  and  cloister,  where  the 
Persians  have  their  stalls  of  sweetmeats  and  tobacco ; a 
superb  sycamore  tree  grows  in  the  middle  of  this,  over- 
shadowing an  aromatic  fountain ; great  flocks  of  pigeons 
are  settling  in  corners  of  the  cloister,  and  barley  is  sold  at 
the  gates,  with  which  the  good-natured  people  feed  them. 
From  the  Atmeidan  you  have  a fine  view  of  St.  Sophia: 
and  here  stands  a mosque  which  struck  me  as  being  much 
more  picturesque  and  sumptuous  — the  Mosque  of  Sultan 
Achmed,  with  its  six  gleaming  white  minarets  and  its 
beautiful  courts  and  trees.  Any  infidels  may  enter  the 
court  without  molestation,  and,  looking  through  the  barred 
windows  of  the  mosque,  have  a view  of  its  airy  and  spa- 
cious interior.  A small  audience  of  women  was  collected 
there  when  I looked  in,  squatted  on  the  mats,  and  listening 
to  a preacher,  who  was  walking  among  them,  and  speak- 
ing with  great  energy.  My  dragoman  interpreted  to  me 
the  sense  of  a few  words  of  his  sermon;  he  was  warning 
them  of  the  danger  of  gadding  about  to  public  places,  and 
of  the  immorality  of  too  much  talking  ; and,  I dare  say,  we 
might  have  had  more  valuable  information  from  him  re- 
garding the  follies  of  womankind,  had  not  a tall  Turk 
clapped  my  interpreter  on  the  shoulder,  and  pointed  him  to 
be  off. 

Although  the  ladies  are  veiled,  and  muffled  with  the 
ugliest  dresses  in  the  world,  yet  it  appears  their  modesty  is 
alarmed  in  spite  of  all  the  coverings  which  they  wear.  One 
day,  in  the  bazaar,  a fat  old  body,  with  diamond  rings  on 
her  fingers  that  were  tinged  with  henne  of  a logwood  color, 
came  to  the  shop  where  I was  purchasing  slippers,  with 
her  son,  a young  Aga  of  six  years  of  age,  dressed  in  a 


400 


EASTERN  SKETCHES. 


braided  frock-coat,  with  a huge  tassel  to  his  fez,  exceed- 
ing fat,  and  of  a most  solemn  demeanor.  The  young  Aga 
came  for  a pair  of  shoes,  and  his  contortions  were  so 
delightful  as  he  tried  them,  that  I remained  looking  on 
with  great  pleasure,  wishing  for  Leech  to  be  at  hand  to 
sketch  his  lordship  and  his  fat  mamma,  who  sat  on  the 
counter.  That  lady  fancied  I was  looking  at  her,  though, 
as  far  as  I could  see,  she  had  the  figure  and  complexion  of  a 
roly-poly  pudding  ; and  so,  with  quite  a premature  bashful- 
ness, she  sent  me  a message  by  the  shoemaker,  ordering  me 
to  walk  away  if  I had  made  my  purchases,  for  that  ladies 
of  her  rank  did  not  choose  to  be  stared  at  by  strangers  ; and 
I was  obliged  to  take  my  leave,  though  with  sincere  regret, 
for  the  little  lord  had  just  squeezed  himself  into  an  atti- 
tude than  which  I never  saw  anything  more  ludicrous  in 
General  Tom  Thumb.  When  the  ladies  of  the  Seraglio 
come  to  that  bazaar  with  their  cortege  of  infernal  black 
eunuchs,  strangers  are  told  to  move  on  briskly.  I saw  a 
bevy  of  about  eight  of  these,  with  their  aides-de-camp;  but 
they  were  wrapped  up,  and  looked  just  as  vulgar  and  ugly 
as  the  other  women,  and  were  not,  I suppose,  of  the  most 
beautiful  sort.  The  poor  devils  are  allowed  to  come 
out,  half  a dozen  times  in  the  year,  to  spend  their  little 
wretched  allowance  of  pocket-money  in  purchasing  trinkets 
and  tobacco ; all  the  rest  of  the  time  they  pursue  the 
beautiful  duties  of  their  existence  in  the  walls  of  the 
sacred  harem. 

Though  strangers  are  not  allowed  to  see  the  interior  of 
the  cage  in  which  these  birds  of  Paradise  are  confined,  yet 
many  parts  of  the  Seraglio  are  free  to  the  curiosity  of 
visitors,  who  choose  to  drop  a backsheesh  here  and  there. 
I landed  one  morning  at  the  Seraglio  point  from  Galata, 
close  by  an  ancient  pleasure-house  of  the  defunct  Sultan ; a 
vast  broad-brimmed  pavilion,  that  looks  agreeable  enough 
to  be  a dancing-room  for  ghosts  now:  there  is  another 
summer-house,  the  Guide-book  cheerfully  says,  whither  the 
Sultan  goes  to  sport  with  his  women  and  mutes.  A regi- 
ment of  infantry,  with  their  music  at  their  head,  were 
marching  to  exercise  in  the  outer  grounds  of  the  Seraglio ; 
and  we  followed  them,  and  had  an  opportunity  of  seeing 
their  evolutions,  and  hearing  their  bands,  upon  a fine  green 
plain  under  the  Seraglio  walls,  where  stands  one  solitary 
column,  erected  in  memory  of  some  triumph  of  some  Byzan* 
tian  emperor. 


FROM  C0RNH1LL  TO  CAIRO . 


401 


There  were  three  battalions  of  the  Turkish  infantry  exer- 
cising here ; and  they  seemed  to  perform  their  evolutions 
in  a very  satisfactory  manner : that  is,  they  fired  all  to- 
gether, and  charged  and  halted  in  very  straight  lines,  and 
bit  off  imaginary  cartridge-tops  with  great  fierceness  and 
regularity,  and  made  all  their  ramrods  ring  to  measure, 
just  like  so  many  Christians.  The  men  looked  small, 
young,  clumsy,  and  ill-built;  uncomfortable  in  their  shabby 
European  clothes  ; and  about  the  legs,  especially,  seemed 
exceedingly  weak  and  ill-formed.  Some  score  of  military 
invalids  were  lolling  in  the  sunshine,  about  a fountain  and 
a marble  summer-house  that  stand  on  the  ground,  watching 
their  comrades’  manoeuvres  (as  if  they  could  never  have 
enough  of  that  delightful  pastime  ) ; and  these  sick  were 
much  better  cared  for  than  their  healthy  companions. 
Each  man  had  two  dressing-gowns,  one  of  white  cotton, 
and  an  outer  wrapper  of  warm  brown  woollen.  Their  heads 
were  accommodated  with  wadded  cotton  nightcaps ; and  it 
seemed  to  me,  from  their  condition  and  from  the  excellent 
character  of  the  military  hospitals,  that  it  would  be  much 
more  wholesome  to  be  ill  than  to  be  well  in  the  Turkish 
service.  t 

Facing  this  green  esplanade,  and  the  Bosphorus  shining 
beyond  it,  rise  the  great  walls  of  the  outer  Seraglio  Gar- 
dens : huge  masses  of  ancient  masonry,  over  which  peep 
the  roofs  of  numerous  kiosks  and  outhouses,  amongst  thick 
evergreens,  planted  so  as  to  hide  the  beautiful  frequenters 
of  the  place  from  the  prying  eyes  and  telescopes.  We 
could  not  catch  a glance  of  a single  figure  moving  in  these 
great  pleasure-grounds.  The  road  winds  round  the  walls ; 
and  the  outer  park,  which  is  likewise  planted  with  trees, 
and  diversified  by  garden-plots  and  cottages,  had  more  the 
air  of  the  outbuildings  of  a homely  English  park,  than  of  a 
palace  which  we  must  all  have  imagined  to  be  the  most 
stately  in  the  world.  The  most  commonplace  water-carts 
were  passing  here  and  there  ; roads  were  being  repaired  in 
the  Macadamite  manner ; and  carpenters  were  mending  the 
park-palings,  just  as  they  do  in  Hampshire.  The  next 
thing  you  might  fancy  would  be  the  Sultan  walking  out 
with  a spud  and  a couple  of  dogs,  on  the  way  to  meet  the 
post-bag  and  the  Saint  James’s  Chronicle . 

The  palace  is  no  palace  at  all.  It  is  a great  town  of  pa- 
vilions, built  without  order,  here  and  there,  according  to 
the  fancy  of  succeeding  Lights  of  the  Universe,  or  their 
26  ' 


402 


EASTERN  SKETCHES . 


favorites.  The  only  row  of  domes  which  looked  partic- 
ularly regular  or  stately,  were  the  kitchens.  As  yon  ex- 
amined the  buildings  they  had  a ruinous  dilapidated  look  : 
they  are  not  furnished,  it  is  said,  with  particular  splendor, 
— not  a bit  more  elegantly  than  Miss  Jones’s  seminary  for 
young  ladies,  which  we  may  be  sure  is  much  more  comfort- 
able than  the  extensive  establishment  of  his  Highness 
Abdul  Med j id. 

In  the  little  stable  I thought  to  see  some  marks  of  royal 
magnificence,  and  some  horses  worthy  of  the  king  of  all 
kings.  But  the  Sultan  is  said  to  be  a very  timid  horseman  : 
the  animal  that  is  always  kept  saddled  for  him  did  not 
look  to  be  worth  twenty  pounds ; and  the  rest  of  the  horses 
in  the  shabby,  dirty  stalls,  were  small,  ill-kept,  common- 
looking brutes.  You  might  see  better,  it  seemed  to  me,  at 
a country  inn  stable  on  any  market-day. 

The  kitchens  are  the  most  sublime  part  of  the  Seraglio. 
There  are  nine  of  these  great  halls,  for  all  ranks,  from  his 
Highness  downwards,  where  many  hecatombs  are  roasted 
daily,  according  to  the  accounts,  and  where  cooking  goes  on 
with  a savage  Homeric  grandeur.  Chimneys  are  despised 
in  these  primitive  halls ; so  that  the  roofs  are  black  with 
the  smoke  of  hundreds  of  furnaces,  which  escapes  through 
apertures  in  the  domes  above.  These,  too,  give  the  chief 
light  in  the  rooms,  which  streams  downwards,  and  thickens 
and  mingles  with  the  smoke,  and  so  murkily  lights  up 
hundreds  of  swarthy  figures  busy  about  the  spits  and  the 
caldrons.  Close  to  the  door  by  which  we  entered  they 
were  making  pastry  for  the  sultanas ; and  the  chief  pastry- 
cook, who  knew  my  guide,  invited  us  courteously  to  see  the 
process,  and  partake  of  the  delicacies  prepared  for  those 
charming  lips.  How  those  sweet  lips  must  shine  after 
eating  these  puffs  ! First,  huge  sheets  of  dough  are  rolled 
out  till  the  paste  is  about  as  thin  as  silver  paper  : then  an 
artist  forms  the  dough-muslin  into  a sort  of  drapery,  curling 
it  round  and  round  in  many  fanciful  and  pretty  shapes, 
until  it  is  all  got  into  the  circumference  of  a round  metal 
tray  in  which  it  is  baked.  Then  the  cake  is  drenched  in 
grease  most  profusely  ; and,  finally,  a quantity  of  syrup  is 
poured  over  it,  when  the  delectable  mixture  is  complete.  * 
The  moon-faced  ones  are  said  to  devour  immense  quantities 
of  this  wholesome  food ; and,  in  fact,  are  eating  grease  and 
sweetmeats  from  morning  till  night.  I don’t  like  to  think 
what  the  consequences  may  be,  or  allude  to  the  agonies 
which  the  delicate  creatures  must  inevitably  suffer. 


FROM  CORN  HILL  TO  CAIRO . 


103 


The  good-natured  chief  pastry-cook  filled  a copper  basin 
with  greasy  puffs  ; and,  dipping  a dubious  ladle  into  a large 
caldron,  containing  several  gallons  of  syrup,  poured  a lib- 
eral portion  over  the  cakes,  and  invited  us  to  eat.  One  of 
the  tarts  was  quite  enough  for  me  : and  I excused  myself 
on  the  plea  of  ill  health  from  imbibing  any  more  grease 
and  sugar.  But  my  companion,  the  dragoman,  finished 
some  forty  puffs  in  a twinkling.  They  slipped  down  his 
open  jaws  as  the  sausages  do  down  clowns’  throats  in  a 
pantomime.  His  moustaches  shone  with  ‘grease,  and  it 
dripped  down  his  beard  and  fingers.  We  thanked  the 
smiling  chief  pastry-cook,  and  rewarded  him  handsomely 
for  the  tarts.  It  is  something  to  have  eaten  of  the  dainties 
prepared  for  the  ladies  of  the  harem;  but  I think  Mr. 
Cockle  ought  to  get  the  names  of  the  chief  sultanas  among 
the  exalted  patrons  of  his  antibilious  pills. 

From  the  kitchens  we  passed  into  the  second  court  of  the 
Seraglio,  beyond  which  is  death.  The  Guide-book  only 
hints  at  the  dangers  which  would  befall  a stranger  caught 
prying  in  the  mysterious  first  court  of  the  palace.  I have 
read  “ Bluebeard,  ” and  don’t  care  for  peeping  into  forbid- 
den doors  ; so  that  the  second  court  was  quite  enough  for 
me  ; the  pleasure  of  beholding  it  being  heightened,  as  it 
were,  by  the  notion  of  the  invisible  danger  sitting  next 
door,  with  uplifted  scimitar  ready  to  fall  on  you  — present 
though  not  seen. 

A cloister  runs  along  one  side  of  this  court ; opposite  is 
the  hall  of  the  divan,  “large  but  low,  covered  with  lead, 
and  gilt,  after  the  Moorish  manner,  plain  enough.  ” The 
Grand  Vizier  sits  in  this  place,  and  the  ambassadors  used  to 
wait  here,  and  be  conducted  hence  on  horseback,  attired 
with  robes  of  honor.  But  the  ceremony  is  now,  I believe, 
discontinued ; the  English  envoy,  at  any  rate,  is  not  allowed 
to  receive  any  backsheesh,  and  goes  away  as  he  came,  in 
the  habit  of  his  own  nation.  On  the  right  is  a door  lead- 
ing into  the  interior  of  the  Seraglio;  none  pass  through  it 
but  such  as  are  sent  for,  the  Guide-book  says  : it  is  impossi- 
ble to  top  the  terror  of  that  description. 

About  this  door  lads  and  servants  were  lolling,  ichoglans 
and  pages,  with  lazy  looks  and  shabby  dresses  ; and  among 
them,  sunning  himself  sulkily  on  a bench,  a poor  old  fat, 
wrinkled,  dismal  white  eunuch,  with  little  fat  white  hands, 
and  a great  head  sunk  into  his  chest,  and  two  sprawling  little 
legs  that  seemed  incapable  to  hold  up  his  bloated  old  body. 


404 


EASTERN  SKETCHES. 


He  squeaked  out  some  surly  reply  to  my  friend  the  drago- 
man, who,  softened  and  sweetened  by  the  tarts  he  had  just 
been  devouring,  was,  no  doubt,  anxious  to  be  polite : and 
the  poor  worthy  fellow  walked  away  rather  crestfallen  at 
this  return  of  his  salutation,  and  hastened  me  out  of  the 
place. 

The  palace  of  the  Seraglio,  the  cloister  with  marble 
pillars,  the  hall  of  the  ambassadors,  the  impenetrable  gate 
guarded  by  eunuchs  and  ichoglans,  have  a romantic  look  in 
print ; but  not  so  in  reality.  Most  of  the  marble  is  wood, 
almost  all  the  gilding  is  faded,  the  guards  are  shabby,  the 
foolish  perspectives  painted  on  the  walls  are  half  cracked 
oft*.  The  place  looks  like  Vauxhall  in  the  daytime. 

We  passed  out  of  the  second  court  under  The  Sublime 
Porte  — which  is  like  a fortified  gate  of  a German  town  of 
the  middle  ages  — into  the  outer  court,  round  which  are 
public  offices,  hospitals,  and  dwellings  of  the  multifarious 
servants  of  the  palace.  This  place  is  very  wide  and  pict- 
uresque : there  is  a pretty  church  of  Byzantine  architecture 
at  the  further  end ; and  in  the  midst  of  the  court  a mag- 
nificent plane-tree,  of  prodigious  dimensions  and  fabulous 
age  according  to  the  guides  ; St.  Sophia  towers  in  the  fur- 
ther distance : and  from  here,  perhaps,  is  the  best  view  of 
its  light  swelling  domes  and  beautiful  proportions.  The 
Porte  itself,  too,  forms  an  excellent  subject  for  the  sketcher, 
if  the  officers  of  the  court  will  permit  him  to  design  it.  I 
made  the  attempt,  and  a couple  Turkish  beadles  looked  on 
very  good-naturedly  for  some  time  at  the  progress  of  the 
drawing;  but  a good  number  of  other  spectators  speedily 
joined  them,  and  made  a crowd,  which  is  not  permitted,  it 
would  seem,  in  the  Seraglio ; so  I was  told  to  pack  up  my 
portfolio,  and  remove  the  cause  of  the  disturbance,  and  lost 
my  drawing  of  the  Ottoman  Porte. 

T don’t  think  I have  anything  more  to  say  about  the 
city  which  has  not  been  much  better  told  by  graver  trav- 
ellers. I,  with  them,  could  see  ( perhaps  it  was  the  preach- 
ing of  the  politicians  that  warned  me  of  the  fact ) that  we 
are  looking  on  at  the  last  days  of  an  empire ; and  heard 
many  stories  of  weakness,  disorder,  and  oppression.  I even 
saw  a Turkish  lady  drive  up  to  Sultan  Achmet’s  mosque  in 
a brougham . Is  not  that  a subject  to  moralize  upon  ? And 
might  one  not  draw  endless  conclusions  from  it,  that  the 
knell  of  the  Turkish  dominion  is  rung ; that  the  Euro- 
pean spirit  and  institutions  once  admitted  can  never  be 


FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO . 


405 


rooted  out  again ; and  that  the  scepticism  prevalent  amongst 
the  higher  orders  must  descend'ere  very  long  to  the  lower; 
and  the  cry  of  the  muezzin  from  the  mosque  become  a mere 
ceremony  ? 

But  as  I only  stayed  eight  days  in  this  place,  and  knew  not 
a syllable  of  the  language,  perhaps  it  is  as  well  to  pretermit 
any  disquisitions  about  the  spirit  of  the  people.  I can  only 
say  that  they  looked  to  be  very  good-natured,  handsome 
and  lazy ; that  the  women’s  yellow  slippers  are  very  ugly  ; 
that  the  kabobs  at  the  shop  hard  by  the  Bope  Bazaar  are 
very  hot  and  good ; and  that  at  the  Armenian  cook-shops 
they  serve  you  delicious  fish,  and  a stout  raisin  wine  of  no 
small  merit.  There  came  in,  as  we  sat  and  dined  there  at 
sunset,  a good  old  Turk,  who  called  for  a penny  fish,  and 


sat  down  under  a tree  very  humbly,  and  ate  it  with  his  own 
bread.  We  made  that  jolly  old  Mussulman  happy  with  a 
quart  of  the  raisin  wine  ; and  his  eyes  twinkled  with  every 
fresh  glass,  and  he  wiped  his  old  beard  delighted,  and  talked 
and  chirped  a good  deal,  and,  I dare  say,  told  us  the  whole 
state  of  the  empire.  He  was  the  only  Mussulman  with 
whom  I attained  any  degree  of  intimacy  during  my  stay  in 
Constantinople  ; and  you  will  see  that,  for  obvious  reasons, 
I cannot  divulge  the  particulars  of  our  conversation. 

“ You  have  nothing  to  say,  and  you  own  it,  ” says  some- 
body : “ then  why  write  ? ” That  question  perhaps  ( be- 
tween ourselves ) I have  put  likewise ; and  yet,  my  dear 
sir,  there  are  some  things  worth  remembering  even  in  this 
brief  letter : that  woman  in  the  brougham  is  an  idea  of 
significance : that  comparison  of  the  Seraglio  to  Vauxhall 


406 


EASTERN  SKETCHES. 


in  the  daytime  is  a true  and  real  one  ; from  both  of  which 
your  own  great  soul  and  ingenious  philosophic  spirit  may 
draw  conclusions,  that  I myself  have  modestly  forborne  to 
press.  You  are  too  clever  to  require  a moral  to  be  tacked  to 
all  the  fables  you  read,  as  is  done  for  the  children  in  the 
spelling-books  ; else  I would  tell  you  that  the  government  of 
the  Ottoman  Porte  seems  to  be  as  rotten,  as  wrinkled,  and  as 
feeble  as  the  old  eunuch  I saw  crawling  about  it  in  the  sun  ; 
that  when  the  lady  drove  up  in  a brougham  to  Sultan 
Achmet,  I felt  that  the  schoolmaster  was  really  abroad  ; and 
that  the  crescent  will  go  out  before  that  luminary,  as 
meekly  as  the  moon  does  before  the  sun. 


CHAPTER  VTTI. 


RHODES. 


HE  sailing  of  a vessel 
direct  for  Jaffa  brought 
a great  number  of  pas- 
sengers together,  and  our 
decks  were  covered  with 
Christian,  Jew,  and  Hea- 
then. In  the  cabin  we 
were  Poles  and  Rus- 
sians, Erenchmen,  Ger- 
mans, Spaniards,  and 
Greeks ; on  the  deck 
were  squatted  several 
little  colonies  of  people 
of  different  race  and 
persuasion.  There  was 
a Greek  Papa,  a noble 
figure  with  a flowing  and  venerable  white  beard,  who  had 
been  living  on  bread-and-water  for  I don’t  know  how  many 
years,  in  order  to  save  a little  money  to  make  the  pilgrim- 
age to  Jerusalem.  There  were  several  families  of  Jewish 
Rabbis,  who  celebrated  their  “ feast  of  tabernacles”  on 
board  ; their  chief  men  performing  worship  twice  or  thrice 
a day,  dressed  in  their  pontifical  habits,  and  bound  with 
phylacteries  : and  there  were  Turks,  who  had  their  own 
ceremonies  and  usages,  and  wisely  kept  aloof  from  their 
neighbors  of  Israel. 

The  dirt  of  these  children  of  captivity  exceeds  all  possi- 
bility of  description  ; the  profusion  of  stinks  which  they 
raised,  the  grease  of  their  venerable  garments  and  faces, 
the  horrible  messes  cooked  in  the  filthy  pots,  and  devoured 
with  the  nasty  fingers,  the  squalor  of  mats,  pots,  old  bed- 
ding, and  foul  carpets  of  our  Hebrew  friends,  could  hardly 
be  painted  by  Swift,  in  his  dirtiest  mood,  and  cannot  be,  of 

407 


408 


EASTERN  SKETCHES . 


course,  attempted  by  my  timid  aud  genteel  pen.  What 
would  they  say  in  Baker  Street  to  some  sights  with  which 
our  new  friends  favored  us  ? What  would  your  ladyship 
have  said  if  you  had  seen  the  interesting  Greek  nun  comb- 
ing her  hair  over  the  cabin  — combing  it  with  the  natural 
lingers,  and,  averse  to  slaughter,  flinging  the  delicate  little 
intruders,  which  she  found  in  the  course  of  her  investiga- 
tion, gently  into  the  great  cabin  ? Our  attention  was  a good 
deal  occupied  in  watching  the  strange  ways  and  customs  of 
the  various  comrades  of  ours. 

The  Jews  were  refugees  from  Poland,  going  to  lay  their 
bones  to  rest  in  the  valley  of  Jehoshaphat,  and  performing 
with  exceeding  rigor  the  offices  of  their  religion.  At  morn- 


ing and  evening  you  were  sure  to  see  the  chiefs  of  the 
families,  arrayed  in  white  robes,  bowing  over  their  books, 
at  prayer.  Once  a week,  on  the  eve  before  the  Sabbath, 
there  was  a general  washing  in  Jewry,  which  sufficed  until 
the  ensuing  Friday.  The  men  wore  long  gowns,  and  caps 
of  fur,  or  else  broad-brimmed  hats,  or,  in  service-time, 
bound  on  their  heads  little  iron  boxes,  with  the  sacred 
name  engraved  on  them.  Among  the  lads  there  were  some 
beautiful  faces  ; and  among  the  women  your  humble  ser- 
vant discovered  one  who  was  a perfect  rose-bud  of  beauty 
when  first  emerging  from  her  Friday’s  toilette,  and  for  a day 
or  two  afterwards,  until  each  succeeding  day’s  smut  dark- 
ened those  fresh  and  delicate  cheeks  of  hers.  We  had 
some  very  rough  weather  in  the  course  of  the  passage  from 


FROM  CORNIIILL  TO  CAIRO. 


409 


Constantinople  to  Jaffa,  and  the  sea  washed  over  and  over 
our  Israelitish  friends  and  their  baggages  and  bundles  ; but 
though  they  were  said  to  be  rich,  they  would  not  afford  to 
pay  for  cabin  shelter.  One  father  of  a family,  finding  his 
progeny  half  drowned  in  a squall,  vowed  he  would  pay  for 
a cabin ; but  the  weather  was  somewhat  finer  the  next  day, 
and  he  could  not  squeeze  out  his  dollars,  and  the  ship’s 
authorities  would  not  admit  him  except  upon  payment. 

This  unwillingness  to  part  with  money  is  not  only  found 
amongst  the  followers  of  Moses,  but  in  those  of  Mahomet, 
and  Christians  too.  When  we  went  to  purchase  in  the 
bazaars,  after  offering  money  for  change,  the  honest  fellows 
would  frequently  keep  back  several  piastres,  and  when 
urged  to  refund,  would  give  most  dismally : and  begin  dol- 
ing out  penny  by  penny,  and  utter  pathetic  prayers  to  their 
customer  not  to  take  any  more.  I bought  five  or  six 
pounds’  worth  of  Broussa  silks  for  the  womenkind,  in  the 
bazaar  at  Constantinople,  and  the  rich  Armenian  who  sold 
them  begged  for  three-halfpence  to  pay  his  boat  to  Galata. 
There  is  something  naif  and  amusing  in  this  exhibition  of 
cheatery — this  simple  cringing,  and  wheedling,  and  pas- 
sion for  twopence-halfpenny.  It  was  pleasant  to  give  a 
millionnaire  beggar  an  alms,  and  laugh  in  his  face  and  say, 
“ There,  Dives,  there’s  a penny  for  you : be  happy,  you  poor 
old  swindling  scoundrel,  as  far  as  a penny  goes.  ” I used 
to  watch  these  Jews  on  shore,  and  making  bargains  with  one 
another  as  soon  as  they  came  on  board ; the  battle  between 
vender  and  purchaser  was  an  agony  — they  shrieked, 
clasped  hands,  appealed  to  one  another  passionately  ; their 
handsome,  noble  faces  assumed  a look  of  woe  — quite  an 
heroic  eagerness  and  sadness  about  a farthing. 

Ambassadors  from  our  Hebrews  descended  at  Rhodes  to 
buy  provisions,  and  it  was  curious  to  see  their  dealings  : 
there  was  our  venerable  Rabbi,  who,  robed  in  white  and 
silver,  and  bending  over  his  book  at  the  morning  service, 
looked  like  a patriarch,  and  whom  I saw  chaffering  about  a 
fowl  with  a brother  Rhodian  Israelite.  How  they  fought 
over  the  body  of  that  lean  animal ! The  street  swarmed 
with  J ews  : goggling  eyes  looked  out  from  the  old  carved 
casements  — hooked  noses  issued  from  the  low  antique 
doors  — Jew  boys  driving  donkeys,  Hebrew  mothers  nurs- 
ing children,  dusky  tawdry,  ragged  young  beauties  and  most 
venerable  gray-bearded  fathers  were  all  gathered  round 
about  the  affair  of  the  hen  ! And  at  the  same  time  that  our 


410 


EASTERN  SKETCHES . 


Rabbi  was  arranging  the  price  of  it,  his  children  were 
instructed  to  procure  bundles  of  green  branches  to  decorate 
the  ship  during  their  feast.  Think  of  the  centuries  during 
which  these  wonderful  people  have  remained  unchanged ; 
and  how,  from  the  days  of  Jacob  downwards,  they  have 
believed  and  swindled  ! 

The  Rhodian  Jews,  with  their  genius  for  filth,  have  made 
their  quarter  of  the  noble,  desolate  old  town,  the  most 
ruinous  and  wretched  of  ail.  The  escutcheons  of  the  proud 
old  knights  are  still  carved  over  the  doors,  whence  issue 
these  miserable  greasy  hucksters  and  pedlers.  The  Turks 
respected  these  emblems  of  the  brave  enemies  whom  they 
had  overcome,  and  left  them  untouched.  When  the  French 
seized  Malta  they  were  by  no  means  so  delicate  : they 
effaced  armorial  bearings  with  their  usual  hot-headed  eager- 
ness ; and  a few  years  after  they  had  torn  down  the  coats-of- 
arms  of  the  gentry,  the  heroes  of  Malta  and  Egypt  were 
busy  devising  heraldry  for  themselves,  and  were  wild  to 
be  barons  and  counts  of  the  empire. 

The  chivalrous  relics  at  Rhodes  are  very  superb.  I knowr 
of  no  buildings  whose  stately  and  picturesque  aspect  seems 
to  correspond  better  with  one’s  notions  of  their  proud 
founders.  The  towers  and  gates  are  warlike  and  strong, 
but  beautiful  and  aristocratic : you  see  that  they  must  have 
been  high-bred  gentlemen  who  built  them.  The  edifices 
appear  in  almost  as  perfect  a condition  as  when  they  were 
in  the  occupation  of  the  noble  Knights  of  St.  John  ; and 
they  have  this  advantage  over  modern  fortifications,  that 
they  are  a thousand  times  more  picturesque.  Ancient  wrar 
condescended  to  ornament  itself,  and  built  fine  carved 
castles  and  vaulted  gates : whereas,  to  judge  from  Gibraltar 
and  Malta,  nothing  can  be  less  romantic  than  the  modern 
military  architecture  ; which  sternly  regards  the  fighting, 
without  in  the  least  heeding  the  war-paint.  Some  of  the 
huge  artillery  writh  which  the  place  was  defended  still  lies 
in  the  bastions : and  the  touch-holes  of  the  guns  are  pre- 
served by  being  covered  with  rusty  old  corselets,  worn  by 
defenders  of  the  fort  three  hundred  years  ago.  The  Turks, 
who  battered  down  chivalry,  seem  to  be  waiting  their  turn 
of  destruction  now.  In  walking  through  Rhodes  one  is 
strangely  affected  by  witnessing  the  signs  of  this  double 
decay.  For  instance,  in  the  streets  of  the  knights,  you  see 
noble  houses,  surmounted  by  noble  escutcheons  of  superb 
knights,  who  lived  there,  and  prayed,  and  quarrelled,  and 


FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO . 


411 


murdered  the  Turks ; and  were  the  most  gallant  pirates  of 
the  inland  seas;  and  made  vows  of  chastity,  and  robbed  and 
ravished ; and,  professing  humility,  would  admit  none  but 
nobility  into  their  order;  and  died  recommending  them- 
selves to  sweet  St.  John,  and  calmly  hoping  for  heaven  in 
consideration  of  all  the  heathen  they  had  slain.  When 
this  superb  fraternity  was  obliged  to  yield  to  courage  as 
great  as  theirs,  faith  as  sincere,  and  to  robbers  even  more 
dexterous  and  audacious  than  the  noblest  knight  who  ever 
sang  a canticle  to  the  Virgin,  these  halls  were  filled  by 
magnificent  Pashas  and  Agas,  who  lived  here  in  the  inter- 
vals of  war,  and  having  conquered  its  best  champions, 
despised  Christendom  and  chivalry  pretty  much  as  an  Eng- 
lishman despises  a Frenchman.  Now  the  famous  house  is 
let  to  a shabby  merchant,  who  has  his  little  beggarly  shop 
in  the  bazaar ; to  a small  officer,  who  ekes  out  his  wretched 
pension  by  swindling,  and  who  gets  his  pay  in  bad  coin. 
Mahometanism  pays  in  pewter  now,  in  place  of  silver  and 
gold.  The  lords  of  the  world  have  run  to  seed.  The  pow- 
erless old  sword  frightens  nobody  now  — the  steel  is  turned 
to  pewter  too,  somehow,  and  will  no  longer  shear  a Chris- 
tian head  off  any  shoulders.  In  the  Crusades  my  wicked 
sympathies  have  always  been  with  the  Turks.  They  seem 
to  me  the  best  Christians  of  the  two ; more  humane,  less 
brutally  presumptuous  about  their  own  merits,  and  more 
generous  in  esteeming  their  neighbors.  As  far  as  I can  get 
at  the  authentic  story,  Saladin  is  a pearl  of  refinement 
compared  to  the  brutal  beef-eating  Richard  — about  whom 
Sir  Walter  Scott  has  led  all  the  world  astray. 

When  shall  we  have  a real  account  of  those  times  and 
heroes  — no  good-humored  pageant,  like  those  of  the  Scott 
romances  — but  a real  authentic  story  to  instruct  and 
frighten  honest  people  of  the  present  day,  and  make  them 
thankful  that  the  grocer  governs  the  world  now  in  place  of 
the  baron  ? Meanwhile  a man  of  tender  feelings  may  be 
pardoned  for  twaddling  a little  over  this  sad  spectacle  of 
the  decay  of  two  of  the  great  institutions  of  the  world. 
Knighthood  is  gone  — amen;  it  expired  with  dignity,  its 
face  to  the  foe : and  old  Mahometanism  is  lingering  about 
just  ready  to  drop.  But  it  is  unseemly  to  see  such  a Grand 
Potentate  in  such  a state  of  decay : the  son  of  Bajazet 
Tlderim  insolvent ; the  descendants  of  the  Prophet  bullied 
by  Calmucs  and  English  and  wFippersnapper  Frenchmen  ; 
the  Fountain  of  Magnificence  done  up,  and  obliged  to  coin 


412 


EASTERN  SKETCHES . 


pewter ! Think  of  the  poor  dear  liouris  in  Paradise,  how 
sad  they  must  look  as  the  arrivals  of  the  Faithful  become 
less  and  less  frequent  every  day.  I can  fancy  the  place  be- 
ginning to  wear  the  fatal  Vauxhall  look  of  the  Seraglio, 
and  which  has  pursued  me  ever  since  I saw  it : the  foun- 
tains of  eternal  wine  are  beginning  to  run  rather  dry,  and 
of  a questionable  liquor ; the  ready-roasted-meat  trees  may 
cry,  “ Come  eat  me,”  every  now  and  then,  in  a faint  voice, 
without  any  gravy  in  it  — but  the  Faithful  begin  to  doubt 
about  the  quality  of  the  victuals.  Of  nights  you  may  see 
the  houris  sitting  sadly  under  them,  darning  their  faded 
muslins  : Ali,  Omar,  and  the  Imaums  are  reconciled  and 
have  gloomy  consultations : and  the  Chief  of  the  Faithful 
himself,  the  awful  camel-driver,  the  supernatural  husband 
of  Khadijah,  sits  alone  in  a tumble-down  kiosk,  thinking 
moodily  of  the  destiny  that  is  impending  over  him ; and  of 
the  day  when  his  gardens  of  bliss  shall  be  as  vacant  as  the 
bankrupt  Olympus. 

All  the  town  of  Rhodes  has  this  appearance  of  decay  and 
ruin,  except  a few  consuls7  houses  planted  on  the  sea-side, 
here  and  there,  with  bright  flags  flaunting  in  the  sun ; fresh 
paint ; English  crockery ; shining  mahogany,  &c.,  — so 
many  emblems  of  the  new  prosperity  of  their  trade,  while 
the  old  inhabitants  were  going  to  rack — the  fine  Church  of 
St.  John,  converted  into  a mosque,  is  a ruined  church,  with 
a ruined  mosque  inside ; the  fortifications  are  mouldering 
away,  as  much  as  time  will  let  them.  There  was  consider- 
able bustle  and  stir  about  the  little  port ; but  it  was  a 
bustle  of  people  who  looked  for  the  most  part  to  be 
beggars ; and  I saw  no  shop  in  the  bazaar  that  seemed  to 
have  the  value  of  a pedler’s  pack. 

I took,  by  way  of  guide,  a young  fellow  from  Berlin,  a 
journeyman  shoemaker,  who  had  just  been  making  a tour 
in  Syria,  and  who  professed  to  speak  both  Arabic  and 
Turkish  quite  fluently  — which  I thought  he  might  have 
learned  when  he  was  a student  at  college,  before  he  began 
his  profession  of  shoemaking ; but  I found  he  only  knew 
about  three  words  of  Turkish,  which  were  produced  on 
every  occasion,  as  I walked  under  his  guidance  through  the 
desolate  streets  of  the  noble  old  town.  We  went  out  upon 
the  lines  of  fortification,  through,  an  ancient  gate  and 
guard-house,  where  once  a chapel  probably  stood,  and  of 
which  the  roofs  were  richly  carved  and  gilded.  A ragged 


FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO. 


413 


squad  of  Turkish  soldiers  lolled  about  the  gate  now  ; a 
couple  of  boys  on  a donkey  ; a grinning  slave  on  a mule  ; a 
pair  of  women  Happing  along  in  yellow  papooshes ; a bas- 
ket-maker sitting  under  an  antique  carved  portal,  and 
chanting  or  howling  as  he  plaited  his  osiers : a peaceful 
well  of  water,  at  which  knights’  chargers  had  drunk,  and  at 
which  the  double-boyed  donkey  was  now  refreshing  himself 
— would  have  made  a pretty  picture  for  a sentimental 
artist.  As  he  sits,  and  endeavors  to  make  a sketch  of  this 
plaintive  little  comedy,  a shabby  dignitary  of  the  island 
conies  clattering  by  on  a thirty-shilling  horse,  and  two  or 
three  of  the  ragged  soldiers  leave  their  pipes  to  salute  him 
as  he  passes  under  the  Gothic  archway. 

The  astonishing  brightness  and  clearness  of  the  sky  under 
which  the  island  seemed  to  bask,  struck  me  as  surpassing 
anything  I had  seen — not  even  at  Cadiz,  or  the  Piraeus,  had 
I seen  sands  so  yellow,  or  water  so  magnificently  blue. 
The  houses  of  the  people  along  the  shore  were  but  poor 
tenements,  with  humble  court-yards  and  gardens ; but 
every  fig-tree  was  gilded  and  bright,  as  if  it  were  in  an 
Hesperian  orchard  ; the  palms,  planted  here  and  there, 
rose  with  a sort  of  halo  of  light  round  about  them  ; the 
creepers  on  the  walls  quite  dazzled  with  the  brilliancy  of 
their  flowers  and  leaves  ; the  people  lay  in  the  cool  shad- 
ows, happy  and  idle,  with  handsome  solemn  faces ; nobody 
seemed  to  be  at  work  ; they  only  talked  a very  little,  as  if 
idleness  and  silence  were  a condition  of  the  delightful 
shining  atmosphere  in  which  they  lived. 

We  went  down  to  an  old  mosque  by  the  sea-shore,  with  a 
cluster  of  ancient  domes  hard  by  it,  blazing  in  the  sunshine, 
and  carved  all  over  with  names  of  Allah,  and  titles  of  old 
pirates  and  generals  who  reposed  there.  The  guardian  of 
the  mosque  sat  in  the  garden-court,  upon  a high  wooden 
pulpit,  lazily  wagging  his  body  to  and  fro,  and  singing 
the  praises  of  the  Prophet  gently  through  his  nose,  as 
the  breeze  stirred  through  the  trees  overhead,  and  cast 
chequered  and  changing  shadows  over  the  paved  court, 
and  the  little  fountains,  and  the  nasal  psalmist  on  his 
perch.  On  one  side  was  the  mosque,  into  which  you  could 
see,  with  its  white  walls  and  cool  matted  floor,  and  quaint 
carved  pulpit  and  ornaments,  and  nobody  at  prayers.  In 
the  middle  distance  rose  up  the  noble  towers  and  battle- 
ments of  the  knightly  town,  with  the  deep  sea-line  behind 
them. 


414 


EASTERN  SKETCHES . 


It  really  seemed  as  if  everybody  was  to  have  a sort  of 
sober  cheerfulness,  and  must  yield  to  indolence  under  this 
charming  atmosphere.  I went  into  the  court-yard  by  the 
sea-shore  ( where  a few  lazy  ships  were  lying,  with  no  one 
on  board),  and  found  it  was  the  prison  of  the  place.  The 
door  was  as  wide  open  as  Westminster  Hall.  Some  pris- 
oners, one  or  two  soldiers  and  functionaries,  and  some 
prisoners’  wives,  were  lolling  under  an  arcade  by  a fountain ; 
other  criminals  were  strolling  about  here  and  there,  their 
chains  clinking  quite  cheerfully  : and  they  and  the  guards 
and  officials  came  up  chatting  quite  friendly  together,  and 
gazed  languidly  over  the  portfolio,  as  I was  endeavoring  to 
get  the  likeness  of  one  or  two  of  these  comfortable  male- 
factors. One  old  and  wrinkled  she-criminal,  whom  I had 
selected  on  account  of  the  peculiar  hideousness  of  her 
countenance,  covered  it  up  with  a dirty  cloth,  at  which 
there  was  a general  roar  of  laughter  among  this  good- 
humored  auditory  of  cut-throats,  pick-pockets,  and  police- 
men. The  only  symptom  of  a prison  about  the  place  was  a 
door,  across  which  a couple  of  sentinels  were  stretched, 
yawning ; while  within  lay  three  freshly-caught  pirates, 
chained  by  the  leg.  They  had  committed  some  murders  of 
a very  late  date,  and  were  awaiting  sentence  ; but  their 
wives  were  allowed  to  communicate  freely  with  them : and 
it  seemed  to  me,  that  if  half  a dozen  friends  would  set  them 
free,  and  they  themselves  had  energy  enough  to  move,  the 
sentinels  would  be  a great  deal  too  lazy  to  walk  after  them. 

The  combined  influence  of  Rhodes  and  Ramazan,  I sup- 
pose, had  taken  possession  of  my  friend,  the  Sehuster- 
gesell  from  Berlin.  As  soon  as  he  received  his  fee,  he  cut 
me  at  once,  and  went  and  lay  down  by  a fountain  near  the 
port,  and  ate  grapes  out  of  a dirty  pocket-handkerchief. 
Other  Christian  idlers  lay  near  him,  dozing,  or  sprawling  in 
the  boats,  or  listlessly  munching  watermelons.  Along  the 
coffee-houses  of  the  quay  sat  hundreds  more,  with  no  better 
employment ; and  the  captain  of  the  “ Iberia  ” and  his 
officers,  and  several  of  the  passengers  in  that  famous 
steamship,  were  in  this  company,  being  idle  with  all  their 
might.  Two  or  three  adventurous  young  men  went  off  to 
see  the  valley  where  the  dragon  was  killed ; but  others, 
more  susceptible  of  the  real  influence  of  the  island,  I am 
sure  would  not  have  moved  though  we  had  been  told  that 
the  Colossus  himself  was  taking  a walk  half  a mile  off. 


CHAPTER  IX. 


THE  WHITE  SQUALL. 


N deck,  beneath  the  awn- 
ing, 

I dozing  lay  and  yawning  ; 

It  was  the  gray  of  dawn- 
ing, 

Ere  yet  the  sun  arose ; 

And  above  the  funnel’s 
roaring, 

And  the  fitful  wind’s  de- 
ploring, 

I heard  the  cabin  snoring 
With  universal  nose. 

I could  hear  the  passen- 
gers snorting, 

I envied  their  disporting, 

Vainly  I was  courting 

The  pleasure  of  a doze. 


So  I lay,  and  wondered  why  light 
Came  not,  and  watched  the  twilight 
And  the  glimmer  of  the  skylight, 

That  shot  across  the  deck ; 

And  the  binnacle  pale  and  steady, 

And  the  dull  glimpse  of  the  dead-eye, 
And  the  sparks  in  fiery  eddy, 

That  whirled  from  the  chimney  neck  : 
In  our  jovial  floating  prison 
There  was  sleep  from  fore  to  mizzen, 
And  never  a star  had  risen 
The  hazy  sky  to  speck. 

Strange  company  we  harbored  ; 

We’d  a hundred  Jews  to  larboard 
415 


416  . 


EASTERN  SKETCHES. 


Unwashed,  uncombed,  unbar  be  red, 

Jews  black,  and  brown,  and  gray ; 

With  terror  it  would  seize  ye, 

And  make  your  souls  uneasy, 

To  see  those  Rabbis  greasy, 

Who  did  nought  but  scratch  and  pray  : 
Their  dirty  children  pucking, 

Their  dirty  saucepans  cooking, 

Their  dirty  fingers  hooking 
Their  swarming  fleas  away. 

To  starboard  Turks  and  Greeks  were, 
Whiskered,  and  brown  their  cheeks  were, 
Enormous  wide  their  breeks  were, 

Their  pipes  did  puff  alway  ; 

Each  on  his  mat  allotted, 

In  silence  smoked  and  squatted, 

Whilst  round  their  children  trotted, 

In  pretty,  pleasant  play. 

He  can’t  but  smile  who  traces 
The  smiles  on  those  brown  faces, 

And  the  pretty  prattling  graces 
Of  those  small  heathens  gay. 

And  so  the  hours  kept  tolling, 

And  through  the  ocean  rolling, 

Went  the  brave  “ Iberia”  bowling 

Before  the  break  of  day 

When  a Squall  upon  a sudden 
Came  o’er  the  waters  scudding  ; 

And  the  clouds  began  to  gather, 

And  the  sea  was  lashed  to  lather, 

And  the  lowering  thunder  grumbled, 

And  the  lightning  jumped  and  tumbled, 
And  the  ship,  and  all  the  ocean, 

Woke  up  in  wild  commotion. 

Then  the  wind  set  up  a howling, 

And  the  poodle-dog  a yowling, 

And  the  cocks  began  a crowing, 

And  the  old  cow  raised  a lowing, 

As  she  heard  the  tempest  blowing ; 

And  the  fowls  and  geese  did  cackle, 

And  the  cordage  and  the  tackle 
Began  to  shriek  and  crackle  ; 


FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO . 


417 


And  the  spray  dashed  o’er  the  funnels, 

And  down  the  deck  in  runnels  ; 

And  the  rushing  water  soaks  all, 

From  the  seamen  in  the  fo’ksal 
To  the  stokers,  whose  black  faces 
Peer  out  of  their  bed-places  ; 

And  the  captain  he  was  bawling, 

And  the  sailors  pulling,  hauling ; 

And  the  quarter-deck  tarpauling 
Was  shivered  in  the  squalling ; 

And  the  passengers  awaken, 

Most  pitifully  shaken  ; 

And  the  steward  jumps  up  and  hastens 
For  the  necessary  basins. 

Then  the  Greeks  they  groaned  and  quivered, 
And  they  knelt  and  moaned,  and  shivered, 

As  the  plunging  waters  met  them, 

And  splashed  and  overset  them ; 

And  they  call  in  their  emergence 
Upon  countless  saints  and  virgins; 

And  their  marrowbones  are  bended, 

And  they  think  the  world  is  ended. 

And  the  Turkish  women  for’ard 
Were  frightened  and  behorror’d  ; 

And,  shrieking  and  bewildering, 

The  mothers  clutched  their  children ; 

The  men  sung  “ Allah  Ulah  ! 

Mashallah  Bismillah  ! ” 

As  the  warring  waters  doused  them, 

And  splashed  them  and  soused  them ; 

And  they  called  upon  the  Prophet, 

And  thought  but  little  of  it. 

Then  all  the  fleas  in  Jewry 
Jumped  up  and  bit  like  fury  ; 

And  the  progeny  of  Jacob 
Did  on  the  main-deck  wake  up 
( I wot  those  greasy  Fabbins 
Would  never  pay  for  cabins  ) ; 

And  each  man  moaned  and  jabbered  in 
His  filthy  Jewish  gaberdine, 

In  woe  and  lamentation, 

27 


418 


EASTERN  SKETCHES . 


And  howling  consternation. 

And  the  splashing  water  drenches 
Their  dirty  brats  and  wenches  ; 

And  they  crawl  from  bales  and  benches, 

In  a hundred  thousand  stenches. 

This  was  the  White  Squall  famous 
Which  latterly  overcame  us, 

And  which  all  will  well  remember 
On  the  28th  September  ; 

When  a Prussian  Captain  of  Lancers 
( Those  tight-laced,  whiskered  prancers) 

Came  on  the  deck  astonished, 

By  that  wild  squall  admonished, 

And  wondering  cried,  “ Potztausend  ! 

Wie  ist  der  Sturm  jetzt  brausend  ! ” 

And  looked  at  Captain  Lewis, 

Who  calmly  stood  and  blew  his 
Cigar  in  all  the  bustle, 

And  scorned  the  tempest’s  tussle. 

And  oft  we’ve  thought  thereafter 
How  he  beat  the  storm  to  laughter ; 

For  well  he  knew  his  vessel 
With  that  vain  wind  could  wrestle ; 

And  when  a wreck  we  thought  her 
And  doomed  ourselves  to  slaughter, 

How  gayly  he  fought  her, 

And  through  the  hubbub  brought  her, 

And,  as  the  tempest  caught  her, 

Cried,  “ George  ! some  brandy  and  water  ! ’ 

And  when,  its  force  expended, 

The  harmless  storm  was  ended, 

And,  as  the  sunrise  splendid 
Came  blushing  o’er  the  sea ; 

I thought,  as  day  was  breaking, 

My  little  girls  were  waking, 

And  smiling,  and  making 
A prayer  at  home  for  me. 


CHAPTER  X. 


TELMESSUS.  — BEYROUT. 


HERE  should  have  been  a 
poet  in  our  company  to  de- 
scribe that  charming  little 
bay  of  Glaucus,  into  which 
we  entered  on  the  26th  of 
September,  in  the  first 
steamboat  that  ever  dis- 
turbed its  beautiful  water. 
You  can’t  put  down  in 
prose  that. delicious  episode 
of  natural  poetry  ; it  ought 
to  be  done  in  a symphony, 
full  of  sweet  melodies  and 
swelling  harmonies ; or 
sung  in  a strain  of  clear 
crystal  iambics,  such  as 
Milnes  knows  how  to  write.  A mere  map,  drawn  in  words, 
gives  the  mind  no  notion  of  that  exquisite  nature.  What 
do  mountains  become  in  type,  or  rivers  in  Mr.  Vizetelly’s 
best  brevier  ? Here  lies  the  sweet  bay,  gleaming  peaceful 
in  the  rosy  sunshine : green  islands  dip  here  and  there  in 
its  waters  ; purple  mountains  swell  circling  round  it ; and 
towards  them,  rising  from  the  bay,  stretches  a rich  green 
plain,  fruitful  with  herbs  and  various  foliage,  in  the  midst 
of  which  the  white  houses  twinkle.  I can  see  a little  min- 
aret, and  some  spreading  palm-trees ; but,  beyond  these, 
the  description  would  answer  as  well  for  Bantry  Bay  as  for 
Makri.  You  could  write  so  far,  nay,  much  more  partic- 
ularly and  grandly,  without  seeing  the  place  at  all,  and 
after  reading  Beaufort’s  “ Caramania,  ” which  gives  you 
not  the  least  notion  of  it. 

Suppose  the  great  hydrographer  of  the  Admiralty  him- 
self can’t  describe  it,  who  surveyed  the  place  ; suppose  Mr. 

419 


420 


EASTERN  SKETCHES. 


Fellowes,  who  discovered  it  afterwards — suppose,  I say,  Sir 
John  Fellowes,  Knt.,  can’t  do  it  (and  I defy  any  man  of 
imagination  to  get  an  impression  of  Telmessus  from  his 
book ) — can  you,  vain  man,  hope  to  try  ? The  effect  of 
the  artist,  as  I take  it,  ought  to  be,  to  produce  upon  his 
hearer’s  mind,  by  his  art,  an  effect  something  similar  to 
that  produced  on  his  own  by  the  sight  of  the  natural  object. 
Only  music,  or  the  best  poetry,  can  do  this.  Keats’s  “ Ode 
to  the  Grecian  Urn  ” is  the  best  description  I know  of  that 
sweet,  old,  silent  ruin  of  Telmessus.  After  you  have  once 
seen  it,  the  remembrance  remains  with  you,  like  a tune 
from  Mozart,  which  he  seems  to  have  caught  out  of  heaven, 
and  which  rings  sweet  harmony  in  your  ears  for  ever  after ! 
It’s  a benefit  for  all  after  life  ! You  have  but  to  shut  your 
eyes,  and  think,  and  recall  it,  and  the  delightful  vision 
comes  smiling  back,  to  your  order  ! — the  divine  air  — the 
delicious  little  pageant,  which  nature  set  before  you  on  this 
lucky  day. 

Here  is  the  entry  made  in  the  note-book  on  the  eventful 
day  : — “ In  the  morning  steamed  into  the  Bay  of  Glaucus 
— landed  at  Makri— cheerful  old  desolate  village— theatre 
by  the  beautiful  sea-shore  — great  fertility,  oleanders  — a 
palm-tree  in  the  midst  of  the  village,  spreading  out  like  a 
Sultan’s  aigrette  — sculptured  caverns,  or  tombs,  up  the 
mountain — camels  over  the  bridge.  ” 

Perhaps  it  is  best  for  a man  of  fancy  to  make  up  his  own 
landscape  out  of  these  materials : to  group  the  couched 
camels  under  the  plane-trees  ; the  little  crowd  of  wandering, 
ragged  heathens  come  down  to  the  calm  water,  to  behold 
the  nearing  steamer ; to  fancy  a mountain,  in  the  sides  of 
which  some  scores  of  tombs  are  rudely  carved ; pillars  and 
porticos,  and  Doric  entablatures.  But  it  is  of  the  little 
theatre  that  he  must  make  the  most  beautiful  picture  — a 
charming  little  place  of  festival,  lying  out  on  the  shore,  and 
looking  over  the  sweet  bay  and  the  swelling  purple  islands. 
No  theatre-goer  ever  looked  out  on  a fairer  scene.  It 
encourages  poetry,  idleness,  delicious  sensual  reverie.  0 
Jones!  friend  of  my  heart!  would  you  not  like  to  be  a 
white-robed  Greek,  lolling  languidly  on  the  cool  benches 
here,  and  pouring  compliments  ( in  the  Ionic  dialect ) into 
the  rosy  ears  of  Neaera?  Instead  of  Jones,  your  name 
should  be  Ionides ; instead  of  a silk  hat,  you  should  wear  a 
chaplet  of  roses  in  your  hair : you  would  not  listen  to  the 
choruses  they  were  singing  on  the  stage,  for  the  voice  of 


FROM  CORN  HILL  TO  CAIRO . 


421 


the  fair  one  would  be  whispering  a rendezvous  for  the 
mesonuktiais  horais , and  my  lonides  would  have  no  ear  for 
aught  beside.  Yonder,  in  the  mountain,  they  would  carve 
a Doric  cave  temple,  to  receive  your  urn  when  all  was  done  ; 
and  you  would  be  accompanied  thither  by  a dirge  of  the 
surviving  Ionidae.  The  caves  of  the  dead  are  empty  now, 
however,  and  their  place  knows  them  not  any  more  among 
the  festal  haunts  of  the  living.  But,  by  way  of  supplying 
the  choric  melodies  sung  here  in  old  time,  one  of  our  com- 
panions mounted  on  the  scene  and  spouted, 

“ My  name  is  Norval.  ” 

On  the  same  day  we  lay  to  for  a while  at  another  ruined 
theatre,  that  of  Antiphilos.  The  Oxford  men,  fresh  with 
recollections  of  the  little-go,  bounded  away  up  the  hill  on 
which  it  lies  to  the  ruin,  measured  the  steps  of  the  theatre, 
and  calculated  the  width  of  the  scene  ; while  others,  less 
active,  watched  them  with  telescopes  from  the  ship’s  sides, 
as  they  plunged  in  and  out  of  the  stones  and  hollows. 

Two  days  after  the  scene  was  quite  changed.  We  were 
out  of  sight  of  the  classical  country,  and  lay  in  St.  George’s 
Bay,  behind  a huge  mountain,  upon  which  St.  George  fought 
the  dragon,  and  rescued  the  lovely  Lady  Sabra,  the  King  of 
Babylon’s  daughter.  The  Turkish  fleet  was  lying  about  us, 
commanded  by  that  Halil  Pacha  whose  two  children  the 
two  last  Sultans  murdered.  The  crimson  flag,  with  the 
star  and  crescent,  floated  at  the  stern  of  his  ship.  Our 
diplomatist  put  on  his  uniform  and  cordons,  and  paid  his 
Excellency  a visit.  He  spoke  in  rapture,  when  he  returned, 
of  the  beauty  and  order  of  the  ship,  and  the  urbanity  of  the 
infidel  admiral.  He  sent  us  bottles  of  ancient  Cyprus  wine 
to  drink  : and  the  captain  of  her  Majesty’s  ship,  “ Trump,” 
alongside  which  we  were  lying,  confirmed  that  good  opinion 
of  the  Capitan  Pasha  which  the  reception  of  the  above  pres- 
ent led  us  to  entertain,  by  relating  many  instances  of  his 

friendliness  and  hospitalities.  Captain  G said  the 

Turkish  ships  were  as  well  manned,  as  well  kept,  and  as 
well  manoeuvred,  as  any  vessels  in  any  service  ; and  inti- 
mated a desire  to  command  a Turkish  seventy-four,  and  a 
perfect  willingness  to  fight  her  against  a French  ship  of 
the  same  size.  But  I heartily  trust  he  will  neither  embrace 
the  Mahometan  opinions,  nor  be  called  upon  to  engage  any 
seventy-four  whatever.  If  he  do,  let  us  hope  he  will  have 


422 


EASTERN  SKETCHES , 


his  own  men  to  fight  with.  If  the  crew  of  the  u Trump  ” 
were  all  like  the  crew  of  the  captain’s  boat,  they  need  fear 
no  two  hundred  and  fifty  men  out  of  any  country,  with  any 
Joinville  at  their  head.  We  were  carried  on  shore  by  this 
boat.  For  two  years,  during  which  the  “ Trump  ” had  been 
lying  off  Beyrout,  none  of  the  men  but  these  eight  had  ever 
set  foot  on  shore.  Mustn’t  it  be  a happy  life  ? We  were 
landed  at  the  busy  quay  of  Beyrout,  flanked  by  the  castle 
that  the  fighting  old  commodore  half  battered  down. 

Along  the  Beyrout  quays,  civilization  flourishes  under 
the  flags  of  the  consul,  which  are  streaming  out  over  the 
yellow  buildings  in  the  clear  air.  Hither  she  brings  from 
England  her  produce  of  marine  stores  and  woollens,  her 
crockeries,  her  portable  soups,  and  her  bitter  ale.  Hither 
she  has  brought  politeness,  and  the  last  modes  from  Paris. 
They  were  exhibited  in  the  person  of  a pretty  lady,  super- 
intending the  great  French  store,  and  who,  seeing  a stran- 
ger sketching  on  the  quay,  sent  forward  a man  with  a chair 
to  accommodate  that  artist,  and  greeted  him  with  a bow 
and  a smile,  such  as  only  can  be  found  in  France.  Then 
she  fell  to  talking  to  a young  French  officer  with  a beard, 
who  was  greatly  smitten  with  her.  They  were  making  love 
just  as  they  do  on  the  Boulevard.  An  Arab  porter  left  his 
bales,  and  the  camel  he  was  unloading,  to  come  and  look  at 
the  sketch.  Two  stumpy,  flat-faced  Turkish  soldiers,  in 
red  caps  and  white  undresses,  peered  over  the  paper.  A 
noble  little  Lebanonian  girl,  with  a deep  yellow  face,  and 
curly  dun-colored  hair,  and  a blue  tattooed  chin,  and  for  all 
clothing  a little  ragged  shift  of  blue  cloth,  stood  by  like  a 
little  statue,  holding  her  urn,  and  stared  with  wondering 
brown  eyes.  How  magnificently  blue  the  water  was  ! — 
how  bright  the  flags  and  buildings  as  they  shone  above  it, 
and  the  lines  of  the  rigging  tossing  in  the  bay  ! The  white 
crests  of  the  blue  waves  jumped  and  sparkled  like  quicksil- 
ver ; the  shadows  were  as  broad  and  cool  as  the  lights 
were  brilliant  and  rosy ; the  battered  old  towers  of  the 
commodore  looked  quite  cheerful  in  the  delicious  atmos- 
phere ; and  the  mountains  beyond  were  of  an  amethyst 
color.  The  French  officer  and  the  lady  went  on  chattering 
quite  happily  about  love,  the  last  new  bonnet,  or  the  battle 
of  Isley,  or  the  “ Juif  Errant.  ” How  neatly  her  gown  and 
sleeves  fitted  her  pretty  little  person  ! We  had  not  seen  a 
woman  for  a month  except  honest  Mrs.  Flanigan,  the  stew- 
ardess, and  the  ladies  of  our  party,  and  the  tips  of  the 


FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO. 


423 


noses  of  the  Constantinople  beauties  as  they  passed  by 
leering  from  their  yak  macs,  waddling  and  plapping  in  their 
odious  yellow  papooshes. 

And  this  day  is  to  be  marked  with  a second  white  stone, 
for  having  given  the  lucky  writer  of  the  present,  occasion 
to  behold  a second  beauty.  This  was  a native  Syrian 
damsel,  who  bore  the  sweet  name  of  Mariam.  So  it  was 
she  stood  as  two  of  us  ( I mention  the  number  for  fear  of 
scandal ) took  her  picture. 

So  it  was  that  the  good-natured  black  cook  looked  behind 
her  young  mistress,  with  a benevolent  grin,  that  only  the 


admirable  Leslie  could  paint. 

Mariam  was  the  sister  of  the  young  guide  whom  we  hired 
to  show  us  through  the  town,  and  to  let  us  be  cheated  in 
the  purchase  of  gilt  scarfs,  and  handkerchiefs,  which  stran- 
gers think  proper  to  buy.  And  before  the  above  authentic 
drawing  could  be  made,  many  were  the  stratagems  the  wily 
artists  were  obliged  to  employ,  to  subdue  the  shyness  of  the 
little  Mariam.  In  the-  first  place,  she  would  stand  behind 
the  door  ( from  which  in  the  darkness  her  beautiful  black 
eyes  gleamed  out  like  penny  tapers ) ; nor  could  the  en- 
treaties of  her  brother  and  mamma  bring  her  from  that 


424 


EASTERN  SKETCHES . 


hiding-place.  In  order  to  conciliate  the  latter,  we  began  by 
making  a picture  of  her  too  — that  is,  not  of  her,  who  was 
an  enormous  old  fat  woman  in  yellow,  quivering  all  over 
with  strings  of  pearls,  and  necklaces  of  sequins,  and  other 
ornaments,  the  which  descended  from  her  neck,  and  down 
her  ample  stomacher:  we  did  not  depict  that  big  old 
woman,  who  would  have  been  frightened  at  an  accurate 
representation  of  her  own  enormity ; but  an  ideal  being,  all 
grace  and  beauty,  dressed  in  her  costume,  and  still  simper- 
ing before  me  in  my  sketch-book  like  a lady  in  a book  of 
fashions. 

This  portrait  was  shown  to  the  old  woman,  who  handed 
it  over  to  the  black  cook,  who,  grinning,  carried  it  to  little 
Mariam  — and  the  result  was,  that  the  young  creature 
stepped  forward  and  submitted;  and  has  come  over  to 
Europe  as  you  see. 

A very  snug  and  happy  family  did  this  of  Mariam’s 
appear  to  be.  If  you  could  judge  by  all  the  laughter  and 
giggling,  by  the  splendor  of  the  women’s  attire,  by  the 
neatness  of  the  little  house,  prettily  decorated  with  ara- 
besque paintings,  neat  mats,  and  gay  carpets,  they  were  a 
family  well  to  do  in  the  Beyrout  world,  and  lived  with  as 
much  comfort  as  any  Europeans.  They  had  one  book ; and, 
on  the  wall  of  the  principal  apartment,  a black  picture  of 
the  Virgin,  whose  name  is  borne  by  pretty  Mariam. 

The  camels  and  the  soldiers,  the  bazaars  and  khans,  the 
fountains  and  awnings,  which  chequer,  with  such  delight- 
ful variety  of  light  and  shade,  the  alleys  and  markets  of  an 
Oriental  town,  are  to  be  seen  in  Beyrout  in  perfection  ; and 
an  artist  might  here  employ  himself  for  months  with  ad- 
vantage and  pleasure.  A new  costume  was  here  added  to 
the  motley  and  picturesque  assembly  of  dresses.  This  was 
the  dress  of  the  blue-veiled  women  from  the  Lebanon, 
stalking  solemnly  through  the  markets,  with  huge  horns, 
near  a yard  high,  on  their  foreheads.  For  thousands  of 
years,  since  the  time  the  Hebrew  prophets  wrote,  these 
horns  have  so  been  exalted  in  the  Lebanon. 

At  night  Captain  Lewis  gave  a splendid  ball  and  supper 
to  the  “ Trump.”  We  had  the  “ Trump’s  ” band  to  perform 
the  music  ; and  a grand  sight  it  was  to  see  the  captain  him- 
self enthusiastically  leadmg  on  the  drum.  Blue  lights  and 
rockets  were  burned  from  the  yards  of  our  ship  ; which 
festive  signals  were  answered  presently  from  the  “ Trump,” 
and  from  another  English  vessel  in  the  harbor. 


FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO . 


425 


They  must  have  struck  the  Capitan  Pasha  with  wonder, 
for  he  sent  his  secretary  on  board  of  us  to  inquire  what  the 
fireworks  meant.  And  the  worthy  Turk  had  scarcely  put 
his  foot  on  the  deck,  when  he  found  himself  seized  round 
the  waist  by  one  of  the  “Trump's”  officers,  and  whirling 
round  the  deck  in  a waltz,  to  his  own  amazement,  and  the 
huge  delight  of  the  company.  His  face  of  wonder  and 
gravity,  as  he  went  on  twirling,  could  not  have  been  ex- 
ceeded by  that  of  a dancing  dervish  at  Scutari ; and  the 
manner  in  which  he  managed  to  enjamber  the  waltz  excited 
universal  applause. 

I forget  whether  he  accommodated  himself  to  European 
ways  so  much  further  as  to  drink  champagne  at  supper- 
time ; to  say  that  he  did  would  be  telling  tales  out  of 
school,  and  might  interfere  with  the  future  advancement  of 
that  jolly  dancing  Turk. 

We  made  acquaintance  with  another  of  the  Sultan's  sub- 
jects, who,  I fear,  will  have  occasion  to  doubt  of  the  honor 
of  the  English  nation,  after  the  foul  treachery  with  which 
he  was  treated. 

Among  the  occupiers  of  the  little  bazaar  watchboxes, 
venders  of  embroidered  handkerchiefs  and  other  articles  of 
showy  Eastern  haberdashery,  was  a good-looking,  neat 
young  fellow,  who  spoke  English  very  fluently,  and  was 
particularly  attentive  to  all  the  passengers  on  board  our 
ship.  This  gentleman  was  not  only  a pocket-handkerchief 
merchant  in  the  bazaar,  but  earned  a further  livelihood  by 
letting  out  mules  and  donkeys  ; and  he  kept  a small  lodging- 
house,  or  inn,  for  travellers,  as  we  were  informed. 

No  wonder  he  spoke  good  English,  and  was  exceedingly 
polite  and  well-bred ; for  the  worthy  man  had  passed  some 
time  in  England,  and  in  the  best  society  too.  That  humble 
haberdasher  at  Beyrout  had  been  a lion  here,  at  the  very 
best  houses  of  the  great  people,  and  had  actually  made  his 
appearance  at  Windsor,  where  he  was  received  as  a Syrian 
Prince,  and  treated  with  great  hospitality  by  royalty  itself. 

I don't  know  what  waggish  propensity  moved  one  of  the 
officers  of  the  “ Trump ''  to  say  that  there  was  an  equerry 
of  his  Boyal  Highness  the  Prince  on  board,  and  to  point 
me  out  as  the  dignified  personage  in  question.  So  the 
Syrian  Prince  was  introduced  to  the  royal  equerry,  and  a 
great  many  compliments  passed  between  us.  I even  had 
the  audacity  to  state  that  on  my  very  last  interview  with 
my  royal  master,  his  Boyal  Highness  had  said,  “ Colonel 


426 


EASTERN  SKETCHES. 


Titmarsh,  when  you  go  to  Beyrouth  you  will  make  special 
inquiries  regarding  my  interesting  friend  Cogia  Hassan.” 

Poor  Cogia  Hassan  ( I forget  whether  that  was  his  name, 
but  it  is  as  good  as  another)  was  overpowered  with  this 
royal  message  ; and  we  had  an  intimate  conversation  to- 
gether, at  which  the  waggish  officer  of  the  “ Trump  ” 
assisted  with  the  greatest  glee. 

But  see  the  consequences  of  deceit ! The  next  day,  as 
we  were  getting  under  way,  who  should  come  on  board  but 
my  friend  the  Syrian  Prince,  most  eager  for  a last  inter- 
view with  the  Windsor  equerry  ; and  he  begged  me  to  carry 
his  protestations  of  unalterable  fidelity  to  the  gracious 
consort  of  her  Majesty.  Nov  was  this  all.  Cogia  Hassan 
actually  produced  a great  box  of  sweetmeats,  of  which  he 
begged  my  excellency  to  accept,  and  a little  figure  of  a doll 
dressed  in  the  costume  of  Lebanon.  Then  the  punishment 
of  imposture  began  to  be  felt  severely  by  me.  How  to 
accept  the  poor  devil’s  sweetmeats  ? How  to  refuse  them  ? 
And  as  we  know  that  one  fib  leads  to  another,  so  I was 
obliged  to  support  the  first  falsehood  by  another ; and  put- 
ting on  a dignified  air  — “ Cogia  Hassan,”  says  I,  “ I am 
surprised  you  don’t  know  the  habits  of  the  British  Court 
better,  and  are  not  aware  that  our  gracious  master  solemnly 
forbids  his  servants  to  accept  any  sort  of  backsheesh  upon 
our  travels.” 

So  Prince  Cogia  Hassan  went  over  the  side  with  his 
chest  of  sweetmeats,  but  insisted  on  leaving  the  doll,  which 
may  be  worth  twopence-lialfpenny  ; of  which,  and  of  the  cos- 
tume of  the  women  of  Lebanon,  the  following  is  an  accurate 
likeness. 


CHAPTER  XI. 


A DAY  AND  NIGHT  IN  SYRIA, 


HEX,  after  being  for  five  whole  weeks  at  sea,  with 


a general  belief  that  at  the  end  of  a few  days  the 
marine  malady  leaves  you  for  good,  you  find  that  a brisk 
wind  and  a heavy  rolling  swell  create  exactly  the  same 
inward  effects  which  they  occasioned  at  the  very  com- 
mencement of  the  voyage  — you  begin  to  fancy  that  you 
are  unfairly  dealt  with  : and  I,  for  my  part,  had  thought  of 
complaining  to  the  company  of  this  atrocious  violation 
of  the  rules  of  their  prospectus  ; but  we  were  perpetually 
coming  to  anchor  in  various  ports,  at  which  intervals  of 
peace  and  good  humor  were  restored  to  us. 

On  the  3rd  of  October  our  cable  rushed  with  a huge 
rattle  into  the  blue  sea  before  Jaffa,  at  a distance  of  con- 
siderably more  than  a mile  off  the  town,  which  lay  before 
us  very  clear,  with  the  flags  of  the  consuls. flaring  in  the 
bright  sky,  and  making  a cheerful  and  hospitable  show. 
The  houses  a great  heap  of  sun-baked  stones,  surmounted 
here  and  there  by  minarets  and  countless  little  white- 
washed domes  ; a few  date-trees  spread  out  their  fan-like 
heads  over  these  dull-looking  buildings  ; long  sands  stretched 
away  on  either  side,  with  low  purple  hills  behind  them ; 
we  could  see  specks  of  camels  crawling  over  these  yellow 
plains  ; and  those  persons  who  were  about  to  land,  had  the 
leisure  to  behold  the  sea-spray  flashing  over  the  sands,  and 
over  a heap  of  black  rocks  which  lie  before  the  entry  to 
the  town.  The  swell  is  very  great,  the  passage  between  the 
rocks  narrow,  and  the  danger  sometimes  considerable.  So 
the  guide  began  to  entertain  the  ladies  and  other  passen- 
gers in  the  huge  country  boat  which  brought  us  from  the 
steamer,  with  an  agreeable  story  of  a lieutenant  and  eight 
seamen  of  one  of  her  Majesty’s  ships,  who  were  upset, 
dashed  to  pieces,  and  drowned  upon  these  rocks,  through 
which  two  men  and  two  boys,  with  a very  moderate  portion 
of  clothing,  each  standing  and  pulling  half  an  oar  — there 


427 


428 


EASTERN  SKETCHES. 


were  but  two  oars  between  them,  and  another  by  way  of 
rudder  — were  endeavoring  to  guide  us. 

When  the  danger  of  the  rocks  and  surf  was  passed,  came 
another  danger  of  the  hideous  brutes  in  brown  skins  and 
the  briefest  shirts,  who  came  towards  the  boat,  straddling 
through  the  water  with  outstretched  arms,  grinning  and 
yelling  their  Arab  invitations  to  mount  their  shoulders.  I 
think  these  fellows  frightened  the  ladies  still  more  than 
the  rocks  and  the  surf ; but  the  poor  creatures  were  obliged 
to  submit ; and,  trembling,  were  accommodated  somehow 
upon  the  mahogany  backs  of  these  ruffians,  carried  through 


the  shallows,  and  flung  up  to  a ledge  before  the  city  gate, 
where  crowds  more  of  dark  people  were  swarming,  howl- 
ing after  their  fashion.  The  gentlemen,  meanwhile,  were 
having  arguments  about  the  eternal  backsheesh  with  the 
roaring  Arab  boatmen  ; and  I recall  with  wonder  and  delight 
especially,  the  curses  and  screams  of  one  small  and  ex- 
tremely loud-lunged  fellow,  who  expressed  discontent  at 
receiving  a five,  instead  of  a six  piastre  piece.  But  how  is 
one  to  know,  without  possessing  the  language  ? Both  coins 
a, re  made  of  a greasy  pewtery  sort  of  tin ; and  I thought  the 
biggest  was  the  most  valuable : but  the  fellow  showed  a 


FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO . 


429 


sense  of  their  value,  and  a disposition  seemingly  to  cut  any 
man’s  throat  who  did  not  understand  it.  Men’s  throats 
have  been  cut  for  a less  difference  before  now. 

Being  cast  upon  the  ledge,  the  first  care  of  our  gallantry 
was  to  look  after  the  ladies,  who  were  scared  and  aston- 
ished by  the  naked  savage  brutes,  who  were  shouldering 
the  poor  things  to  and  fro ; and  bearing  them  through 
these  and  a dark  archway,  we  came  into  a street  crammed 
with  donkeys  and  their  packs  and  drivers,  and  towering 
camels  with  leering  eyes  looking  into  the  second-floor 
rooms,  and  huge  splay  feet,  through  which  mesdames  et 
mesdemoiselles  were  to  be  conducted.  We  made  a rush  at 
the  first  open  door,  and  passed  comfortably  under  the  heels 
of  some  horses  gathered  under  the  arched  court,  and  up  a 
stone  staircase,  which  turned  out  to  be  that  of  the  Russian 
consul’s  house.  His  people  welcomed  us  most  cordially  to 
his  abode,  and  the  ladies  and  the  luggage  (objects  of  our 
solicitude  ) were  led  up  many  stairs  and  across  several  ter- 
races to  a most  comfortable  little  room,  under  a dome  of  its 
own,  where  the  representative  of  Russia  sat.  Women  with 
brown  faces  and  draggle  - tailed  coats  and  turbans,  and 
wondering  eyes,  and  no  stays,  and  blue  beads  and  gold 
chains  hanging  round  their  necks,  came  to  gaze,  as  they 
passed,  upon  the  fair  neat  English  women.  Blowsy  black 
cooks  puffing  over  fires  and  the  strangest  pots  and  pans  on 
the  terraces,  children  paddling  about  in  long  striped  robes, 
interrupted  their  sports  or  labors  to  come  and  stare ; and 
the  consul,  in  his  cool  domed  chamber,  with  a lattice  over- 
looking the  sea,  with  clean  mats,  and  pictures  of  the  Em- 
peror, the  Virgin,  and  St.  George,  received  the  strangers 
with  smiling  courtesies,  regaling  the  ladies  with  pomegran- 
ates and  sugar,  the  gentlemen  with  pipes  of  tobacco, 
whereof  the  fragrant  tubes  were  three  yards  long. 

The  Russian  amenities  concluded,  we  left  the  ladies  still 
under  the  comfortable,  cool  dome  of  the  Russian  consulate, 
and  went  to  see  our  own  representative.  The  streets  of 
the  little  town  are  neither  agreeable  to  horse  nor  foot 
travellers.  Many  of  the  streets  are  mere  flights  of  rough 
steps,  leading  abruptly  into  private  houses  : you  pass  under 
archways  and  passages  numberless ; a steep,  dirty  labyrintli 
of  stone-vaulted  stables  and  sheds  occupies  the  ground- 
floor  of  the  habitations  ; and  you  pass  from  flat  to  flat  of 
the  terraces ; at  various  irregular  corners  of  which,  little 
chambers,  with  little  private  domes,  are  erected,  and  the 


430 


EASTERN  SKETCHES. 


people  live  seemingly  as  much  upon  the  terrace  as  in  the 
room. 

We  found  the  English  consul  in  a queer  little  arched 
chamber,  with  a strange  old  picture  of  the  King’s  arms  to 
decorate  one  side  of  it : and  here  the  consul,  a demure  old 
man,  dressed  in  red  flowing  robes,  with  a feeble  janissary 
bearing  a shabby  tin-mounted  staff,  or  mace,  to  denote  his 
office,  received  such  of  our  nation  as  came  to  him  for  hos- 
pitality. He  distributed  pipes  and  coffee  to  all  and  every 
one  ; he  made  us  a present  of  his  house  and  all  his  beds 
for  the  night,  and  went  himself  to  lie  quietly  on  the  ter- 
race ; and  for  all  this  hospitality  he  declined  to  receive  any 
reward  from  us,  and  said  he  was  but  doing  his  duty  in  tak- 
ing us  in.  This  worthy  man,  I thought,  must  doubtless  be 
very  well  paid  by  our  Government  for  making  such  sacri- 
fices ; but  it  appears  that  he  does  not  get  one  single  far- 
thing, and  that  the  greater  number  of  our  Levant  consuls 
are  paid  at  a similar  rate  of  easy  remuneration.  If  we  have 
bad  consular  agents,  have  we  a right  to  complain  ? If  the 
worthy  gentlemen  cheat  occasionally,  can  we  reasonably 
be  angry  ? But  in  travelling  through  these  countries, 
English  people,  who  don’t  take  into  consideration  the  mis- 
erable poverty  and  scanty  resources  of  their  country,  and 
are  apt  to  brag  and  be  proud  of  it,  have  their  vanity  hurt 
by  seeing  the  representatives  of  every  nation  but  their  own 
well  and  decently  maintained,  and  feel  ashamed  at  sitting 
down  under  the  shabby  protection  of  our  mean  consular 
flag. 

The  active  young  men  of  our  party  had  been  on  shore 
long  before  us,  and  seized  upon  all  the  available  horses  in 
the  town  ; but  we  relied  upon  a letter  from  Halil  Pacha, 
enjoining  all  governors  and  pashas  to  help  us  in  all  ways : 
and  hearing  we  were  the  bearers  of  this  document,  the  cadi 
and  vice-governor  of  Jaffa  came  to  wait  upon  the  head  of 
our  party  ; declared  that  it  was  his  delight  and  honor  to  set 
eyes  upon  us  ; that  he  would  do  everything  in  the  world  to 
serve  us  ; that  there  were  no  horses,  unluckily,  but  he 
would  send  and  get  some  in  three  hours;  and  so  left  us 
with  a world  of  grinning  bows  and  many  choice  compli- 
ments from  one  side  to  the  other,  which  came  to  each 
filtered  through  an  obsequious  interpreter.  But  hours 
passed,  and  the  clatter  of  horses’  hoofs  was  not  heard.  We 
had  our  dinner  of  eggs  and  flaps  of  bread,  and  the  sunset 
gun  fired  : we  had  our  pipes  and  coffee  again,  and  the  night 


FROM  CORN  HILL  TO  CAIRO . 


431 


fell.  Is  this  man  throwing  dirt  upon  us  ? we  began  to 
think.  Is  he  laughing  at  our  beards,  and  are  our  mothers’ 
graves  ill-treated  by  this  smiling,  swindling  cadi  ? We 
determined  to  go  and  seek  in  his  own  den  this  shuffling 
dispenser  of  infidel  justice.  This  time  we  would  be  no 
more  bamboozled  by  compliments  ; but  we  would  use  the 
language  of  stern  expostulation,  and,  being  roused,  would  let 
the  rascal  hear  the  roar  of  the  indignant  British  lion  ; so  we 
rose  up  in  our  wrath.  The  poor  consul  got  a lamp  for  us 
with  a bit  of  wax-candle,  such  as  I wonder  his  means  could 
afford ; the  shabby  janissary  marched  ahead  with  his  tin 
mace  ; the  two  laquais-de-place,  that  two  of  our  company 
had  hired,  stepped  forward,  each  with  an  old  sabre,  and  we 
went  clattering  and  stumbling  down  the  streets  of  the  town, 
in  order  to  seize  upon  this  cadi  in  his  own  divan.  I was 
glad,  for  my  part  ( though  outwardly  majestic  and  indig- 
nant in  demeanor  ),  that  the  horses  had  not  come,  and  that 
we  had  a chance  of  seeing  this  little  queer  glimpse  of 
Oriental  life,  which  the  magistrate’s  faithlessness  procured 
for  us. 

As  piety  forbids  the  Turks  to  eat  during  the  weary  day- 
light hours  of  the  Bamazan,  they  spend  their  time  profita- 
bly in  sleeping  until  the  welcome  sunset,  when  the  town 
wakens:  all  the  lanterns  are  lighted  up;  all  the  pipes 
begin  to  puff,  and  the  narghiles  to  bubble  ; all  the  sour- 
milk-and-sherbet-men  begin  to  yell  out  the  excellence  of 
their  wares ; all  the  frying-pans  in  the  little  dirty  cookshops 
begin  to  friz,  and  the  pots  to  send  forth  a steam : and 
through  this  dingy,  ragged,  bustling,  beggarly,  cheerful 
scene,  we  began  now  to  march  towards  the  Bow  Street  of 
Jaffa.  We  bustled  through  a crowded  narrow  archway 
which  led  to  the  cadi’s  police-office,  entered  the  little  room, 
atrociously  perfumed  with  musk,  and  passing  by  the  rail- 
board,  where  the  common  sort  stood,  mounted  the  stage 
upon  which  his  worship  and  friends  sat,  and  squatted  down 
on  the  divans  in  stern  and  silent  dignity.  His  honor 
ordered  us  coffee,  his  countenance  evidently  showing  con- 
siderable alarm.  A black  slave,  wrhose  duty  seemed  to  be 
to  prepare  this  beverage  in  a side-room  with  a furnace, 
prepared  for  each  of  us  about  a teaspoonful  of  the  liquor  : 
his  worship’s  clerk,  I presume,  a tall  Turk  of  a noble 
aspect,  presented  it  to  ug  ; and  having  lapped  up  the  little 
modicum  of  drink,  the  British  lion  began  to  speak. 

All  the  other  travellers  (said  the  lion  with  perfect  reason) 


432 


EASTERN  SKETCHES . 


have  good  horses  and  are  gone ; the  Russians  have  got  horses, 
the  Spaniards  have  horses,  the  English  have  horses,  but  we, 
we  vizirs  in  our  country,  coming  with  letters  of  Halil  Pacha, 
are  laughed  at,  spit  upon  ! Are  Halil  Pacha’s  letters  dirt, 
that  you  attend  to  them  in  this  way  ? Are  British  lions  dogs 
that  you  treat  them  so  ? — and  so  on.  This  speech  with 
many  variations  was  made  on  our  side  for  a quarter  of  an 
hour;  and  we  finally  swore  that  unless  the  horses  were  forth- 
coming we  would  write  to  Halil  Pacha  the  next  morning, 
and  to  his  Excellency  the  English  Minister  at  the  Sublime 
Porte.  Then  you  should  have  heard  the  chorus  of  Turks 
in  reply : a dozen  voices  rose  up  from  the  divan,  shouting, 
screaming,  ejaculating,  expectorating,  (the  Arabic  spoken 
language  seems  to  require  a great  employment  of  the  two 
latter  oratorical  methods  ),  and  uttering  what  the  meek 
interpreter  did  not  translate  to  us,  but  what  I dare  say 
were  by  no  means  complimentary  phrases  towards  us  and 
our  nation.  Finally,  the  palaver  concluded. by  the  cadi 
declaring  that  by  the  will  of  heaven  horses  should  be  forth- 
coming at  three  o’clock  in  the  morning ; and  that  if  not, 
why,  then,  we  might  write  to  Halil  Pacha. 

This  posed  us,  and  we  rose  up  and  haughtily  took 
leave.  I should  like  to  know  that  fellow’s  real  opinion  of 
us  lions  very  much : and  especially  to  have  had  the  transla- 
tion of  the  speeches  of  a huge-breeched  turbaned  roaring 
infidel,  who  looked  and  spoke  as  if  he  would  have  liked  to 
fling  us  all  into  the  sea,  which  was  hoarsely  murmuring 
under  our  windows  an  accompaniment  to  the  concert 
within. 

We  then  marched  through  the  bazaars,  that  were  lofty 
and  grim,  and  pretty  full  of  people.  In  a desolate  broken 
building,  some  hundreds  of  children  were  playing  and  sing- 
ing ; in  many  corners  sat  parties  over  their  water-pipes,  one 
of  whom  every  now  and  then  would  begin  twanging  out  a 
most  queer  chant ; others  there  were  playing  at  casino — a 
crowd  squatted  around  the  squalling  gamblers,  and  talking 
and  looking  on  with  eager  interest.  In  one  place  of  the 
bazaar  we  found  a hundred  people  at  least  listening  to  a 
story-teller,  who  delivered  his  tale  with  excellent  action, 
voice,  and  volubility  ; in  another  they  were  playing  a sort 
of  thimblerig  with  coffee-cups,  all  intent  upon  the  game,  and 
the  player  himself  very  wild  lest  one  of  our  party,  who  had 
discovered  where  the  pea  lay,  should  tell  the  company.  The 
devotion  and  energy  with  which  all  these  pastimes  were 


FROM  GORNHILL  TO  CAIRO . 


433 


pursued,  struck  me  as  much  as  anything.  These  people 
have  been  playing  thimblerig  and  casino ; that  story-teller 
has  been  shouting  his  tale  of  Antar  for  forty  years ; and 
they  are  just  as  happy  with  this  amusement  now  as  when 
first  they  tried  it.  Is  there  no  ennui  in  the  Eastern 
countries,  and  are  blue-devils  not  allowed  to  go  abroad 
there  ? 

From  the  bazaars  we  went  to  see  the  house  of  Mustapha, 
said  to  be  the  best  house  and  the  greatest  man  of  Jaffa.  But 
the  great  man  had  absconded  suddenly,  and  had  fled  into 
Egypt.  The  Sultan  had  made  a demand  upon  him  for  six- 
teen  thousand  purses,  80,000/.  — Mustapha  retired  — the 
Sultan  pounced  down  upon  his  house,  and  his  goods,  his 
horses  and  his  mules.  His  harem  was  desolate.  Mr. 
Milnes  could  have  written  six  affecting  poems,  had  he  been 
with  us,  on  the  dark  ioneliness  of  that  violated  sanctuary. 
We  passed  from  hall  to  hall,  terrace  to  terrace  — a few 
fellows  were  slumbering  on  the  naked  floors,  and  scarce 
turned  as  we  went  by  them.  We  entered  Mustapha’s  par^ 
ticular  divan  — there  was  the  raised  floor,  but  no  bearded 
friends  squatting  away  the  night  of  Ramazan ; there  was 
the  little  coffee  furnace,  but  where  was  the  slave  and 
the  coffee  and  the  glowing  embers  of  the  pipes  ? Musta- 
pha’s  favorite  passages  from  the  Koran  were  still  painted 
up  on  the  walls,  but  nobody  was  the  wiser  for  them.  We 
walked  over  a sleeping  negro,  and  opened  the  windows 
which  looked  into  his  gardens.  The  horses  and  donkeys, 
the  camels  and  mules  were  picketed  there  below,  but  where 
is  the  said  Mustapha  ? From  the  frying-pan  of  the  Porte, 
has  he  not  fallen  into  the  fire  of  Mehemet  Ali?  And 
which  is  best,  to  broil  or  to  fry  ? If  it  be  but  to  read  the 
“ Arabian  Nights  ” again  on  getting  home,  it  is  good  to 
have  made  this  little  voyage  and  seen  these  strange  places 
and  faces. 

Then  we  went  out  through  the  arched  lowering  gateway 
of  the  town  into  the  plain  beyond,  and  that  was  another 
famous  and  brilliant  scene  of  “ Arabian  Nights.  ” The 
heaven  shone  with  a marvellous  brilliancy  — the  plain 
disappeared  far  in  the  haze— the  towers  and  battlements  of 
the  town  rose  black  against  the  sky  — old  outlandish  trees 
rose  up  here  and  there — clumps  of  camels  were  couched  in 
the  rare  herbage— dogs  were  baying  about — groups  of  men 
lay  sleeping  under  their  haicks  round  about — round  about 
the  tall  gates  many  lights  were  twinkling  — and  they 
28 


434 


EASTERN  SKETCHES . 


brought  us  water-pipes  and  sherbet  — and  we  wondered  to 
think  that  London  was  only  three  weeks  off. 

Then  came  the  night  at  the  consul’s.  The  poor  demure 
old  gentleman  brought  out  his  mattresses ; and  the  ladies 
sleeping  round  on  the  divans,  we  lay  down  quite  happy ; 
and  I for  my  part  intended  to  make  as  delightful  dreams 
as  Alnaschar  ; but  — lo,  the  delicate  mosquito  sounded  his 
horn:  the  active  flea  jumped  up,  and  came  to  feast  on  Chris- 
tian flesh  (the  Eastern  flea  bites  more  bitterly  than  the 
most  savage  bug  in  Christendom  ),  and  the  bug  — oh,  the 
accursed ! Why  was  he  made  ? What  duty  has  that 
infamous  ruffian  to  perform  in  the  world,  save  to  make 
people  wretched  ? Only  Bulwer  in  his  most  pathetic  style 
could  describe  the  miseries  of  that  night — the  moaning,  the 
groaning,  the  cursing,  the  tumbling,  the  blistering,  the 
infamous  despair  and  degradation  ! I heard  all  the  cocks  in 
Jaffa  crow  ; the  children  crying,  and  the  mothers  hushing 
them ; the  donkeys  braying  fitfully  in  the  moonlight ; at 
last,  I heard  the  clatter  of  hoofs  below,  and  the  hailing  of 
men.  It  was  three  o’clock,  the  horses  were  actually  come ; 
nay,  there  were  camels  likewise ; asses  and  mules,  pack- 
saddles  and  drivers,  all  bustling  together  under  the  moon- 
light in  the  cheerful  street  — and  the  first  night  in  Syria 
was  over. 


i 


CHAPTER  XII. 


FROM  JAFFA  TO  JERUSALEM. 


C took  an  hour  or  more  to  get 
our  little  caravan  into  march- 
ing order,  to  accommodate  all 
the  packs  to  the  horses,  the 
horses  to  the  riders ; to  see 
the  ladies  comfortably  placed 
in  their  litter,  with  a sleek 
and  large  black  mule  fore  and 
aft,  a groom  to  each  mule,  and 
a tall  and  exceedingly  good- 
natured  and  mahogany-col- 
ored infidel  to  walk  by  the 
side  of  the  carriage,  to  balance 
it  as  it  swayed  to  and  fro,  and 
to  offer  his  back  as  a step  to 
the  inmates  whenever  they 
were  minded  to  ascend  or  alight.  These  three  fellows, 
fasting  through  the  Ramazan,  and  over  as  rough  a road,  for 
the  greater  part,  as  ever  shook  mortal  bones,  performed 
their  fourteen  hours’  walk  of  near  forty  miles,  with  the 
most  admirable  courage,  alacrity,  and  good  humor.  They 
once  or  twice  drank  water  on  the  march,  and  so  far  in- 
fringed the  rule ; but  they  refused  all  bread  or  edible 
refreshment  offered  to  them,  and  tugged  on  with  an  energy 
that  the  best  camel,  and  I am  sure  the  best  Christian,  might 
envy.  What  a lesson  of  good-humored  endurance  it  was  to 
certain  Pall  Mall  Sardanapaluses,  who  grumble  if  club  sofa- 
cushions  are  not  soft  enough  ! 

If  I could  write  sonnets  at  leisure,  I would  like  to  chron- 
icle in  fourteen  lines  my  sensations  on  finding  myself  on  a 
high  Turkish  saddle,  with  a pair  of  fire-shovel  stirrups  and 
worsted  reins,  red  padded  saddle-cloth,  and  innumerable 
tags,  fringes,  glass-beads,  ends  of  rope,  to  decorate  the 

435 


436 


EASTERN  SKETCHES . 


harness  of  the  horse,  the  gallant  steed  on  which  I was 
about  to  gallop  into  Syrian  life.  What  a figure  we  cut  in 
the  moonlight,  and  how  they  would  have  stared  in  the 
Strand ! Ay,  or  in  Leicestershire,  where  I warrant  such  a 
horse  and  rider  are  not  often  visible ! The  shovel  stir- 
rups are  deucedly  short;  the  clumsy  leathers  cut  the 
shins  of  some  equestrians  abominably;  you  sit  over 
your  horse  as  it  were  on  a tower,  from  which  the  descent 
would  be  very  easy,  but  for  the  big  peak  of  the  saddle.  A 
good  way  for  the  inexperienced  is  to  put  a stick  or  umbrella 
across  the  saddle  peak  again,  so  that  it  is  next  to  impos- 
sible to  go  over  your  horse’s  neck.  I found  this  a vast 
comfort  in  going  down  the  hills,  and  recommend  it 
conscientiously  to  other  dear  simple  brethren  of  the  city. 

Peaceful  men,  we  did  not  ornament  our  girdles  with  pis- 
tols, yataghans,  &c.,  such  as  some  pilgrims  appeared  to 
bristle  all  over  with ; and  as  a lesson  to  such  rash  people,  a 
story  may  be  told  which  was  narrated  to  us  at  Jerusalem, 
and  carries  a wholesome  moral.  The  Honorable  Hoggin 
Armer,  who  was  lately  travelling  in  the  East,  wore  about 
his  stomach  two  brace  of  pistols,  of  such  exquisite  finish 
and  make,  that  a Sheikh,  in  the  Jericho  country,  robbed 
him  merely  for  the  sake  of  the  pistols.  I don’t  know 
whether  he  has  told  the  story  to  hie  friends  at  home. 

Another  story  about  Sheikhs  may  here  be  told  apropos. 
That  celebrated  Irish  Peer,  Lord  Oldgent  ( who  was  distin- 
guished in  the  Buckinghamshire  Dragoons  ),  having  paid  a 
sort  of  black  mail  to  the  Sheikh  of  Jericho  country,  was 
suddenly  set  upon  by  another  Sheikh,  who  claimed  to  be 
the  real  Jerichonian  governor ; and  these  twins  quarrelled 
over  the  body  of  Lord  Oldgent,  as  the  widows  for  the 
innocent  baby  before  Solomon.  There  was  enough  for 
both — but  these  digressions  are  interminable. 

The  party  got  under  way  at  near  four  o’clock:  the  ladies 
in  the  litter,  the  French  femme-de-chambre  manfully  cara- 
coling on  a gray  horse ; the  cavaliers,  like  your  humble 
servant,  on  their  high  saddles ; the  domestics,  flunkies, 
guides,  and  grooms,  on  all  sorts  of  animals, — some  fourteen 
in  all.  Add  to  these,  two  most  grave  and  stately  Arabs  in 
white  beards,  white  turbans,  white  haicks  and  raiments ; 
sabres  curling  round  their  military  thighs,  and  immense 
long  guns  at  their  backs.  More  venerable  warriors  I never 
saw ; they  went  by  the  side  of  the  litter  soberly  prancing. 
When  we  emerged  from  the  steep  clattering  streets  of  the 


FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO . 


437 


city  into  the  gray  plains,  lighted  by  the  moon  and  starlight, 
these  militaries  rode  onward,  leading  the  way  through  the 
huge  avenues  of  strange  diabolical-looking  prickly  pears 
( plants  that  look  as  if  they  had  grown  in  Tartarus ),  by 
which  the  first  mile  or  two  of  route  from  the  city  is  bounded  ; 
and  as  the  dawn  arose  before  us,  exhibiting  first  a streak  of 
gray,  then  of  green,  then  of  red  in  the  sky,  it  was  fine  to 
see  these  martial  figures  defined  against  the  rising  light. 
The  sight  of  that  little  cavalcade,  and  of  the  nature  around 
it,  will  always  remain  with  me,  I think,  as  one  of  the  fresh- 
est and  most  delightful  sensations  I have  enjoyed  since 
the  day  I first  saw  Calais  pier.  It  was  full  day  when  they 
gave  their  horses  a drink  at  a large  pretty  Oriental  fountain, 
and  then  presently  we  entered  the  open  plain — the  famous 
plain  of  Sharon  — so’  fruitful  in  roses  once,  now  hardly 
cultivated,  but  always  beautiful  and  noble. 

Here  presently,  in  the  distance,  we  saw  another  cavalcade 
pricking  over  the  plain.  Our  two  white  warriors  spread  to 
the  right  and  left,  and  galloped  to  reconnoitre.  We,  too, 
put  our  steeds  to  the  canter,  and  handling  our  umbrellas  as 
Richard  did  his  lance  against  Saladin,  went  undaunted  to 
challenge  this  caravan.  The  fact  is,  we  could  distinguish 
that  it  was  formed  of  the  party  of  our  pious  friends  the 
Poles,  and  we  hailed  them  with  cheerful  shouting,  and 
presently  the  two  caravans  joined  company  and  scoured  the 
plain  at  the  rate  of  near  four  miles  per  hour.  The  horse- 
master,  a courier  of  this  company,  rode  three  miles  for  our 
one.  He  was  a broken-nosed  Arab,  with  pistols,  a sabre,  a 
fusee,  a yellow  Damascus  cloth  flapping  over  his  head,  and 
his  nose  ornamented  with  diachylon.  He  rode  a hog- 
necked gray  Arab,  bristling  over  with  harness,  and  jumped, 
and  whirled,  and  reared,  and  halted,  to  the  admiration  of  all. 

Scarce  had  the  diachylonian  Arab  finished  his  evolutions, 
when  lo ! yet  another  cloud  of  dust  was  seen,  and  another 
party  of  armed  and  glittering  horsemen  appeared.  They, 
too,  were  led  by  an  Arab,  who  was  followed  by  two  janis- 
saries, with  silver  maces  shining  in  the  sun.  ?Twas  the 
party  of  the  new  American  Consul-General  of  Syria  and 
Jerusalem,  hastening  to  that  city,  with  the  inferior  consuls 
of  Ramleh  and  Jaffa  to  escort  him.  He  expects  to  see  the 
Millennium  in  three  years,  and  has  accepted  the  office  of 
consul  at  Jerusalem,  so  as  to  be  on  the  spot  in  readiness. 

When  the  diachylon  Arab  saw  the  American  Arab,  he 
straightway  galloped  his  steed  towards  him,  took  his  pipe, 


438  ‘ 


EASTERN  SKETCHES. 


which  he  delivered  at  his  adversary  in  guise  of  a jereed, 
and  galloped  round  and  round,  and  in  and  out,  and  there 
and  back  again,  as  in  a play  of  war.  The  American  replied 
in  a similar  playful  ferocity  — the  two  warriors  made  a 
little  tournament  for  us  there  on  the  plains  before  Jaffa,  in 
the  which  diachylon  being  a little  worsted,  challenged  his 
adversary  to  a race,  and  fled  away  on  his  gray,  the  Amer- 
ican following  on  his  bay.  Here  poor  sticking-plaster  was 
again  worsted,  the  Yankee  contemptuously  riding  round 
him,  and  then  declining  further  exercise. 

What  more  could  mortal  man  want  ? A troop)  of  knights 
and  paladins  could  have  done  no  more.  In  no  page  of 
Walter  Scott  have  I read  a scene  more  fair  and  sparkling. 
The  sober  warriors  of  our  escort  did  not  join  in  the  gambols 
of  the  young  men.  There  they  rode  soberly,  in  their  white 
turbans,  by  their  ladies’  litter,  their  long  guns  rising  up 
behind  them. 

There  was  no  lack  of  company  along  the  road : donkeys 
numberless,  camels  by  twos  and  threes ; now  a mule-driver, 
trudging  along  the  road,  chanting  a most  queer  melody  ; 
now  a lady,  in  white  veil,  black  mask,  and  yellow  pa- 
pooshes,  bestriding  her  ass,  and  followed  by  her  husband,  — 
met  us  on  the  way ; and  most  people  gave  a salutation.  Pres- 
ently we  saw  K-amleh,  in  a smoking  mist,  on  the  plain  be- 
fore us,  flanked  to  the  right  by  a tall  lonely  tower,  that 
might  have  held  the  bells  of  some  moutier  of  Caen  or 
Evreux.  As  we  entered,  about  three  hours  and  a half  after 
starting,  among  the  white  domes  and  stone  houses  of  the 
little  town,  we  passed  the  place  of  tombs.  Two  women 
were  sitting  on  one  of  them, — the  one  bending  her  head 
towards  the  stone,  and  rocking  to  and  fro,  and  moaning  out 
a very  sweet,  pitiful  lamentation.  The  American  consul 
invited  us  to  breakfast  at  the  house  of  his  subaltern,  the 
hospitable  one-eyed  Armenian,  who  represents  the  United 
States  at  Jaffa.  The  stars  and  stripes  were  flaunting  over 
his  terraces,  to  which  we  ascended,  leaving  our  horses  to 
the  care  of  a multitude  of  roaring,  ragged  Arabs  beneath, 
who  took  charge  of  and  fed  the  animals,  though  I can’t  say 
in  the  least  why ; but,  in  the  same  way  as  getting  off  my 
horse  on  entering  Jerusalem,  I gave  the  rein  into  the  hand 
of  the  first  person  near  me,  and  have  never  heard  of  the 
worthy  brute  since.  At  the  American  consul’s  we  were 
served  first  with  rice  soup  in  pislipash,  flavored  with  cinna- 
mon and  spice  ; then  with  boiled  mutton,  then  with  stewed 


FROM  CORN  HILL  TO  CAIRO. 


439 


ditto  and  tomatoes  ; then  with  fowls  swimming  in  grease  ; 
then  with  brown  ragouts  belabored  with  onions  ; then  with 
a smoking  pilaff  of  rice  : several  of  wrhich  dishes  I can  pro- 
nounce to  be  of  excellent  material  and  flavor.  When  the 
gentry  had  concluded  this  repast,  it  was  handed  to  a side- 
table,  where  the  commonalty  speedily  discussed  it.  We 
left  them  licking  their  fingers  as  we  hastened  away  upon 
the  second  part  of  the  ride. 

And  as  we  quitted  Ramleh,  the  scenery  lost  that  sweet 
and  peaceful  look  which  characterizes  the  pretty  plain  we 
had  traversed ; and  the  sun,  too,  rising  in  the  heaven,  dis- 
sipated all  those  fresh,  beautiful  tints  in  which  God’s  world 
is  clothed  of  early  morning,  and  which  city  people  have  so 
seldom  the  chance  of  beholding.  The  plain  over  which  we 
rode  looked  yellow  and  gloomy;  the  cultivation  little  or 
none;  the  land  across  the  roadside  fringed,  for  the  most 
part,  with  straggling  wild  carrot  plants ; a patch  of  green 
only  here  and  there.  We  passed  several  herds  of  lean, 
small,  well-conditioned  cattle : many  flocks  of  black  goats, 
tended  now  and  then  by  a ragged  negro  shepherd,  his  long 
gun  slung  over  his  back,  his  hand  over  his  eyes  to  shade 
them  as  he  stared  at  our  little  cavalcade.  Most  of  the  half- 
naked  countryfolks  we  met,  had  this  dismal  appendage  to 
Eastern  rustic  life ; and  the  weapon  could  hardly  be  one  of 
mere  defence,  for,  beyond  the  faded  skull-cup,  or  tattered 
coat  of  blue  or  dirty  white,  the  brawny,  brown-chested, 
solemn-looking  fellows  had  nothing  seemingly  to  guard.  As 
before,  there  was  no  lack  of  travellers  on  the  road : more 
donkeys  trotted  by,  looking  sleek  and  strong ; camels  singly 
and  by  pairs,  laden  with  a little  humble  ragged  merchandise, 
on  their  way  between  the  two  towns.  About  noon  we 
halted  eagerly  at  a short  distance  from  an  Arab  village  and 
well,  where  all  were  glad  of  a drink  of  fresh  water.  A vil- 
lage of  beavers,  or  a colony  of  ants,  make  habitations  not 
unlike  these  dismal  huts  piled  together  on  the  plain  here. 
There  were  no  single  huts  along  the  whole  line  of  road ; 
poor  and  wretched  as  they  are,  the  Fellahs  huddle  all  to- 
gether for  protection  from  the  other  thieves  their  neighbors. 
The  government  (which  we  restored  to  them)  has  no  power 
to  protect  them,  and  is  only  strong  enough  to  rob  them. 
The  women,  with  their  long  blue  gowns  and  ragged  veils, 
came  to  and  fro  with  pitchers  on  their  heads.  Rebecca 
had  such  an  one  when  she  brought  drink  to  the  lieutenant 
of  Abraham.  The  boys  came  staring  round,  bawling  after 


440 


EASTERN  SKETCHES. 


us  with  their  fathers  for  the  inevitable  backsheesh.  The 
village  dogs  barked  round  the  flocks,  as  they  were  driven 
to  water  or  pasture. 

We  saw  a gloomy,  not  very  lofty-looking  ridge  of  hills  in 
front  of  us  ; the  highest  of  which  the  guide  pointing  out  to 
us,  told  us  that  from  it  we  should  see  Jerusalem.  It  looked 
very  near,  and  we  all  set  up  a trot  of  enthusiasm  to  get  into 
this  hill  country. 

But  that  burst  of  enthusiasm  (it  may  have  carried  us 
nearly  a quarter  of  a mile  in  three  minutes  ) was  soon  des- 
tined to  be  checked  by  the  disagreeable  nature  of  the 
country  we  had  to  traverse.  Before  we  got  to  the  real 
mountain  district,  we  were  in  a manner  prepared  for  it,  by 
the  mounting  and  descent  of  several  lonely  outlying  hills, 
up  and  down  which  our  rough  stony  track  wound.  Then 
we  entered  the  hill  district,  and  our  path  lay  through  the 
clattering  bed  of  an  ancient  stream,  whose  brawling  waters 
have  rolled  away  into  the  past,  along  with  the  fierce  and 
turbulent  race  who  once  inhabited  these  savage  hills. 
There  may  have  been  cultivation  here  two  thousand  years 
ago.  The  mountains,  or  huge  stone  mounds  environing 
this  rough  path,  have  level  ridges  all  the  way  up  to  their 
summits  ; on  these  parallel  ledges  there  is  still  some  ver- 
dure and  soil : when  water  flowed  lrere,  and  the  country 
was  thronged  with  that  extraordinary  population,  which, 
according  to  the  Sacred  Histories,  was  crowded  into  the 
region,  these  mountain  steps  may  have  been  gardens  and 
vineyards,  such  as  we  see  now  thriving  along  the  hills  of 
the  Rhine.  Now  the  district  is  quite  deserted,  and  you 
ride  among  what  seem  to  be  so  many  petrified  waterfalls. 
We  saw  no  animals  moving  among  the  stony  brakes; 
scarcely  even  a dozen  little  birds  in  the  whole  course  of  the 
ride.  The  sparrows  are  all  at  Jerusalem,  among  the  house- 
tops, where  their  ceaseless  chirping  and  twittering  forms 
the  most  cheerful  sound  of  the  place. 

The  company  of  Poles,  the  company  of  Oxford  men, 
and  the  little  American  army,  travelled  too  quick  for  our 
caravan,  which  was  made  to  follow  the  slow  progress  of  the  . 
ladies’  litter,  and  we  had  to  make  the  journey  through  the 
mountains  in  a very  small  number.  Not  one  of  our  party 
had  a single  weapon  more  dreadful  than  an  umbrella : and 
a couple  of  Arabs,  wickedly  inclined,  might  have  brought 
us  all  to  the  halt,  and  rifled  every  carpet-bag  and  pocket 
belonging  to  us.  Nor  can  I say  that  we  journeyed  without 


FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO. 


441 


certain  qualms  of  fear.  When  swarthy  fellows,  with  gir- 
dles full  of  pistols  and  yataghans,  passed  us  without  un- 
slinging their  long  guns:  — when  scowling  camel-riders, 
with  awful  long  bending  lances,  decorated  with  tufts  of 
rags,  or  savage  plumes  of  scarlet  feathers,  went  by  without 
molestation,  I think  we  were  rather  glad  that  they  did  not 
stop  and  parley : for,  after  all,  a British  lion  with  an  um- 
brella is  no  match  for  an  Arab  with  his.  infernal  long  gun. 
What,  too,  would  have  become  of  our  women  ? So  we 
tried  to  think  that  it  was  entirely  out  of  anxiety  for  them 
that  we  were  inclined  to  push  on. 

There  is  a shady  resting-place  and  village  in  the  midst  of 
the  mountain  district,  where  the  travellers  are  accustomed 
to  halt  for  an  hour’s  repose  and  refreshment ; and  the  other 
caravans  were  just  quitting  this  spot,  having  enjoyed  its 
cool  shades  and  waters  when  we  came  up.  Should  we  stop  ? 
Regard  for  the  ladies  (of  course  no  other  earthly  consider- 
ation ) made  us  say,  “ No  ! ” What  admirable  self-denial 
and  chivalrous  devotion  ! So  our  poor  devils  of  mules  and 
horses  got  no  rest  and  no  water,  our  panting  litter-men 
no  breathing  time,  and  we  staggered  desperately  after  the 
procession  ahead  of  us.  It  wound  up  the  mountain  in 
front  of  us  : the  Poles  with  their  guns  and  attendants,  the 
American  with  his  janissaries  ; fifty  or  sixty  all  riding 
slowly  like  the  procession  in  “ Bluebeard. ” 

But  alas,  they  headed  us  very  soon  ; when  we  got  up  the 
weary  hill  they  were  all  out  of  sight.  Perhaps  thoughts 
of  Fleet  Street  did  cross  the  minds  of  some  of  us  then, 
and  a vague  desire  to  see  a few  policemen.  The  district 
now  seemed  peopled,  and  with  an  ugly  race.  Savage  per- 
sonages peered  at  us  out  of  huts,  and  grim  holes  in  the 
rocks.  The  mules  began  to  loiter  most  abominably  — 
water  the  muleteers  must  have  — and,  behold,  we  came  to 
a pleasant-looking  village  of  trees  standing  on  a hill ; chil- 
dren were  shaking  figs  from  the  trees  — women  were  going 
about  — before  us  was  the  mosque  of  a holy  man  — the 
village,  looking  like  a collection  of  little  forts,  rose  up  on 
the  hill  to  our  right,  with  a long  view  of  the  fields  and 
gardens  stretching  from  it,  and  camels  arriving  with  their 
burdens.  Here  we  must  stop  ; Paolo,  the  chief  servant, 
knew  the  Sheikh  of  the  village  — he  very  good  man  — 
give  him  water  and  supper  — water  very  good  here  — in 
fact  we  began  to  think  of  the  propriety  of  halting  here  for 
the  night,  and  making  our  entry  into  Jerusalem  on  the 
next  day. 


442 


EASTERN  SKETCHES . 


A man  on  a handsome  horse  dressed  in  red  came  pranc- 
ing up  to  us,  looking  hard  at  the  ladies  in  the  litter,  and 
passed  away.  Then  two  others  sauntered  up,  one  hand- 
some, and  dressed  in  red  too,  and  he  stared  into  the  litter 
without  ceremony,  began  to  play  with  a little  dog  that  lay 
there,  asked  if  we  were  Inglees,  and  was  answered  by  me 
in  the  affirmative.  Paolo  had  brought  the  water,  the  most 
delicious  draught  in  the  world.  The  gentlefolks  had  had 
some,  the  poor  muleteers  were  longing  for  it.  The  French 


maid,  the  courageous  Victoire  ( never  since  the  days  of 
Joan  of  Arc  has  there  surely  been  a more  gallant  and  vir- 
tuous female  of  France  ) refused  the  drink ; when  suddenly 
a servant  of  the  party  scampers  up  to  his  master  and  says ; 
“ Abou  Gosh  says  the  ladies  must  get  out  and  show  them- 
selves to  the  women  of  the  village  ! ” 

It  was  Abou  Gosh  himself,  the  redoubted  robber  Sheikh 
about  whom  we  had  been  laughing  and  crying  “ Wolf  ” all 
day.  Never  was  seen  such  a skurry  ! “ March  ! ” was  the 

instant  order  given.  When  Victoire  heard  who  it  was  and 


FROM  C0RNH1LL  TO  CAIRO. 


443 


the  message  you  should  have  seen  how  she  changed  coun- 
tenance ; trembling  for  her  virtue  in  the  ferocious  clutches 
of  a Gosh.  “Un  verre  d’eau  pour  Pam  our  de  Dieu ! ” 
gasped  she,  and  was  ready  to  faint  on  her  saddle.  “Ne 
buvez  plus,  Victoire  ! ” screamed  a little  fellow  of  our 
party.  “ Push  on,  push  on  ! ” cried  one  and  all.  “ What’s 
the  matter ! ” exclaimed  the  ladies  in  the  litter,  as  they  saw 
themselves  suddenly  jogging  on  again.  But  we  took  care 
not  to  tell  them  what  had  been  the  designs  of  the  redoubt- 
able Abou  Gosh.  Away  then  we  went  — Victoire  was 
saved  — and  her  mistresses  rescued  from  dangers  they 
knew  not  of,  until  they  were  a long  way  out  of  the  village. 

Did  he  intend  insult  or  good-will  ? Did  Victoire  escape 
the  odious  chance  of  becoming  Madame  Abou  Gosh  ? Or 
did  the  mountain  chief  simply  propose  to  be  hospitable 
after  his  fashion  ? I think  the  latter  was  his  desire ; if 
the  former  had  been  his  wish,  a half-dozen  of  his  long  guns 
could  have  been  up  with  us  in  a minute,  and  had  all  our 
party  at  their  mercy.  But  now,  for  the  sake  of  the  mere 
excitement,  the  incident  was,  I am  sorry  to  say,  rather  a 
pleasant  one  than  otherwise  : especially  for  a traveller  who 
is  in  the  happy  condition  of  being  able  to  sing  before  rob- 
bers, as  is  the  case  with  the  writer  of  the  present. 

A little  way  out  of  the  land  of  Goshen  we  came  upon  a 
long  stretch  of  gardens  and  vineyards,  slanting  towards  the 
setting  sun,  which  illuminated  numberless  golden  clusters 
of  the  most  delicious  grapes,  of  which  we  stopped  and 
partook.  Such  grapes  were  never  before  tasted ; water  so 
fresh  as  that  which  a countryman  fetched  for  us  from  a 
well  never  sluiced  parched  throats  before*.  It  was  the  ride, 
the  sun,  and  above  all  Abou  Gosh,  who  made  that  refresh- 
ment so  sweet,  and  hereby  I offer  him  my  best  thanks. 
Presently,  in  the  midst  of  a most  diabolical  ravine,  down 
which  our  horses  went  sliding,  we  heard  the  evening  gun;  it 
was  fired  from  Jerusalem.  The  twilight  is  brief  in  this 
country,  and  in  a few  minutes  the  landscape  was  gray  round 
about  us,  and  the  sky  lighted  up  by  a hundred  thousand 
stars,  which  made  the  night  beautiful. 

Under  this  superb  canopy  we  rode  for  a couple  of  hours 
to  our  journey’s  end.  The  mountains  round  about  us  dark, 
lonely,  and  sad;  the  landscape  as  we  saw  it  at  night  (it  is 
not  more  cheerful  in  the  daytime),  the  most  solemn  and 
forlorn  I have  ever  seen.  The  feelings  of  almost  terror 


444 


EASTERN  SKETCHES . 


with  which,  riding  through  the  night,  we  approached  this 
awful  place,  the  centre  of  the  world’s  past  and  future  his- 
tory, have  no  need  to  be  noted  down  here.  The  recollec- 
tion of  these  sensations  must  remain  with  a man  as  long  as 
his  memory  lasts  ; and  he  should  think  of  them  as  often, 
perhaps,  as  he  should  talk  of  them  little. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 


JERUSALEM.' 


HE  ladies  of  our  party 
found  excellent  quarters 
in  readiness  for  them  at 
the  Greek  convent  in  the 
city ; where  airy  rooms, 
and  plentiful  meals,  and 
wines  and  sweetmeats 
delicate  and  abundant, 
were  provided  to  cheer 
them  after  the  fatigues 
of  their  journey.  I don’t 
know  whether  the  wor- 
thy fathers  of  the  con- 
vent share  in  the  good 
things  which  they  lavish 
on  their  guests  ; but  they 
look  as  if  they  do.  Those  whom  we  saw  bore  every  sign 
of  easy  conscience  and  good  living ; there  were  a pair  of 
strong,  rosy,  greasy,  lazy  lay-brothers,  dawdling  in  the  sun 
on  the  convent  terrace,  or  peering  over  the  parapet  into  the 
street  below,  whose  looks  gave  one  a notion  of  anything 
but  asceticism. 

In  the  principal  room  of  the  strangers’  house  (the  lay 
traveller  is  not  admitted  to  dwell  in  the  sacred  interior  of 
the  convent),  and  over  the  building,  the  Russian  double- 
headed eagle  is  displayed.  The  place  is  under  the  patron* 
age  of  the  Emperor  Nicholas  : an  Imperial  Prince  has 
stayed  in  these  rooms : the  Russian  consul  performs  a 
great  part  in  the  city ; and  a considerable  annual  stipend 
is  given  by  the  Emperor  towards  the  maintenance  of  the 
great  establishment  in  Jerusalem.  The  Great  Chapel  of 
the  Church  of  the  Holy  Sepulchre  is  by  far  the  richest,  in 
point  of  furniture,  of  all  the  places  of  worship  under  that 

445 


446 


EASTERN  SKETCHES . 


roof.  We  were  in  Russia,  when  we  came  to  visit  our 
friends  here ; under  the  protection  of  the  Father  of  the 
Church  and  the  Imperial  Eagle  ! This  butcher  and  tyrant, 
who  sits  on  his  throne  only  through  the  crime  of  those 
who  held  it  before  him  — every  step  in  whose  pedigree  is 
stained  by  some  horrible  mark  of  murder,  parricide,  adultery 
— this  padded  and  whiskered  pontiff  — who  rules  in  his 
jack-boots  over  a system  of  spies  and  soldiers,  of  deceit, 
ignorance,  disoluteness,  and  brute  force,  such  as  surely  the 
history  of  the  world  never  told  of  before  — has  a tender 
interest  in  the  welfare  of  his  spiritual  children:  in  the 
Eastern  Church  ranks  after  divinity,  and  is  worshipped  by 
millions  of  men.  A pious  exemplar  of  Christianity  truly  ! 
and  of  the  condition  to  which  its  union  with  politics  has 
brought  it  ! Think  of  the  rank  to  which  he  pretends,  and 
gravely  believes  that  he  possesses,  no  doubt ! — think  of 
those  who  assumed  the  same  ultra-sacred  character  before 
him ! — and  then  of  the  Bible  and  the  Founder  of  the 
Religion,  of  which  the  Emperor  assumes  to  be  the  chief 
priest  and  defender. 

We  had  some  Poles  of  our  party  ; but  these  poor  fellows 
went  to  the  Latin  convent,  declining  to  worship  after  the 
Emperor’s  fashion.  The  next  night  after  our  arrival,  two 
of  them  passed  in  the  Sepulchre.  There  we  saw  them, 
more  than  once  on  subsequent  visits,  kneeling  in  the  Latin 
Church  before  the  pictures,  or  marching  solemnly  with 
candles  in  processions,  or  lying  flat  on  the  stones,  or  pas- 
sionately kissing  the  spots  which  their  traditions  have  con- 
secrated as  the  authentic  places  of  the  Saviour’s  sufferings. 
More  honest  or  more  civilized,  or  from  opposition,  the 
Latin  Fathers  have  long  given  up  and  disowned  the  dis- 
gusting mummery  of  the  Eastern  Fire  — which  lie  the 
Greeks  continue  annually  to  tell. 

Their  travellers’  house  and  convent,  though  large  and 
commodious,  are  of  a much  poorer  and  shabbier  condition 
than  those  of  the  Greeks.  Both  make  believe  not  to  take 
money  ; but  the  traveller  is  expected  to  pay  in  each.  The 
Latin  fathers  enlarge  their  means  by  a little  harmless  trade 
in  beads  and  crosses,  and  mother-of-pearl  shells,  on  which 
figures  of  saints  are  engraved ; and  which  they  purchase 
from  the  manufacturers,  and  vend  at  a small  profit.  The 
English,  until  of  late,  used  to  be  quartered  in  these  sham 
inns ; but  last  year  two  or  three  Maltese  took  houses  for 
the  reception  of  tourists,  who  can  now  be  accommodated 


FROM  CORN  HILL  TO  CAIRO . 


447 


with  cleanly  and  comfortable  board,  at  a rate  not  too  heavy 
for  most  pockets. 

To  one  of  these  we  went  very  gladly ; giving  our  horses 
the  bridle  at  the  door,  which  went  off  of  their  own  will  to 
their  stables,  through  the  dark,  inextricable  labyrinths  of 
streets,  archways,  and  alleys,  which  we  had  threaded  after 
leaving  the  main  street  from  the  Jaffa  Gate.  There,  there 
was  still  some  life.  Numbers  of  persons  were  collected  at 
their  doors,  or  smoking  before  the  dingy  coffee-houses, 
where  singing  and  story-telling  were  going  on  ; but  out  of 
this  great  street  everything  was  silent,  and  no  sign  of  a 
light  from  the  windows  of  the  low  houses  which  we  passed. 

We  ascended  from  a lower  floor  up  to  a terrace,  on 
which  were  several  little  domed  chambers,  or  pavilions. 
From  this  terrace,  whence  we  looked  in  the  morning,  a 
great  part  of  the  city  spread  before  us  : — white  domes 
upon  domes,  and  terraces  of  the  same  character  as  our 
own.  Here  and  there,  from  among  these  white-washed 
mounds  round  about,  a minaret  rose,  or  a rare  date-tree ; 
but  the  chief  part  of  the  vegetation  near  was  that  odious 
tree  the  prickly  pear,  — one  huge  green  wart  growing  out 
of  another,  armed  with  spikes,  as  inhospitable  as  the  aloe, 
without  shelter  or  beauty.  To  the  right  the  Mosque  of 
Omar  rose  ; the  rising  sun  behind  it.  Yonder  steep  tortu- 
ous lane  before  us,  flanked  by  ruined  walls  on  either  side, 
has  borne,  time  out  of  mind,  the  title  of  Via  Dolorosa;  and 
tradition  has  fixed  the  spots  where  the  Saviour  rested, 
bearing  his  cross  to  Calvary.  But  of  the  mountain,  rising 
immediately  in  front  of  us,  a few  gray  olive-trees  speckling 
the  yellow  side  here  and  there,  there  can  be  no  question. 
That  is  the  Mount  of  Olives.  Bethany  lies  beyond  it. 
The  most  sacred  eyes  that  ever  looked  on  this  world  have 
gazed  on  those  ridges : it  was  there  He  used  to  walk  and 
teach.  With  shame  and  humility  one  looks  towards  the 
spot  where  that  inexpressible  Love  and  Benevolence  lived 
and  breathed ; where  the  great  yearning  heart  of  the 
Saviour  interceded  for  all  our  race ; and  whence  the  bigots 
and  traitors  of  his  day  led  him  away  to  kill  him  ! 

That  company  of  Jews  whom  we  had  brought  with  us 
from  Constantinople,  and  who  had  cursed  every  delay  on 
the  route,  not  from  impatience  to  view  the  Holy  City,  but 
from  rage  at  being  obliged  to  purchase  dear  provisions  for 
their  maintenance  on  ship-board,  made  what  bargains  they 


448 


EASTERN  SKETCHES. 


best  could  at  Jaffa,  and  journeyed  to  the  Valley  of  Jehosh- 
aphat  at  the  cheapest  rate.  We  saw  the  tall  form  of  the 
old  Polish  Patriarch,  venerable  in  filth,  stalking  among  the 
stinking  ruins  of  the  Jewish  quarter.  The  sly  old  Rabbi, 
in  the  greasy  folding  hat,  who  would  not  pay  to  shelter  his 
children  from  the  storm  off  Beyrout,  greeted  us  in  the 
bazaars ; the  younger  Rabbis  were  furbished  up  with  some 
smartness.  We  met  them  on  Sunday  at  the  kind  of  prom- 
enade by  the  walls  of  Bethlehem  Gate;  they  were  in  com- 
pany of  some  red-bearded  co-religionists,  smartly  attired  in 
Eastern  raiment ; but  their  voice  was  the  voice  of  the 
Jews  of  Berlin,  and  of  course  as  we  passed  they  were 
talking  about  so  many  hundert  thaler.  You  may  track 
one  of  the  people,  and  be  sure  to  hear  mention  of  that 
silver  calf  that  they  worship. 

The  English  mission  has  been  very  unsuccessful  with 
these  religionists.  I don’t  believe  the  Episcopal  apparatus 
— the  chaplains,  and  the  colleges,  and  the  beadles  — have 
succeeded  in  converting  a dozen  of  them  ; and  a sort  of 
martyrdom  is  in  store  for  the  luckless  Hebrew  at  Jeru- 
salem who  shall  secede  from  his  faith.  Their  old  commu- 
nity spurn  them  with  horror;  and  I heard  of  the  case  of 
one  unfortunate  man,  whose  wife,  in  spite  of  her  hus- 
band’s change  of  creed,  being  resolved,  like  a true  woman, 
to  cleave  to  him,  was  spirited  away  from  him  in  his 
absence ; was  kept  in  privacy  in  the  city,  in  spite  of  all 
exertions  of  the  mission,  of  the  consul  and  the  bishop,  and 
the  chaplains  and  the  beadles ; was  passed  away  from 
Jerusalem  to  Beyrout,  and  thence  to  Constantinople;  and 
from  Constantinople  was  whisked  off  into  the  Russian 
territories,  where  she  still  pines  after  her  husband.  May 
that  unhappy  convert  find  consolation  away  from  her.  I 
could  not  help  thinking,  as  my  informant,  an  excellent  and 
accomplished  gentleman  of  the  mission,  told  me  the  story, 
that  the  Jews  had  done  only  what  the  Christians  do  under 
the  same  circumstances.  The  woman  was  the  daughter  of 
a most  learned  Rabbi,  as  I gathered.  Suppose  a daughter 
of  the  Rabbi  of  Exeter,  or  Canterbury,  were  to  marry  a 
man  who  turned  Jew,  would  not  her  Right  Reverened 
Father  be  justified  in  taking  her  out  of  the  power  of  a 
person  likely  to  hurl  her  soul  to  perdition  ? These  poor 
converts  should  surely  be  sent  away  to  England  out  of  the 
way  of  persecution.  We  could  not  but  feel  a pity  for 
them,  as  they  sat  there  on  their  benches  in  the  church 


FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO. 


449 


conspicuous ; and  thought  of  the  scorn  and  contumely 
which  attended  them  without,  as  they  passed,  in  their 
European  dresses  and  shaven  beards,  among  their  grisly, 
scowling,  long-robed  countrymen. 

As  elsewhere  in  the  towns  I have  seen,  the  Ghetto  of 
Jerusalem  is  pre-eminent  in  filth.  The  people  are  gathered 
round  about  the  dung-gate  of  the  city.  Of  a Friday  you 
may  hear  their  wailings  and  lamentations  for  the  lost 
glories  of  their  city.  1 think  the  Valley  of  Jehoshaphat 
is  the  most  ghastly  sight  I have  seen  in  the  world.  From 
all  quarters  they  come  hither  to  bury  their  dead.  When 
his  time  is  come  yonder  hoary  old  miser,  with  whom  we 
made  our  voyage,  will  lay  his  carcass  to  rest  here.  To  do 
that  and  to  claw  together  money,  has  been  the  purpose  of 
that  strange,  long  life. 

We  brought  with  us  one  of  the  gentlemen  of  the  mission, 

a Hebrew  convert,  the  Rev.  Mr.  E ; and  lest  I should 

be  supposed  to  speak  with  disrespect  above  of  any  of  the 
converts  of  the  Hebrew  faith,  let  me  mention  this  gentle- 
man as  the  only  one  whom  I had  the  fortune  to  meet  on 
terms  of  intimacy.  I never  saw  a man  whose  outward 
conduct  was  more  touching,  whose  sincerity  was  more 
evident,  and  whose  religious  feelings  seemed  more  deep, 
real,  and  reasonable. 

Only  a few  feet  off,  the  walls  of  the  Anglican  Church  of 
Jerusalem  rise  up  from  their  foundations,  on  a picturesque 
open  spot,  in  front  of  the  Bethlehem  Gate.  The  English 
bishop  has  his  church  hard  by  : and  near  it  is  the  house 
where  the  Christians  of  our  denomination  assemble  and 
worship. 

There  seem  to  be  polyglot  services  here.  I saw  books 
of  prayer,  or  Scripture,  in  Hebrew,  Greek,  and  German  : 
in  which  latter  language  Dr.  Alexander  preaches  every 
Sunday.  A gentleman  who  sat  near  me  at  church  used 
all  these  books  indifferently  : reading  the  first  lesson  from 
the  Hebrew  book,  and  the  second  from  the  Greek.  Here 
we  all  assembled  on  the  Sunday  after  our  arrival : it 
was  affecting  to  hear  the  music  and  language  of  our  coun- 
try sounding  in  this  distant  place  ; to  have  the  decent  and 
manly  ceremonial  of  our  service ; the  prayers  delivered  in 
that  noble  language.  Even  that  stout  anti-prelatist,  the 
American  consul,  who  has  left  his  house  and  fortune  in 
America  in  order  to  witness  the  coming  of  the  Millennium, 
29 


450 


EA  S TERN  SEE  TEHEE. 


who  believes  it  to  be  so  near  that  he  lias  brought  a dove 
with  him  from  his  native  land  ( which  bird  he  solemnly 
informed  us  was  to  survive  the  expected  Advent ),  was 
affected  by  the  good  old  words  and  service.  He  swayed 
about  and  moaned  in  his  place  at  various  passages  ; during 
the  sermon  he  gave  especial  marks  of  sympathy  and  appro- 
bation. I never  heard  the  service  more  excellently  and  im- 
pressively read  than  by  the  Bishop’s  chaplain,  Mr.  Veitcli. 
But  it  was  the  music  that  was  most  touching  I thought,  — 
the  sweet  old  songs  of  home. 

There  was  a considerable  company  assembled  : near  a 
hundred  people  I should  think.  Our  party  made  a large 
addition  to  the  usual  congregation.  The  Bishop’s  family 
is  proverbially  numerous  : the  consul,  and  the  gentlemen 
of  the  mission,  have  wives,  and  children,  and  English 
establishments.  These,  and  the  strangers,  occupied  places 
down  the  room,  to  the  right  and  left  of  the  desk  and, com- 
munion-table. The  converts,  and  the  members  of  the 
college,  in  rather  a scanty  number,  faced  the  officiating 
clergyman  ; before  whom  the  silver  maces  of  the  janissaries 
were  set  up,  as  they  set  up  the  beadles’  maces  in  England. 

I made  many  walks  round  the  city  to  Olivet  and  Bethany, 
to  the  tombs  of  the  kings,  and  the  fountains  sacred  in 
story.  These  are  green  and  fresh,  but  all  the  rest  of  the 
landscape  seemed  to  me  to  be  frightful.  Parched  moun- 
tains, with  a gray  bleak  olive-tree  trembling  here  and 
there  ; savage  ravines  and  valleys,  paved  with  tombstones 
— a landscape  unspeakably  ghastly  and  desolate,  meet  the 
eye  wherever  you  wander  round  about  the  city.  The  place 
seems  quite  adapted  to  the  events  which  are  recorded  in 
the  Hebrew  histories.  It  and  they,  as  it  seems  to  me,  can 
never  be  regarded  without  terror.  Eear  and  blood,  crime 
and  punishment,  follow  from  page  to  page  in  frightful 
succession.  There  is  not  a spot  at  which  you  look,  but 
some  violent  deed  has  been  done  there  : some  massacre  has 
been  committed,  some  victim  has  been  murdered,  some  idol 
has  been  worshipped  with  bloody  and  dreadful  rites.  Not 
far  from  hence  is  the  place  where  the  Jewish  conqueror 
fought  for  the  possession  of  Jerusalem.  “The  sun  stood 
still,  and  hasted  not  to  go  down  about  a whole  day;” 
so  that  the  Jews  might  have  daylight  to  destroy  the  Amo- 
rites,  whose  iniquities  were  full,  and  whose  land  they  were 
about  to  occupy.  The  fugitive  heathen  king,  and  his  allies, 
were  discovered  in  their  hiding  place,  and  hanged:  “and 


FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO. 


451 


the  children  of  Judah  smote  Jerusalem  with  the  edge  of 
the  sword,  and  set  the  city  on  lire ; and  they  left  none 
remaining,  but  utterly  destroyed  all  that  breathed.  ” 

I went  out  at  the  Zion  Gate,  and  looked  at  the  so-called 
tomb  of  David.  I had  been  reading  all  the  morning  in  the 
Psalms,  and  his  history  in  Samuel  and  Kings.  “ Bring  thou 
down  Shimei’s  hoar  head  to  the  grave  with  blood , ” are  the 
last  words  of  the  dying  monarch  as  recorded  by  the  history. 
What  they  call  the  tomb  is  now  a crumbling  old  mosque ; 
from  which  Jew  and  Christian  are  excluded  alike.  As 
I saw  it,  blazing  in  the  sunshine,  with  the  purple  sky 
behind  it,  the  glare  only  served  to  mark  the  surrounding 
desolation  more  clearly.  The  lonely  walls  and  towers 
of  the  city  rose  hard  by.  Dreary  mountains,  and  declivi- 
ties of  naked  stones,  were  round  about ; they  are  burrowed 
with  holes  in  which  Christian  hermits  lived  and  died. 
You  see  one  green  place  far  down  in  the  valley : it  is 
called  En  Rogel.  Adonijah  feasted  there,  who  was  killed 
by  his  brother  Solomon,  for  asking  for  Abishag  for  wife. 
The  valley  of  Hinnom  skirts  the  hill : the  dismal  ravine 
was  a fruitful  garden  once.  Ahaz,  and  the  idolatrous  kings, 
sacrificed  to  idols  under  the  green  trees  there,  and  “ caused 
their  children  to  pass  through  the  fire.  ” On  the  mountain 
opposite,  Solomon,  with  the  thousand  women  of  his  harem, 
worshipped  the  gods  of  all  their  nations,  “ Ashtoreth,  ” 
and  “ Milcom,  and  Molech,  the  abomination  of  the  Ammon- 
ites.” An  enormous  charnel  - house  stands  on  the  hill 
where  the  bodies  of  dead  pilgrims  used  to  be  thrown ; and 
common  belief  has  fixed  upon  this  spot  as  the  Aceldama, 
which  Judas  purchased  with  the  price  of  his  treason. 
Thus  you  go  on  from  one  gloomy  place  to  another,  each 
seared  with  its  bloody  tradition.  Yonder  is  the  Temple, 
and  you  think  of  Titus’s  soldiery  storming  its  flaming 
porches,  and  entering  the  city,  in  the  savage  defence  of 
which  two  million  human  souls  perished.  It  was  on  Mount 
Zion  that  Godfrey  and  Tancred  had  their  camp : when  the 
Crusaders  entered  the  mosque,  they  rode  knee-deep  in  the 
blood  of  its  defenders,  and  of  the  women  and  children  who 
had  fled  thither  for  refuge  : it  was  the  victory  of  Joshua 
over  again.  Then,  after  three  days  of  butchery,  they  puri- 
fied the  desecrated  mosque  and  went  to  prayer.  In  the 
centre  of  this  history  of  crime  rises  up  the  Great  Murder 
of  all 

I need  say  no  more  about  this  gloomy  landscape.  After 

1 


452 


EA  8 TE  RN  8KE  TO  TIES. 


a man  has  seen  it  once,  he  never  forgets  it  — the  recollec- 
tion seems  to  me  to  follow  him  like  a remorse,  as  it  were 
to  implicate  him  in  the  awful  deed  which  was  done  there. 
Oh  ! with  what  unspeakable  shame  and  terror  should  one 
think  of  that  crime,  and  prostrate  himself  before  the  image 
of  that  Divine  Blessed  Sufferer. 

Of  course  the  first  visit  of  the  traveller  is  to  the  famous 
Church  of  the  Sepulchre. 

In  the  archway,  leading  from  the  street  to  the  court  and 
church,  there  is  a little  bazaar  of  Bethlehemites,  who  must 
interfere  considerably  with  the  commerce  of  the  Latin 
fathers.  These  men  bawl  to  you  from  their  stalls,  and 
hold  up  for  your  purchase  their  devotional  baubles, — 
bushels  of  rosaries  and  scented  beads,  and  carved  mother- 
of-pearl  shells,  and  rude  stone  salt-cellars  and  figures. 
Now  that  inns  are  established,  — envoys  of  these  pedlars 
attend  them  on  the  arrival  of  strangers,  squat  all  day  on 
the  terraces  before  your  door,  and  patiently  entreat  you  to 
buy  of  their  goods.  Some  worthies  there  are  who  drive  a 
good  trade  by  tattooing  pilgrims  with  the  five  crosses,  the 
arms  of  Jerusalem ; under  which  the  name  of  the  city  is 
punctured  in  Hebrew,  with  the  auspicious  year  of  the 
Hadji’s  visit.  Several  of  our  fellow-travellers  submitted 
to  this  queer  operation,  and  will  carry  to  their  grave  this 
relic  of  their  journey.  Some  of  them  had  engaged  a ser- 
vant, a man  at  Beyrout,  who  had  served  as  a lad  on  board 
an  English  ship  in  the  Mediterranean.  Above  his  tatooage 
of  the  five  crosses,  the  fellow  had  a picture  of  two  hearts 
united,  and  the  pathetic  motto,  “ Betsy  my  dear.”  He  had 
parted  with  Betsy  my  dear  five  years  before  at  Malta.  He 
had  known  a little  English  there,  but  had  forgotten  it. 
Betsy  my  dear  was  forgotten  too.  Only  her  name  remained 
engraved  with  a vain  simulacrum  of  constancy  on  the  faith- 
less rogue’s  skin : on  which  was  now  printed  another  token 
of  equally  effectual  devotion.  The  beads  and  the  tattooing, 
however,  seem  essential  ceremonies  attendant  on  the  Chris- 
tian pilgrim’s  visit ; for  many  hundreds  of  years,  doubtless, 
the  palmers  have  carried  off  with  them  these  simple  remi- 
niscences of  the  sacred  city.  That  symbol  has  been  en- 
graven upon  the  arms  of  how  many  Princes,  Knights,  and 
Crusaders  ! Don’t  you  see  a moral  as  applicable  to  them 
as  to  the  swindling  Beyrout  horseboy  ? I have  brought 
you  back  that  cheap  and  wholesome  apologue,  in  lieu  of  any 
of  the  Bethlehemite  shells  and  beads. 


FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO. 


453 


After  passing  through  the  porch  of  the  pedlars,  you  come 
to  the  court-yard  in  front  of  the  noble  old  towers  of  the 
Church  of  the  Sepulchre,  with  pointed  arches  and  Gothic 
traceries,  rude,  but  rich  and  picturesque  in  design.  Here 
crowds  are  waiting  in  the  sun,  until  it  shall  please  the 
Turkish  guardians  of  the  church-door  to  open.  A swarm 
of  beggars  sit  here  permanently  : old  tattered  hags  with 
long  veils,  ragged  children,  blind  old  bearded  beggars,  who 
raise  up  a chorus  of  prayers  for  money,  holding  out  their 
wooden  bowls,  or  clattering  with  their  sticks  on  the  stones, 
or  pulling  your  coat-skirts  and  moaning  and  whining;  yonder 
sit  a group  of  coal-black  Coptish  pilgrims,  with  robes  and 


turbans  of  dark  blue,  fumbling  their  perpetual  beads.  A 
party  of  Arab  Christians  have  come  up  from  their  tents  or 
villages : the  men  half-naked,  looking  as  if  they  were 
beggars,  or  banditti,  upon  occasion ; the  women  have  flung 
their  head-cloths  back,  and  are  looking  at  the  strangers 
under  their  tattooed  eyebrows.  As  for  the  strangers,  there 
is  no  need  to  describe  them  ; that  figure  of  the  Englishman, 
with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  has  been  seen  all  the  world 
over  : staring  down  the  crater  of  Vesuvius,  or  into  a Hotten- 
tot kraal — or  at  a pyramid,  or  a Parisian  coffee-house,  or 
an  Esquimaux  hut  — with  the  same  insolent  calmness  of 
demeanor.  When  the  gates  of  the  church  are  open,  he 


454 


EASTERN  SKETCHES. 


elbows  in  among  the  first,  and  flings  a few  scornful  piasters 
to  the  Turkish  door-keeper ; and  gazes  round  easily  at  the 
place,  in  which  people  of  every  other  nation  in  the  world 
are  in  tears,  or  in  rapture,  or  wonder.  He  has  never  seen 
the  place  until  now,  and  looks  as  indifferent  as  the  Turkish 
guardian  who  sits  in  the  doorway,  and  swears  at  the  people 
as  they  pour  in. 

Indeed,  I believe  it  is  impossible  for  us  to  comprehend 
the  source  and  nature  of  the  Roman  Catholic  devotion.  I 
once  went  into  a church  at  Rome  at  the  request  of  a Cath- 
olic friend,  who  described  the  interior  to  be  so  beautiful 
and  glorious,  that  he  thought  ( he  said  ) it  must  be  like 
heaven  itself.  I found  walls  hung  with  cheap  stripes  of 
pink  and  white  calico,  altars  covered  with  artificial  flowers, 
a number  of  wax-candles,  and  plenty  of  gilt-paper  orna- 
ments. The  place  seemed  to  me  like  a shabby  theatre ; and 
here  was  my  friend  on  his  knees  at  my  side,  plunged  in  a 
rapture  of  wonder  and  devotion. 

I could  get  no  better  impression  out  of  this  the  most 
famous  church  in  the  world.  The  deceits  are  too  open  and 
flagrant;  the  inconsistencies  and  contrivances  too  mon- 
strous. It  is  hard  even  to  sympathize  with  persons  who 
receive  them  as  genuine ; and  though  ( as  I know  and  saw 
in  the  case  of  my  friend  at  Rome  ) the  believer’s  life  may 
be  passed  in  the  purest  exercise  of  faith  and  charity,  it  is 
difficult  even  to  give  him  credit  for  honesty,  so  barefaced 
seem  the  impostures  which  he  professes  to  believe  and 
reverence.  It  costs  one  no  small  effort  even  to  admit  the 
possibility  of  a Catholic’s  credulity : to  share  in  his  rapture 
and  devotion  is  still  further  out  of  your  power ; and  I 
could  get  from  this  church  no  other  emotions  but  those  of 
shame  and  pain. 

The  legends  with  which  the  Greeks  and  Latins  have  gar- 
nished the  spot  have  no  more  sacredness  for  you  than  the 
hideous,  unreal,  barbaric  pictures  and  ornanents  which  they 
have  lavished  on  it.  Look  at  the  fervor  with  which  pil- 
grims kiss  and  weep  over  a tawdry  Gothic  painting,  scarcely 
better  fashioned  than  an  idol  in  a South  Sea  Morai.  The 
histories  which  they  are  called  upon  to  reverence  are  of  the 
same  period  and  order,  — savage  Gothic  caricatures.  In 
either  a saint  appears  in  the  costume  of  the  middle  ages, 
and  is  made  to  accommodate  himself  to  the  fashion  of  the 
tenth  century. 

The  different  churches  battle  for  the  possession  of  the 


FROM  CORN  HILL  TO  CAIRO. 


455 


various  relics.  The  Greeks  show  you  the  Tomb  of  .Mel- 
chisedec,  while  the  Armenians  possess  the  Chapel  of  the 
Penitent  Thief ; the  poor  Copts  (with  their  little  cabin  of  a 
chapel)  can  yet  boast  of  possessing  the  thicket  in  which 
Abraham  caught  the  Earn,  which  was  to  serve  as  the  vicar 
of  Isaac  ; the  Latins  point  out  the  Pillar  to  which  the  Lord 
was  bound.  The  place  of  the  Invention  of  the  Sacred 
Cross,  the  Fissure  in  the  Eock  of  Golgotha,  the  Tomb  of 
Adam  himself  — are  all  here  within  a few  yards*  space. 
You  mount  a few  steps,  and  are  told  it  is  Calvary  upon 
which  you  stand.  All  this  in  the  midst  of  flaring  candles, 
reeking  incense,  savage  pictures  of  Scripture  story,  or  por- 
traits of  kings  who  have  been  benefactors  to  the  various 
chapels  ; a din  and  clatter  of  strange  people,  — these  weep- 
ing, bowing,  kissing,  — those  utterly  indifferent ; and  the 
priests  clad  in  outlandish  robes,  snuffling  and  chanting  in- 
comprehensible litanies,  robing,  disrobing,  lighting  up 
candles  or  extinguishing  them,  advancing,  retreating,  bow- 
ing with  all  sorts  of  unfamiliar  genuflexions.  Had  it 
pleased  the  inventors  of  the  Sepulchre  topography  to  have 
fixed  on  fifty  more  spots  of  ground  as  the  places  of  the 
events  of  the  sacred  story,  the  pilgrim  would  have  believed 
just  as  now.  The  priest’s  authority  has  so  mastered  his 
faith,  that  it  accommodates  itself  to  any  demand  upon  it ; 
and  the  English  stranger  looks  on  the  scene,  for  the  first 
time,  with  a feeling  of  scorn,  bewilderment,  and  shame  at 
that  grovelling  credulity,  those  strange  rites  and  ceremonies, 
that  almost  confessed  imposture. 

Jarred  and  distracted  by  these,  the  Church  of  the  Holy 
Sepulchre,  for  some  time,  seems  to  an  Englishman  the  least 
sacred  spot  about  Jerusalem.  It  is  the  lies,  and  the 
legends,  and  the  priests,  and  their  quarrels,  and  their 
ceremonies,  which  keep  the  Holy  Place  out  of  sight.  A 
man  has  not  leisure  to  view  it,  for  the  brawling  of  the 
guardians  of  the  spot.  The  Eoman  conquerors,  they  say, 
raised  up  a statue  of  Venus  in  this  sacred  place,  intending 
to  destroy  all  memory  of  it.  I don’t  think  the  heathen 
was  as  criminal  as  the  Christian  is  now.  To  deny  and  dis- 
believe, is  not  so  bad  as  to  make  belief  a ground  to  cheat 
upon.  The  liar  Ananias  perished  for  that ; and  yet  out  of 
these  gates,  where  angels  may  have  kept  watch  — out  of 
the  tomb  of  Christ  — Christian  priests  issue  with  a lie  in 
their  hands.  What  a place  to  choose  for  imposture,  good 
God ! to  sully,  with  brutal  struggles  for  self-aggrandize- 
ment, or  shameful  schemes  of  gain  ! 


456 


EASTERN  SKETCHES.  . 


The-  situation  of  the  Tomb  ( into  which,  be  it  authentic 
or  not,  no  man  can  enter  without  a shock  of  breathless  fear, 
and  deep  and  awful  self-humiliation),  must  have  struck  all 
travellers.  It  stands  in  the  centre  of  the  arched  rotunda, 
which  is  common  to  all  denominations,  and  from  which 
branch  off  the  various  chapels  belonging  to  each  particular 
sect.  In  the  Coptic  Chapel  I saw  one  coal-black  Copt,  in 
blue  robes,  cowering  in  the  little  Cabin,  surrounded  by  dingy 
lamps,  barbarous  pictures,  and  cheap,  faded  trumpery.  In 
the  Latin  Church  there  was  no  service  going  on,  only  two 
fathers  dusting  the  mouldy  gewgaws  along  the  brown  walls, 
and  laughing  to  one  another.  The  gorgeous  church  of  the 
Fire  impostors,  hard  by,  was  always  more  fully  attended  ; as 
was  that  of  their  wealthy  neighbors,  the  Armenians.  These 
three  main  sects  hate  each  other ; their  quarrels  are  inter- 
minable ; each  bribes  and  intrigues  with  the  heathen  lords 
of  the  soil,  to  the  prejudice  of  his  neighbor.  Now  it  is  the 
Latins  who  interfere,  and  allow  the  common  church  to  go 
to  ruin,  because  the  Greeks  purpose  to  roof  it;  now  the 
Greeks  demolish  a monastry  on  Mount  Olivet,  and  leave 
the  ground  to  the  Turks,  rather  than  allow  the  Armenians 
to  possess  it.  On  another  occasion,  the  Greeks  having- 
mended  the  Armenian  steps,  which  led  to  the  (so-called) 
Cave  of  the  Nativity  at  Bethlehem,  the  latter  asked  for 
permission  to  destroy  the  work  of  the  Greeks,  and  did  so. 
And  so  round  this  sacred  spot,  the  centre  of  Christendom, 
the  representatives  of  the  three  great  sects  worship  under 
one  roof,  and  hate  each  other  ! 

Above  the  Tomb  of  the  Saviour,  the  cupola  is  open , and 
you  see  the  blue  sky  overhead.  Which  of  the  builders 
was  it  that  had  the  grace  to  leave  that  under  the  high  pro- 
tection of  heaven,  and  not  confine  it  under  the  mouldering 
old  domes  and  roofs,  which  cover  so  much  selfishness,  and 
uncharitableness,  and  imposture ! 

We  went  to  Bethlehem,  too ; and  saw  the  apocryphal 
wonders  there. 

Five  mile’s  ride  brings  you  from  Jerusalem  to  it,  over 
naked  wavy  hills  ; the  aspect  of  which,  however,  grows 
more  cheerful  as  you  approach  the  famous  village.  We 
passed  the  Convent  of  Mar  Elyas  on  the  road,  walled  and 
barred  like  a fort.  In  spite  of  its  strength,  however,  it  has 
more  than  once  been  stormed  by  the  Arabs,  and  the  luck- 
less fathers  within  put  to  death.  Hard  by  was  Rebecca’s 


FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO . 


457 


Well : a dead  body  was  lying  there,  and  crowds  of  male 
and  female  mourners  dancing  and  howling  round  it.  Now 
and  then  a little  troop  of  savage  scowling  horsemen  — a 
shepherd  driving  his  black  sheep,  his  gun  over  his  shoulder 

— a troop  of  camels — "or  of  women,  with  long  blue  robes 
and  white  veils,  bearing  pitchers,  and  staring  at  the  stran- 
gers with  their  great  solemn  eyes  — or  a company  of  labor- 
ers, with  their  donkeys,  bearing  grain  or  grapes  to  the  city, 

— met  us  and  enlivened  the  little  ride.  It  was  a busy  and 
cheerful  scene.  The  church  of  the  Nativity,  with  the 
adjoining  Convents,  forms  a vast  and  noble  Christian 
structure.  A party  of  travellers  were  going  to  the  Jordan 
that  day,  and  scores  of  their  followers  — of  the  robbing 
Arabs,  who  profess  to  protect  them,  ( magnificent  figures 
some  of  them,  with  flowing  haicks  and  turbans,  with  long 
guns  and  scimitars,  and  wretched  horses,  covered  with 
gaudy  trappings),  were  standing  on  the  broad  pavement 
before  the  little  Convent  gate.  It  was  such  a scene  as 
Cattermole  might  paint.  Knights  and  Crusaders  may  have 
witnessed  a similar  one.  You  could  fancy  them  issuing 
out  of  the  narrow  little  portal,  and  so  greeted  by  the 
swarms  of  swarthy  clamorous  women  and  merchants  and 
children. 

The  scene  within  the  building  was  of  the  same  Gothic 
character.  We  were  entertained  by  the  Superior  of  the 
Greek  Convent,  in  a fine  refectory,  with  ceremonies  and 
hospitalities  that  pilgrims  of  the  middle  ages  might  have 
witnessed.  We  were  shown  over  the  magnificent  Barbaric 
Church,  visited  of  course  the  Grotto  where  the  Blessed 
Nativity  is  said  to  have  taken  place,  and  the  rest  of  the 
idols  set  up  for  worship  by  the  clumsy  legend.  When  the 
visit  was  concluded,  the  party  going  to  the  Dead  Sea  filed 
off  with  their  armed  attendants  ; each  individual  traveller 
making  as  brave  a show  as  he  could,  and  personally  accou- 
tred with  warlike  swords  and  pistols.  The  picturesque 
crowds,  and  the  Arabs  and  the  horsemen,  in  the  sunshine ; 
the  noble  old  convent,  and  the  gray-bearded  priests,  with 
their  feast ; and  the  church,  and  its  pictures  and  columns, 
and  incense ; the  wide  brown  hills  spreading  round  the 
village  ; with  the  accidents  of  the  road,  — flocks  and  shep- 
herds, wells  and  funerals,  and  camel-trains,  — have  left  on 
my  mind  a brilliant,  romantic,  and  cheerful  picture.  But 

you,  Dear  M , without  visiting  the  place,  have  imagined 

one  far  finer ; and  Bethlehem,  where  the  Holy  Child  was 


458 


EASTERN  SKETCHES. 


born,  and  the  angels  sang,  “ Glory  to  God  in  the  highest, 
and  on  earth  peace  and  good-will  towards  men,  ” is  the 
most  sacred  and  beautiful  spot  in  the  earth  to  you. 

By  far  the  most  comfortable  quarters  in  Jerusalem  are 
those  of  the  Armenians,  in  their  convent  of  St.  James. 
Wherever  we  have  been,  these  Eastern  quakers  look  grave, 
and  jolly,  and  sleek.  Their  convent  at  Mount  Zion  is  big 
enough  to  contain  two  or  three  thousand  of  their  faithful ; 
and  their  church  is  ornamented  by  the  most  rich  and 
hideous  gifts  ever  devised  by  uncouth  piety.  Instead  of  a 
bell,  the  fat  monks  of  the  convent  beat  huge  noises  on  a 
board,  and  drub  the  faithful  in  to  prayers.  I never  saw 
men  more  lazy  and  rosy,  than  these  reverend  fathers,  kneel- 
ing in  their  comfortable  matted  church,  or  sitting  in  easy 
devotion.  Pictures,  images,  gilding,  tinsel,  wax-candles, 
twinkle  all  over  the  place  ; and  ten  thousand  ostrichs’  eggs 
(or  any  lesser  number  you  may  allot)  dangle  from  the 
vaulted  ceiling.  There  were  great  numbers  of  people  at 
worship  in  this  gorgeous  church ; they  went  on  their 
knees,  kissing  the  walls  with  much  fervor,  and  paying  rev- 
erence to  the  most  precious  relic  of  the  convent,  — the 
chair  of  St.  James,  their  patron,  the  first  Bishop  of  Jeru- 
salem. 

The  chair  pointed  out  with  greatest  pride  in  the  church 
of  the  Latin  Convent,  is  that  shabby  red  damask  one  appro- 
priated to  the  French  Consul,  — the  representative  of  the 
king  of  that  nation,  — and  the  protection  which  it  has  from 
time  immemorial  accorded  to  the  Christians  of  the  Latin 
rite  in  Syria.  All  French  writers  and  travellers  speak  of 
this  protection  with  delightful  complacency.  Consult  the 
French  books  of  travel  on  the  subject,  and  any  Frenchman 
whom  you  may  meet:  he  says,  u La  France , Monsieur , de 
tons  les  temps  protege  les  Chretiens  d ’ Orient and  the 
little  fellow  looks  round  the  church  with  a sweep  of  the 
arm,  and  protects  it  accordingly.  It  is  bon  ton  for  them 
to  go  in  processions ; and  you  see  them  on  such  errands, 
marching  with  long  candles,  as  gravely  as  may  be.  But  I 
have  never  been  able  to  edify  myself  with  their  devotion  ; 
and  the  religious  outpourings  of  Lamartine  and  Chateau- 
briand, which  we  have  all  been  reading  apropos  of  the 
journey  we  are  to  make,  have  inspired  me  with  an  emotion 
anything  but  respectful.  “Voyez  comme  M.  de  Chateau- 
briand prie  Dieu , ” the  Viscount’s  eloquence  seems  always 


FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO . 


459 


to  say.  There  is  a sanctified  grimace  about  the  little 
French  pilgrim  which  it  is  very  difficult  to  contemplate 
gravely. 

The  pictures,  images,  and  ornaments  of  the  principal 
Latin  convent  are  quite  mean  and  poor,  compared  with  the 
wealth  of  the  Armenians.  The  convent  is  spacious,  but 
squalid.  Many  hopping  and  crawling  plagues  are  said  to 
attack  the  skins  of  pilgrims  who  sleep  there.  It  is  laid  out 
in  courts  and  galleries,  the  mouldy  doors  of  which  are  deco- 
rated with  twopenny  pictures  of  favorite  saints  and  martyrs : 
and  so  great  is  the  shabbiness  and  laziness,  that  you  might 
fancy  yourself  in  a convent  in  Italy.  Brown-clad  fathers, 
dirty,  bearded,  and  sallow,  go  gliding  about  the  corridors. 
The  relic  manufactory  before  mentioned  carries  on  a con- 
siderable business,  and  despatches  ‘bales  of  shells,  crosses, 
and  beads  to  believers  in  Europe.  These  constitute  the 
chief  revenue  of  the  convent  now.  La  France  is  no  longer 
the  most  Christian  kingdom,  and  her  protection  of  the 
Latins  is  not  good  for  much  since  Charles  X.  was  expelled ; 
and  Spain,  which- used  likewise  to  be  generous  on  occasions 
(the  gifts,  arms,  candlesticks,  baldaquins  of  the  Spanish 
sovereigns  figure  pretty  frequently  in  the  various  Latin 
chapels),  has  been  stingy  since  the  late  disturbances,  the 
spoliation  of  the  clergy,  &c.  After  we  had  been  taken  to 
see  the  humble  curiosities  of  the  place,  the  Prior  treated  us 
in  his  wooden  parlor  with  dittle  glasses  of  pink  Rosolio, 
brought  with  many  bows  and  genuflexions  by  his  reverence 
the  convent  butler. 

After  this  community  of  holy  men,  the  most  important 
perhaps  is  the  American  Convent,  a Protestant  congrega- 
tion of  Independents  chiefly,  who  deliver  tracts,  propose  to 
make  converts,  have  meetings  of  their  own,  and  also  swell 
the  little  congregation  that  attends  the  Anglican  service. 
I have  mentioned  our  fellow-traveller,  the  Consul-General 
for  Syria  of  the  United  States.  He  was  a tradesman,  who 
had  made  a considerable  fortune,  and  lived  at  a country- 
house  in  comfortable  retirement.  But  his  opinion  is,  that 
the  prophecies  of  Scripture  are  about  to  be  accomplished  ; 
that  the  day  of  the  return  of  the  Jews  is  at  hand,  and  the 
glorification  of  the  restored  Jerusalem.  He  is  to  witness 
this  — he  and  a favorite  dove  with  which  he  travels;  and 
he  forsook  home  and  comfortable  coimtry-house,  in  order  to 
make  this  journey.  He  has  no  other  knowledge  of  Syria 
but  what  he  derives  from  the  prophecy;  and  this  (as  he 


460 


EASTERN  SKETCHES . 


takes  the  office  gratis)  has  been  considered  a sufficient 
reason  for  his  appointment  by  the  United  States  Govern- 
ment. As  soon  as  he  arrived,  he  sent  and  demanded  an 
interview  with  the  Pasha ; explained  to  him  his  interpre- 
tation of  the  Apocalypse,  in  which  he  has  discovered  that 
the  Five  Powers  and  America  are  about  to  intervene  in 
Syrian  affairs,  and  the  infallible  return  of  the  Jews  to  Pal- 
estine. The  news  must  have  astonished  the  Lieutenant  of 
the  Sublime  Porte;  and  since  the  days  of  the  Kingdom  of 
Munster,  under  his  Anabaptist  Majesty,  John  of  Leyden, 
I doubt  whether  any  government  has  received  or  appointed 
so  queer  an  ambassador.  The  kind,  worthy,  simple  man 
took  me  to  his  temporary  consulate-house  at  the  American 
Missionary  Establishment ; and,  under  pretence  of  treating 
me  to  white  wine,  expounded  his  ideas ; talked  of  futurity 
as  he  would  about  an  article  in  The  Times ; and  had  no 
more  doubt  of  seeing  a divine  kingdom  established  in 
Jerusalem  than  you  that  there  will  be  a levee  next  spring 
at  St.  James’s.  The  little  room  in  which  we  sat  was 
padded  with  missionary  tracts,  but  I heard  of  scarce  any 
converts  — not  more  than  are  made  by  our  own  Episcopal 
establishment. 

But  if  the  latter’s  religious  victories  are  small,  and  very 
few  people  are  induced  by  the  American  tracts,  and  the 
English  preaching  and  catechising,  to  forsake  their  own 
manner  of  worshipping  the  Divine  Being  in  order  to  follow 
ours ; yet  surely  our  religious  colony  of  men  and  women 
can’t  fail  to  do  good,  by  the  sheer  force  of  good  example, 
pure  life,  and  kind  offices.  The  ladies  of  the  mission  have 
numbers  of  clients,  of  all  persuasions,  in  the  town,  to 
whom  they  extend  their  charities.  Each  of  their  houses  is 
a model  of  neatness,  and  a dispensary  of  gentle  kindnesses ; 
and  the  ecclesiastics  have  formed  a modest  centre  of  civili- 
zation in  the  place.  A dreary  joke  was  made  in  the  House 
of  Commons  about  Bishop  Alexander  and  the  Bishopess  his 
lady,  and . the  Bishoplings,  his  numerous  children,  who 
were  said  to  have  scandalized  the  people  of  Jerusalem. 
That  sneer  evidently  came  from  the  Latins  and  Greeks ; 
for  what  could  the  Jews  and  Turks  care  because  an  Eng- 
lish clergyman  had  a wife  and  children  as  their  own 
priests  have  ? There  was  no  sort  of  ill-will  exhibited 
towards  them,  as  far  as  I could  learn ; and  I saw  the 
Bishop’s  children  riding  about  the  town  as  safely  as  they 
could  about  Hyde  Park.  All  Europeans,  indeed,  seemed 


FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO . 


461 


to  me  to  be  received  with  forbearance,  and  almost  cour- 
tesy, within  the  walls.  As  I was  going  about  making 
sketches,  the  people  would  look  on  very  good-humoredly, 
without  offering  the  least  interruption ; nay,  two  or  three 
were  quite  ready  to  stand  still  for  such  a humble  portrait  as 
my  pencil  could  make  of  them  ; and  the  sketch  done,  it  was 
passed  from  one  person  to  another,  each  making  his  com- 
ments, and  signifying  a very  polite  approval.  Here  are  a 
pair  of  them,  Fath  Allah  and  Ameenut  Daoodee  his  father, 
horse-dealers  by  trade,  who  came  and  sat  with  us  at  the  inn, 
and  smoked  pipes  (the  sun  being  down),  while  the  original 
of  this  masterpiece  was  made.  With  the  Arabs  outside  the 
walls,  however,  and  the  freshly-arriving  country -people, 


this  politeness  was  not  so  much  exhibited.  There  was  a 
certain  tattooed  girl,  with  black  eyes  and  huge  silver  ear 
rings,  and  a chin  delicately  picked  out  with  blue,  who 
formed  one  of  a group  of  women  outside  the  great  convent, 
whose  likeness  I longed  to  carry  off  ; — there  was  a woman 
with  a little  child,  with  wondering  eyes,  drawing  water 
at  the  pool  of  Siloam,  in  such  an  attitude  and  dress  as 
Rebecca  may  have  had  when  Isaac’s  lieutenant  asked  her 
for  drink  : — both  of  these  parties  standing  still  for  half  a 
minute,  at  the  next  cried  out  for  backsheesh  ; and  not  con- 
tent with  the  live  piastres  which  I gave  them  individually, 
cried  out  for  more,  and  summoned  their  friends,  who 


462 


EASTERN  SKETCHES. 


screamed  out  backsheesh  too.  I was  pursued  into  the  con- 
vent by  a dozen  howling  women  calling  for  pay,  barring 
the  door  against  them,  to  the  astonishment  of  the  worthy 
papa  who  kept  it;  and  at  Miriam’s  Well  the  women  were 
joined  by  a man  with  a large  stick,  who  backed  their 
petition.  But  him  we  could  afford  to  laugh  at,  for  we  were 
two,  and  had  sticks  likewise. 

In  the  village  of  Siloam  I would  not  recommend  the 
artist  to  loiter.  A colony  of  ruffians  inhabit  the  dismal 
place,  who  have  guns  as  well  as  sticks  at  need.  Their  dogs 
howl  after  the  strangers  as  they  pass  through  ; and  over 
the  parapets  of  their  walls  you  are  saluted  by  the  scowls  of 
a villanous  set  of  countenances,  that  it  is  not  good  to  see 
with  one  pair  of  eyes.  They  shot  a man  at  mid-day  at  a 
few  hundred  yards  from  the  gates  while  we  were  at  Jeru- 
salem, and  no  notice  was  taken  of  the  murder.  Hordes  of 
Arab  robbers  infest  the  neighborhood  of  the  city,  with  the 
Sheikhs  of  whom  travellers  make  terms  when  minded  to 
pursue  their  journey.  I never  could  understand  why  the 
walls  stopped  these  warriors  if  they  had  a mind  to  plunder 
the  city,  for  there  are  but  a hundred  and  fifty  men  in  the 
garrison  to  man  the  long,  lonely  lines  of  defence. 

I have  seen  only  in  Titian’s  pictures  those  magnificent 
purple  shadows  in  which  the  hills  round  about  lay,  as  the 
the  dawn  rose  faintly  behind  them ; and  we  looked  at 
Olivet  for  the  last  time  from  our  terrace,  where  we  were 
awaiting  the  arrival  of  the  horses  that  were  to  carry  us  to 
Jaffa.  A yellow  moon  was  still  blazing  in  the  midst  of 
countless  brilliant  stars  overhead ; the  nakedness  and 
misery  of  the  surrounding  city  were  hidden  in  that  beau- 
tiful rosy  atmosphere  of  mingling  night  and  dawn.  The 
city  never  looked  so  noble ; the  mosques,  domes,  and  min- 
arets rising  up  into  the  calm,  starlit  sky. 

By  the  gate  of  Bethlehem  there  stands  one  palm-tree, 
and  a house  with  three  domes.  Put  these  and  the  huge  old 
Gothic  gate  as  a background  dark  against  the  yellowing 
eastern  sky  : the  foreground  is  a deep  gray : as  you  look 
into  it  dark  forms  of  horsemen  come  out  of  the  twilight  : 
now  there  come  lanterns,  more  horsemen,  a litter  with 
mules,  a crowd  of  Arab  horseboys  and  dealers  accompany- 
ing their  beasts  to  the  gate ; all  the  members  of  our  party 
come  up  by  twos  and  threes ; and,  at  last,  the  great  gate 
opens  just  before  sunrise,  and  we  get  into  the  gray  plains. 


FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO. 


463 


Oh ! the  luxury  of  an  English  saddle ! An  English  servant 
of  one  of  the  gentlemen  of  the  mission  procured  it  for  me, 
on  the  back  of  a little  mare,  which  (as  I am  a light  weight) 
did  not  turn  a hair  in  the  course  of  the  day’s  march  — and 
after  we  got  quit  of  the  ugly,  stony,  clattering,  mountainous 
Abou  G-osh  district,  into  the  fair  undulating  plain,  which 
stretches  to  Eamleh,  carried  me  into  the  town  at  a pleasant 
hand-gallop.  A negro,  of  preternatural  ugliness,  in  a yellow 
gown,  with  a crimson  handkerchief  streaming  over  his 
head,  digging  his  shovel  spurs  into  the  lean  animal  he 
rode,  and  driving  three  others  before  — swaying  backwards 
and  forwards  on  his  horse,  now  embracing  his  ears,  and 
now  almost  under  his  belly,  screaming  “yallah”  with  the 
most  frightful  shrieks,  and  singing  country  songs  — gal- 
loped along  ahead  of  me.  I acquired  one  of  his  poems 
pretty  well,  and  could  imitate  his  shriek  accurately ; but  I 
shall  not  have  the  pleasure  of  singing  it  to  you  in  England. 
I had  forgotten  the  delightful  dissonance  two  days  after, 
both  the  negro’s  and  that  of  a real  Arab  minstrel,  a donkey- 
driver  accompanying  our  baggage,  who  sang  and  grinned 
with  the  most  amusing  good-humor. 

We  halted,  in  the  middle  of  the  day,  in  a little  wood  of 
olive-trees,  which  forms  almost  the  only  shelter  between 
Jaffa  and  Jerusalem,  except  that  afforded  by  the  orchards 
in  the  odious  village  of  Abou  Gosh,  through  which  we 
went  at  a double-quick  pace.  Under  the  olives,  or  up  in 
the  branches,  some  of  our  friends  took  a siesta.  I have  a 
sketch  of  four  of  them  so  employed.  Two  of  them  were 
dead  within  a month  of  the  fatal  Syrian  fever.  But  we  did 
not  know  how  near  fate  was  to  us  then.  Fires  were  lighted, 
and  fowls  and  eggs  divided,  and  tea  and  coffee  served 
round  in  tin  panikins,  and  here  we  lighted  pipes,  and 
smoked  and  laughed  at  our  ease.  I believe  everybody  was 
happy  to  be  out  of  Jerusalem.  The  impression  I have  of  it 
now  is  of  ten  days  past  in  a fever. 

We  all  found  quarters  in  the  Greek  convent  at  Eamleh, 
where  the  monks  served  us  a supper  on  a terrace,  in  a 
pleasant  sunset ; a beautiful  and  cheerful  landscape  stretch- 
ing around  ; the  land  in  graceful  undulations,  the  towers 
and  mosques  rosy  in  the  sunset,  with  no  lack  of  verdure, 
especially  of  graceful  palms.  Jaffa  was  nine  miles  off. 
As  we  rode  all  the  morning  we  had  been  accompanied  by 
the  smoke  of  our  steamer,  twenty  miles  off  at  sea. 

The  convent  is  a huge  caravanserai;  only  three  or  four 


464 


EASTERN  SKETCHES . 


monks  dwell  in  it,  the  ghostly  hotel-keepers  of  the  place. 
The  horses  were  tied  up  and  fed  in  the  court-yard,  into 
which  we  rode ; above  were  the  living-rooms,  where  there 
is  accommodation,  not  only  for  an  unlimited  number  of  pil- 
grims, but  for  a vast  and  innumerable  host  of  hopping  and 
crawling  things,  who  usually  persist  in  partaking  of  the 
traveller’s  bed.  Let  all  thin-skinned  travellers  in  the  East 
be  warned  on  no  account  to  travel  without  the  admirable 
invention  described  in  Mr.  Eellowes’  book;  nay,  possibly 
invented  by  that  enterprising  and  learned  traveller.  You 
make  a sack,  of  calico  or  linen,  big  enough  for  the  body, 
appended  to  which  is  a closed  chimney  of  muslin,  stretched 
out  by  cane -hoops,  and  fastened  up  to  a beam,  or  against 
the  wall.  You  keep  a sharp  eye  to  see  that  no  flea  or  bug 
is  on  the  look-out,  and  when  assured  of  this,  you  pop  into 
the  bag,  tightly  closing  the  orifice  after  you.  This  admi- 
rable bug-disappointer  I tried  at  Ramleh,  and  had  the  only 
undisturbed  night’s  rest  I enjoyed  in  the  east.  To  be  sure 
it  was  a short  night,  for  our  party  were  stirring  at  one 
o’clock,  and  those  who  got  up  insisted  on  talking  and  keep- 
ing awake  those  who  inclined  to  sleep.  But  I shall  never 
forget  the  terror  inspired  in  my  mind,  being  shut  up  in 
the  bug-disappointer,  when  a facetious  lay-brother  of  the 
convent  fell  upon  me  and  began  tickling  me.  I never  had 
the  courage  again  to  try  the  anti-flea  contrivance,  prefering, 
the  friskiness  of  those  animals  to  the  sports  of  such  a 
greasy  grinning  wag  as  my  friend  at  Ramleh. 

In  the  morning,  and  long  before  sunrise,  our  little  cara- 
van was  in  marching  order  again.  We  went  out  with 
lanterns  and  shouts  of  “ yallah  ” through  the  narrow 
streets,  and  issued  into  the  plain,  where,  though  there  was 
no  moon,  there  were  blazing  stars  shining  steadily  over- 
head. They  become  friends  to  a man  who  travels,  espec- 
ially under  the  clear  Eastern  sky ; whence  they  look  down 
as  if  protecting  you,  solemn,  yellow,  and  refulgent.  They 
seem  nearer  to  you  than  in  Europe  ; larger  and  more  awful. 
So  we  rode  on  till  the  dawn  rose,  and  Jaffa  came  in  view. 
The  friendly  ship  was  lying  out  in  waiting  for  us ; the 
horses  were  given  up  to  their  owners : and  in  the  midst  of 
a crowd  of  naked  beggars,  and  a perfect  storm  of  curses 
and  yells  for  backsheesh,  our  party  got  into  their  boats,  and 
to  the  ship,  where  we  were  welcomed  by  the  very  best  cap- 
tain that  ever  sailed  upon  this  maritime  globe,  namely, 
Captain  Samuel  Lewis  of  the  Peninsular  and  Oriental  Com- 
pany’s Service. 


) 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

FROM  JAFFA  TO  ALEXANDRIA. 

[ From  the  Provider's  Log-Book .] 

LL  OF  FARE,  October  12th. 
Mulligatawny  Soup. 

Salt  Fish  and  Egg  Sauce. 

Roast  Haunch  of  Mutton. 

Boiled  Shoulder  and  Onion 
Sauce. 

Boiled  Beef. 

Roast  Fowls. 

Pillau  ditto. 

Ham. 

Haricot  Mutton. 

Curry  and  Rice. 

Cabbage. 

French  Beans. 

Boiled  Potatoes. 

Baked  ditto. 

Damson  Tart. 

Currant  ditto. 

Rice  Puddings. 

Currant  Fritters. 

We  were  just  at  the  port’s  mouth  — and  could  see  the 
towers  and  buildings  of  Alexandria  rising  purple  against 
the  sunset,  when  the  report  of  a gun  came  booming  over 
the  calm  golden  water ; and  we  heard,  with  much  mortifica- 
tion, that  we  had  no  chance  of  getting  pratique  that  night. 
Already  the  ungrateful  passengers  had  begun  to  tire  of  the 
ship, — though  in  our  absence  in  Syria  it  had  been  carefully 
cleansed  and  purified  ; though  it  was  cleared  of  the  swarm- 
ing Jews  who  had  infested  the  decks  all  the  way  from 
Constantinople ; and  though  we  had  been  feasting  and  ca- 
rousing in  the  manner  described  above. 

But  very  early  next  morning  we  bore  into  the  harbor, 
busy  with  a great  quantity  of  craft.  We  passed  huge 
black  hulks  of  mouldering  men-of-war,  from  the  sterns  of 
30  465 


466 


EASTERN  SKETCHES. 


which  trailed  the  dirty  red  flag,  with  the  star  and  crescent ; 
boats,  manned  with  red-capped  seamen,  and  captains  and 
steersmen  in  beards  and  tarbooshes,  passed  continually 
among  these  old  hulks,  the  rowers  bending  to  their  oars,  so 
that  at  each  stroke  they  disappeared  bodily  in  the  boat. 
Besides  these,  there  was  a large  fleet  of  country  ships,  and 
stars  and  stripes,  and  tricolors,  and  Union  Jacks  ; and  many 
active  steamers,  of  the  French  and  English  companies, 
shooting  in  and  out  of  the  harbor,  or  moored  in  the  briny 
waters.  The  ship  of  our  company,  the  “ Oriental,  ” lay 
there  — a palace  upon  the  brine,  and  some  of  the  Pasha’s 
steam-vessels  likewise,  looking  very  like  Christian  boats ; 
but  it  was  queer  to  look  at  some  unintelligible  Turkish 
flourish  painted  on  the  stern,  and  the  long-tailed  Arabian 
hieroglyphics  gilt  on  the  paddle-boxes.  Our  dear  friend 
and  comrade  of  Bey  rout  ( if  we  may  be  permitted  to  call 
her  so ),  H.  M.  S.  “ Trump,  ” was  in  the  harbor ; and  the 
captain  of  that  gallant  ship,  coming  to  greet  us,  drove  some 
of  us  on  shore  in  his  gig. 

I had  been  preparing  myself  over  night,  by  the  help  of 
a cigar  and  a moonlight  contemplation  on  deck,  for  sensa- 
tions on  landing  in  Egypt.  I was  ready  to  yield  myself  up 
with  solemnity  to  the  mystic  grandeur  of  the  scene  of  initi- 
ation. Pompey’s  Pillar  must  stand  like  a mountain,  in  a 
yellow  plain,  surrounded  by  a grove  of  obelisks  as  tall 
as  palm-trees.  Placid  sphinxes  brooding  o’er  the  Nile  — 
mighty  Memnonian  countenances  calm  — had  revealed 
Egypt  to  me  in  a sonnet  of  Tennyson’s,  and  I was  ready 
to  gaze  on  it  with  pyramidal  wonder  and  hieroglyphic  awe. 

The  landing  quay  at  Alexandria  is  like  the  dockyard 
quay  at  Portsmouth : with  a few  score  of  brown  faces  scat- 
tered among  the  population.  There  are  slop-sellers,  dealers 
in  marine-stores,  bottled-porter  shops,  seamen  lolling  about ; 
flies  and  cabs  are  plying  for  hire : and  a yelling  chorus  of 
donkey-boys,  shrieking,  “ Bide,  sir  ! — donkey,  sir  ! — I say 
sir  ” in  excellent  English,  dispel  all  romantic  notions.  The 
placid  sphinxes  brooding  o’er  the  Nile  disappeared  with  that 
shriek  of  the  donkey-boys.  You  might  be  as  well  impressed 
with  Wapping  as  with  your  first  step  on  Egyptian  soil. 

The  riding  of  a donkey  is,  after  all,  not  a dignified  occu- 
pation. A man  resists  the  offer  at  first,  somehow,  as  an  in- 
dignity. How  is  that  poor  little,  red-saddled,  long-eared 
creature  to  carry  you  ? Is  there  to  be  one  for  you  and  an- 
other for  your  legs  ? Natives  and  Europeans,  of  all  sizes, 


FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO . 


467 


pass  by,  it  is  true,  mounted  upon  the  same  contrivance. 
I waited  until  I got  into  a very  private  spot,  where  nobody 
could  see  me,  and  then  ascended  — why  not  say  descended, 
at  once  ? — on  the  poor  little  animal.  Instead  of  being 
crushed  at  once,  as  perhaps  the  rider  expected,  it  darted 
forward,  quite  briskly  and  cheerfully,  at  six  or  seven  miles 
an  hour ; requiring  no  spur  or  admonitive  to  haste,  except 
the  shrieking  of  the  Egyptian  gamin,  who  ran  along  by 
asinus’s  side. 

The  character  of  the  houses  by  which  you  pass  is 
scarcely  Eastern  at  all.  The  streets  are  busy  with  a motley 
population  of  Jews  and  Armenians,  slave-driving-looking 
Europeans,  large-breeched  Greeks,  and  well-shaven  buxom 
merchants,  looking  as  trim  and  fat  as  those  on  the  Bourse  or 
on  ’Change  ; only,  among  the  natives,  the  stranger  can’t  fail 
to  remark  (as  the  Caliph  did  of  the  Calendars,  in  the 
“ Arabian  Nights”)  that  so  many  of  them  have  only  one 
eye . It  is  the  horrid  ophthalmia  which  has  played  such 
frightful  ravages  with  them.  You  see  children  sitting  in 
the  doorways,  their  eyes  completely  closed  up  with  the 
green  sickening  sore,  and  the  flies  feeding  on  them.  Eive 
or  six  minutes  of  the  donkey-ride  brings  you  to  the  Frank 
quarter,  and  the  handsome  broad  street  ( like  a street  of 
Marseilles)  where  the  principal  hotels  and  merchants’ 
houses  are  to  be  found,  and  where  the  consuls  have  their 
houses,  and  hoist  their  flags.  The  palace  of  the  French 
Consul-General  makes  the  grandest  show  in  the  street,  and 
presents  a great  contrast  to  the  humble  abode  of  the  Eng- 
lish representative,  who  protects  his  fellow-countrymen 
from  a second  floor. 

But  that  Alexandrian  two-pair-front  of  a Consulate  was 
more  welcome  and  cheering  than  a palace  to  most  of  us.  For 
they  lay  certain  letters,  with  post-marks  of  Home  upon 
them ; and  kindly  tidings,  the  first  heard  for  two  months  : 
— though  we  had  seen  so  many  men  and  cities  since,  that 
Cornhill  seemed  to  be  a jrear  off,  at  least,  with  certain  per- 
sons dwelling  ( more  or  less ) in  that  vicinity.  I saw  a 
young  Oxford  man  seize  his  despatches,  and  slink  off  with 
several  letters,  written  in  a tight,  neat  hand,  and  sedulously 
crossed;  which  any  man  could  see,  without  looking  farther, 
were  the  handiwork  of  Mary  Ann,  to  whom  he  is  attached. 
The  lawyer  received  a bundle  from  his  chambers,  in  which 
his  clerk  eased  his  soul  regarding  the  state  of  Snooks 
v.  Rodgers,  Smith  ats  Tomkins,  &c.  The  statesman  had 


468 


EASTERN  SKETCHES . 


a packet  of  thick  envelopes,  decorated  with  that  profu- 
sion of  sealing-wax  in  which  official  recklessness  lavishes 
the  resources  of  the  country:  and  your  humble  servant 
got  just  one  little,  modest  letter  containing  another,  writ- 
ten in  pencil  characters,  varying  in  size  between  one  and 
two  inches ; but  how  much  pleasanter  to  read  than  my 
lord’s  despatch,  or  the  clerk’s  account  of  Smith  ats  Tom- 
kins,— yes,  even  than  the  Mary  Ann  correspondence! 

. . . . Yes,  my  dear  madam,  you  will  understand  me, 

when  I say  that  it  was  from  little  Polly  at  home,  with 
some  confidential  news  about  a cat,  and  the  last  report  of 
her  new  doll. 

It  is  worth  while  to  have  made  the  journey  for  this  pleas- 
ure : to  have  walked  the  deck  on  long  nights,  and  have 
thought  of  home.  You  have  no  leisure  to  do  so  in  the 
city.  You  don’t  see  the  heavens  shine  above  you  so  purely 
there,  or  the  stars  so  clearly.  How,  after  the  perusal  of 
the  above  documents,  we  enjoyed  a file  of  the  admirable 
Galignani  ; and  what  O’Connell  was  doing ; and  the  twelve 
last  new  victories  of  the  French  in  Algeria;  and,  above  all, 
six  or  seven  numbers  of  Punch  ! There  might  have  been 
an  avenue  of  Pompey’s  Pillars  within  reach,  and  a live 
sphinx  sporting  on  the  banks  of  the  Mahmoodieh  Canal, 
and  we  would  not  have  stirred  to  see  them,  until  Punch 
had  had  his  interview  and  Galignani  was  dismissed. 

The  curiosities  of  Alexandria  are  few,  and  easily  seen. 
We  went  into  the  bazaars,  which  have  a much  more  Eastern 
look  than  the  European  quarter,  with  its  Anglo-Gallic-Ital- 
ian  inhabitants,  and  Babel-like  civilization.  Here  and 
there  a large  hotel,  clumsy  and  whitewashed,  with  Oriental 
trellised  windows,  and  a couple  of  slouching  sentinels  at 
the  doors,  in  the  ugliest  composite  uniform  that  ever  was 
seen,  was  pointed  out  as  the  residence  of  some  great  officer 
of  the  Pasha’s  Court,  or  of  one  of  the  numerous  children 
of  the  Egyptian  Solomon.  His  Highness  was  in  his  own 
palace,  and  was  consequently  not  visible.  He  was  in 
deep  grief,  and  strict  retirement.  It  was  at  this  time 
that  the  European  newspapers  announced  that  he  was 
about  to  resign  his  empire ; but  the  quidnuncs  of  Alexan- 
dria hinted  that  a love-affair,  in  which  the  old  potentate 
had  engaged  with  senile  extravagance,  and  the  effects  of  a 
potion  of  hachich,  or  some  deleterious  drug,  with  which  he 
was  in  the  habit  of  intoxicating  himself,  had  brought  on 
that  languor  and  desperate  weariness  of  life  and  governing, 


FR  OM  CORNHIL  L ' TO  CA IR  0 . 


469 


into  which  the  venerable  Prince  was  plunged.  Before  three 
days  were  over,  however,  the  fit  had  left  him,  and  he 
determined  to  live  and  reign  a little  longer.  A very  few 
days  afterwards  several  of  our  party  were  presented  to  him 
at  Cairo,  and  found  the  great  Egyptian  ruler  perfectly 
convalescent. 

This  and  the  Opera,  and  the  quarrels  of  the  two  prime 
donne , and  the  beauty  of  one  of  them,  formed  the  chief 
subjects  of  conversation ; and  I had  this  important  news  in 
the  shop  of  a certain  barber  in  the  town,  who  conveyed  it 
in  a language  composed  of  French,  Spanish,  and  Italian, 
and  with  a volubility  quite  worthy  of  a barber  of  Gil  Bias. 

Then  we  went  to  see  the  famous  obelisk  presented  by 
Mehemet  Ali  to  the  British  Government,  who  have  not 
shown  a particular  alacrity  to  accept  this  ponderous  pres- 
ent. The  huge  shaft  lies  on  the  ground  prostrate,  and 
desecrated  by  all  sorts  of  abominations.  Children  were 
sprawling  about,  attracted  by  the  dirt  there.  Arabs,  ne- 
groes, and  donkey-boys  were  passing,  quite  indifferent,  by 
the  fallen  monster  of  a stone,  — as  indifferent  as  the 
British  Government,  who  don’t  care  for  recording  the 
glorious  termination  of  their  Egyptian  campaign  of  1801. 
If  our  country  takes  the  compliment  so  cooly,  surely  it 
would  be  disloyal  upon  our  parts  to  be  more  enthusiastic. 
I wish  they  would  offer  the  Trafalgar  Square  pillar  to  the 
Egyptians ; and  that  both  of  the  huge,  ugly  monsters  were 
lying  in  the  dirt  there,  side  by  side. 

Pompey’s  pillar  is  by  no  means  so  big  as  the  Charing 
Cross  trophy.  This  venerable  column  has  not  escaped  ill- 
treatment  either.  Numberless  ships’  companies,  travelling 
Cockneys,  &c.,  have  affixed  their  rude  marks  upon  it. 
Some  daring  ruffian  even  painted  the  name  of  “ Warren’s 
blacking  ” upon  it,  effacing  other  inscriptions,”  — one, 
Wilkinson  says,  “ of  the  second  Psammetichus.”  I regret 
deeply,  my  dear  friend,  that  I cannot  give  you  this  docu- 
ment respecting  a lamented  monarch,  in  whose  history  I 
know  you  take  such  an  interest. 

The  best  sight  I saw  in  Alexandria  was  a negro  holiday ; 
which  was  celebrated  outside  of  the  town  by  a sort 
of  negro  village  of  huts,  swarming  with  old,  lean,  fat, 
ugly,  infantine,  happy  faces,  that  nature  has  smeared  with 
a preparation  even  more  black  and  durable  than  that  with 
which  Psammetichus’s  base  has  been  polished.  Every  one 
of  these  jolly  faces  was  on  the  broad  grin,  from  the  dusky 


470 


EASTERN  SKETCHES. 


mother  to  the  India-rubber  child  sprawling  upon  her  back, 
and  the  venerable  jetty  senior  whose  wool  was  as  white  as 
that  of  a sheep  in  Florian’s  pastorals. 

To  these  dancers  a couple  of  fellows  were  playing  on  a 
drum  and  a little  banjo.  They  were  singing  a chorus, 
which  was  not  only  singular,  and  perfectly  marked  in  the 
rhythm,  but  exceeding  sweet  in  the  tune.  They  danced 
in  a circle ; and  performers  came  trooping  from  all  quar- 
ters, who  fell  into  the  round  and  began  waggling  their 
heads,  and  waving  their  left  hands,  and  tossing  up  and 


down  the  little  thin  rods  which  they  each  carried,  and 
all  singing  to  the  very  best  of  their  power. 

I saw  the  chief  eunuch  of  the  Grand  Turk  at  Constanti- 
nople pass  by  — but  with  what  a different  expression  ! 
Though  he  is  one  of  the  greatest  of  the  great  in  the  Turk- 
ish Empire  (ranking  with  a Cabinet  Minister  or  Lord 
Chamberlain  here),  his  fine  countenance  was  clouded  with 
care,  and  savage  with  ennui. 

Here  his  black  brethren  were  ragged,  starving,  and 
happy ; and  I need  not  tell  such  a fine  moralist  as  you  are, 


FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO . 


471 


how  it  is  the  case,  in  the  white  as  well  as  the  black  world, 
that  happiness  (republican  leveller,  who  does  not  care  a fig 
for  the  fashion)  often  disdains  the  turrets  of  kings,  to  pay 
a visit  to  the  “ tabernas  pauperum.” 

We  went  the  round  of  the  coffee-houses  in  the  evening, 
both  the  polite  European  places  of  resort,  where  you  get 
ices  and  the  French  papers,  and  those  in  the  town,  where 
Greeks,  Turks,  and  general  company  resort,  to  sit  upon 
uncomfortable  chairs,  and  drink  wretched  muddy  coffee, 
and  to  listen  to  two  or  three  miserable  musicians,  who 
keep  up  a variation  of  howling  for  hours  together.  But 
the  pretty  song  of  the  niggers  had  spoiled  me  for  that 
abominable  music. 


CHAPTER  XV. 


TO  CAIRO. 


E had  no  need  of  hiring  the 
country  boats  which  ply  on 
the  Mahmoodieh  Canal  to 
Atfeh,  where  it  joins  the 
Nile,  but  were  accom- 
modated in  one  of  the 
Peninsular  and  Oriental 
Company’s  fly-boats ; pret- 
ty similar  to  those  nar- 
row Irish  canal-boats  in 
which  the  enterprising 
traveller  has  been  carried 
from  Dublin  to  Ballina- 
sloe.  The  present  boat 
was,  to  be  sure,  tugged  by 
a little  steamer,  so  that  the 
Egyptian  canal  is  ahead  of 
the  Irish  in  so  far : in  nat- 
ural scenery,  the  one  prospect  is  fully  equal  to  the  other ; it 
must  be  confessed  that  there  is  nothing  to  see.  In  truth, 
there  was  nothing  but  this : you  saw  a muddy  bank  on 
each  side  of  you,  and  a blue  sky  overhead.  A few  round 
mud-huts  and  palm-trees  were  planted  along  the  line  here 
and  there.  Sometimes  we  would  see,  on  the  water-side,  a 
woman  in  a blue  robe,  with  her  son  by  her,  in  that  tight, 
brown  costume  with  which  Nature  had  supplied  him. 
Now,  it  was  a hat  dropped  by  one  of  the  party  into  the 
water ; a brown  Arab  plunged  and  disappeared  incontinently 
after  the  hat,  re-issued  from  the  muddy  water,  prize  in 
hand,  and  ran  naked  after  the  little  steamer  (which  was  by 
this  time  far  ahead  of  him),  his  brawny  limbs  shining  in 
the  sun  : then  we  had  half-cold  fowls  and  bitter  ale : then 
we  had  dinner  — bitter  ale  and  cold  fowls ; with  which 

472 


FROM  CORN  HILL  TO  CAIRO. 


473 


incidents  the  day  on  the  canal  passed  away,  as  Harmlessly 
as  if  we  had  been  in  a Dutch  trackschuyt. 

Towards  evening  we  arrived  at  the  town  of  Atfeh  — half 
land,  half  houses,  half  palm-trees,  with  swarms  of  half- 
naked  people  crowding  the  rustic  shady  bazaars,  and  bar- 
tering their  produce  of  fruit  or  many-colored  grain.  Here 
the  canal  came  to  a check,  ending  abruptly  with  a large 
lock.  A little  fleet  of  masts  and  country  ships  were 
beyond  the  lock,  and  it  led  into  The  Nile. 

After  all,  it  is  something  to  have  seen  these  red  waters. 
It  is  only  low  green  banks,  mud-huts,  and  palm-clumps, 


with  the  sun  setting  red  behind  them,  and  the  great,  dull, 
sinuous  river  flashing  here  and  there  in  the  light.  But  it 
is  the  Nile,  the  old  Saturn  of  a stream  — a divinity  yet, 
though  younger  river-gods  have  deposed  him.  Hail ! 0 
venerable  father  of  crocodiles  ! We  were  all  lost  in  senti- 
ments of  the  profoundest  awe  and  respect ; which  we  proved 
by  tumbling  down  into  the  cabin  of  the  Nile  steamer  that 
was  waiting  to  receive  us,  and  fighting  and  cheating  for 
sleeping  berths. 

At  dawn  in  the  morning  we  were  on  deck  ; the  character 
had  not  altered  of  the  scenery  about  the  river.  Yast  flat 
stretches  of  land  were  on  either  side,  recovering  from  the 


474 


EASTERN  SKETCHES. 


subsiding  inundations : near  the  mud  villages,  a country- 
ship  or  two  was  roosting  under  the  date-trees ; the  land- 
scape everywhere  stretching  away  level  and  lonely.  In  the 
sky  in  the  east  was  a long  streak  of  greenish  light,  which 
widened  and  rose  until  it  grew  to  be  of  an  opal  color,  then 
orange  ; then,  behold,  the  round,  red  disc  of  the  sun  rose 
flaming  up  above  the  horizon.  All  the  water  blushed  as  he 
got  up ; the  deck  was  all  red  ; the  steersman  gave  his  helm  to 
another,  and  prostrated  himself  on  the  deck,  and  bowed  his 
head  eastward,  and  praised  the  Maker  of  the  sun  : it  shone 
on  his  white  turban  as  he  was  kneeling,  and  gilt  up  his 
bronzed  face,  and  sent  his  blue  shadow  over  the  glowing 
deck.  The  distances,  which  had  been  gray,  were  now 
clothed  in  purple,  and  the  broad  stream  illuminated.  As 
the  sun  rose  higher,  the  morning  blush  faded  away  ; the  sky 
was  cloudless  and  pale,  and  the  river  and  the  surrounding 
landscape  were  dazzlingly  clear. 

Looking  ahead  in  an  hour  or  two,  we  saw  the  Pyramids. 

Fancy  my  sensations,  dear  M ; — two  big  ones  and  a 

little  one : 

! ! I 

There  they  lay,  rosy  and  solemn  in  the  distance  — those  old, 
majestical,  mystical,  familiar  edifices.  Several  of  us  tried 
to  be  impressed  ; but  breakfast  supervening,  a rush  was 
made  at  the  coffee  and  cold  pies,  and  the  sentiment  of  awe 
was  lost  in  the  scramble  for  victuals. 

Are  we  so  biases  of  the  world  that  the  greatest  marvels 
in  it  do  not  succeed  in  moving  us  ? Have  society,  Pall 
Mall  clubs,  and  a habit  of  sneering,  so  withered  up  our 
organs  of  veneration  that  we  can  admire  no  more  ? My 
sensation  with  regard  to  the  Pyramids  was,  that  I had  seen 
them  before : then  came  a feeling  of  shame  that  the  view  of 
them  should  awaken  no  respect.  Then  I wanted  (natu- 
rally) to  see  whether  my  neighbors  were  any  more  enthusi- 
astic than  myself  — Trinity  College,  Oxford,  was  busy 
with  the  cold  ham  : Downing  Street  was  particularly  atten- 
tive to  a bunch  of  grapes : Fig-tree  Court  behaved  with 
decent  propriety ; he  is  in  good  practice,  and  of  a Con- 
servative turn  of  mind,  which  leads  him  to  respect  from 
principle  les  faits  accomplis ; perhaps  he  remembered  that 
one  of  them  was  as  big  as  Lincoln’s  Inn  Fields.  But,  the 

truth  is,  nobody  was  seriously  moved And  why 

should  they,  because  of  an  exaggeration  of  bricks  ever  so 


FROM  CORN  HILL  TO  CAIRO. 


475 


enormous  ? I confess,  for  my  part,  that  the  Pyramids  are 
very  big. 

After  a voyage  of  about  thirty  hours,  the  steamer 
brought  up  at  the  quay  of  Boulak,  amidst  a small  fleet  of 
dirty  comfortless  Cangias,  in  which  cottons  and  merchan- 
dise were  loading  and  unloading,  and  a huge  noise  and 
bustle  on  the  shore.  Numerous  villas,  parks,  and  country- 
houses,  had  begun  to  decorate  the  Cairo  bank  of  the  stream 
ere  this : residences  of  the  Pasha’s  nobles,  who  have  had 
orders  to  take  their  pleasure  here  and  beautify  the  precincts 
of  the  capital ; tall  factory  chimneys  also  rise  here  ; there 
are  foundries  and  steam-engine  manufactories.  These,  and 
the  pleasure-houses,  stand  as  trim  as  soldiers  on  parade ; 
contrasting  with  the  swarming,  slovenly,  close,  tumble-down 
eastern  old  town,  that  forms  the  outport  of  Cairo,  and  was 
built  before  the  importation  of  European  taste  and  disci- 
pline. 

Here  we  alighted  upon  donkeys,  to  the  full  as  brisk  as 
those  of  Alexandria,  invaluable  to  timid  riders,  and  equal 
to  any  weight.  We  had  a Jerusalem  pony  race  into  Cairo  ; 
my  animal  beating  all  the  rest  by  many  lengths.  The 
entrance  to  the  capital,  from  Boulak,  is  very  pleasant  and 
picturesque  — over  a fair  road,  and  the  wide-planted  plain 
of  the  Ezbekieh;  where  are  gardens,  canals,  fields,  and 
avenues  of  trees,  and  where  the  great  ones  of  the  town 
come  and  take  their  pleasure.  We  saw  many  barouches 
driving  about  with  fat  Pashas  lolling  on  the  cushions  ; 
stately-looking  colonels  and  doctors  taking  their  ride,  fol- 
lowed by  their  orderlies  or  footmen  ; lines  of  people  taking 
pipes  and  sherbet  in  the  coffee-houses  ; and  one  of  the 
pleasantest  sights  of  all, — a fine  new  white  building  with 
Hotel  d’Orient  written  up  in  huge  French  characters,  and 
which,  indeed,  is  an  establishment  as  large  and  comfortable 
as  most  of  the  best  inns  of  the  South  of  France.  As  a hun- 
dred Christian  people,  or  more,  come  from  England  and 
from  India  every  fortnight,  this  inn  has  been  built  to  ac- 
commodate a large  proportion  of  them  ; and  twice  a month, 
at  least,  its  sixty  rooms  are  full. 

The  gardens  from  the  windows  give  a very  pleasant  and 
animated  view : the  hotel-gate  is  besieged  by  crews  of  don- 
key-drivers ; the  noble  stately  Arab  women,  with  tawny 
skins  (of  which  a simple  robe  of  floating  blue  cotton 
enables  you  liberally  to  see  the  color  ) and  large  black  eyes, 


476 


EASTERN  SKETCHES . 


come  to  the  well  hard  by  for  water : camels  are  perpetually 
arriving  and  setting  down  their  loads  : the  court  is  full  of 
bustling  dragomans,  ayahs,  and  children  from  India;  and 
poor  old  venerable  he-nurses,  with  gray  beards  and  crimson 
turbans,  tending  little  white-faced  babies  that  have  seen  the 
light  at  Dumdum  or  Futtyghur  : a copper-colored  barber, 
seated  on  his  hams,  is  shaving  a camel-driver  at  the  great 
inn-gate.  The  bells  are  ringing  prodigiously;  and  Lieuten- 
ant Waghorn  is  bouncing  in  and  out  of  the  court-yard  full 
of  business.  He  only  left  Bombay  yesterday  morning,  was 
seen  in  the  Red  Sea  on  Tuesday,  is  engaged  to  dinner  this 
afternoon  in  the  Regent’s  Park,  and  (as  it  is  about  two 
minutes  since  I saw  him  in  the  court-yard)  I make  no 
doubt  he  is  by  this  time  at  Alexandria  or  at  Malta,  say, 
perhaps  at  both.  II  en  est  capable.  If  any  man  can  be  at 
two  places  at  once  (which  I don’t  believe  or  deny ) Waghorn 
is  he. 

Six-o’clock  bell  rings.  Sixty  people  sit  down  to  a quasi 
French  banquet : thirty  Indian  officers  in  moustaches  and 
jackets  : ten  civilians  in  ditto  and  spectacles  ; ten  pale-faced 
ladies  with  ringlets,  to  whom  all  pay  prodigious  attention. 
All  the  pale  ladies  drink  pale  ale,  which,  perhaps,  accounts 
for  it ; in  fact  the  Bombay  and  Suez  passengers  have  just 
arrived,  and  hence  this  crowding  and  bustling,  and  display 
of  military  jackets  and  moustaches,  and  ringlets  and  beauty. 
The  windows  are  open,  and  a rush  of  mosquitoes  from  the 
Ezbekieh  waters,  attracted  by  the  wax-candles,  adds  greatly 
to  the  excitement  of  the  scene.  There  was  a little  tough 
old  Major,  who  persisted  in  flinging  open  the  windows,  to 
admit  these  volatile  creatures,  with  a noble  disregard  to 
their  sting  — and  the  pale  ringlets  did  not  seem  to  heed 
them  either,  though  the  delicate  shoulders  of  some  of  them 
were  bare. 

All  the  meat,  ragouts,  fricandeaux,  and  roasts,  which  are 
served  round  at  dinner,  seem  to  me  to  be  of  the  same  meat : 
a black  uncertain  sort  of  viand  do  these  “ flesh-pots  of 
Egypt  ” contain.  But  what  the  meat  is  no  one  knew  ; is  it 
the  donkey  ? The  animal  is  more  plentiful  than  any  other 
in  Cairo. 

After  dinner,  the  ladies  retiring,  some  of  us  take  a mix- 
ture of  hot  water,  sugar,  and  pale  French  brandy,  which  is 
said  to  be  deleterious,  but  is  by  no  means  unpalatable.  One 
of  the  Indians  offers  a bundle  of  Bengal  cheroots  ; and  we 
make  acquaintance  with  those  honest  bearded  white-jacketed 


FROM  CORN IilLL  TO  CAIRO . 


477 


Majors  and  military  Commanders,  finding  England  here  in 
a French  hotel  kept  by  an  Italian,  at  the  city  of  Grand 
Cairo,  in  Africa. 

On  retiring  to  bed  you  take  a towel  with  you  into  the 
sacred  interior  behind  the  mosquito  curtains.  Then  your 
duty  is,  having  tucked  the  curtains  closely  around,  to  flap 
and  bang  violently  with  this  towel,  right  and  left,  and  back- 
wards and  forwards,  until  every  mosquito  shall  have  been 
massacred  that  may  have  taken  refuge  within  your  muslin 
canopy. 

Do  what  you  will,  however,  one  of  them  always  escapes 
the  murder ; and  as  soon  as  the  candle  is  out  the  miscreant 
begins  his  infernal  droning  and  trumpeting ; descends  play- 
fully upon  your  nose  and  face,  and  so  lightly  that  you  don’t 
know  that  he  touches  you.  But  that  for  a week  afterwards 
you  bear  about  marks  of  his  ferocity,  you  might  take  the 
invisible  little  being  to  be  a creature  of  fancy  — a mere 
singing  in  your  ears. 

This,  as  an  account  of  Cairo,  dear  M , you  will  prob- 

ably be  disposed  to  consider  as  incomplete : the  fact  is,  I 
have  seen  nothing  else  as  yet.  I have  peered  into  no 
harems.  The  magicians,  proved  to  be  humbugs,  have  been 
bastinadoed  out  of  town.  The  dancing-girls,  those  lovely 
Alme,  of  whom  I had  hoped  to  be  able  to  give  a glowing 
and  elegant,  though  strictly  moral,  description,  have  been 
whipped  into  Upper  Egypt,  and  as  you  are  saying  in  your 
mind  ....  Well,  it  isn't  a good  description  of  Cairo  ; 
you  are  perfectly  right.  It  is  England  in  Egypt.  I like 
to  see  her  there  with  her  pluck,  enterprise,  manliness,  bitter 
ale,  and  Harvey  sauce.  Wherever  they  come  they  stay 
and  prosper.  From  the  summit  of  yonder  Pyramids  forty 
centuries  may  look  down  on  them  if  they  are  minded ; and  I 
say,  those  venerable  daughters  of  time  ought  to  be  better 
pleased  by  the  examination,  than  by  regarding  the  French 
bayonets  and  General  Bonaparte,  Member  of  the  Institute, 
fifty  years  ago,  running  about  with  sabre  and  pigtail. 
AYonders  he  did,  to  be  sure,  and  then  ran  away,  leaving 
Kleber,  to  be  murdered,  in  the  lurch  — a few  hundred 
yards  from  the  spot  where  these  disquisitions  are  written. 
But  what  are  his  wonders  compared  to  Waghorn  ? Nap 
massacred  the  Mamelukes  at  the  Pyramids : Wag  has  con- 
quered the  Pyramids  themselves ; dragged  the  unwieldy 
structures  a month  nearer  England  than  they  were,  and 
brought  the  country  along  with  them.  All  the  trophies 


478 


EASTERN  SKETCHES. 


and  captives  that  ever  were  brought  to  Roman  triumph 
were  not  so  enormous  and  wonderful  as  this.  All  the 
the  heads  that  Napoleon  ever  caused  to  be  struck  off  ( as 
G-eorge  Cruikshank  says ) would  not  elevate  him  a mon- 
ument as  big.  Be  ours  the  trophies  of  peace ! 0 my 

country  ! 0 Wagliorn  ! Hce  tibi  ernnt  artes.  When  I go 

to  the  Pyramids  I will  sacrifice  in  your  name,  and  pour 
out  libations  of  bitter  ale  and  Harvey  sauce  in  your  honor. 

One  of  the  noblest  views  in  the  world  is  to  be  seen 
from  the  citadel,  which  we  ascended  to-day.  You  see  the 
city  stretching  beneath  it,  with  a thousand  minarets  and 
mosques, ; — the  great  river  curling  through  the  green  plains, 
studded  with  innumerable  villages.  The  Pyramids  are 
beyond,  brilliantly  distinct ; and  the  lines  and  fortifications 
of  the  height,  and  the  arsenal  lying  below.  Gazing  down, 
the  guide  does  not  fail  to  point  out  the  famous  Mameluke 
leap,  by  which  one  of  the  corps  escaped  death,  at  the  time 
that  his  Highness  the  Pasha  arranged  the  general  massacre 
of  the  body. 

The  venerable  Patriarch's  harem  is  close  by,  where  he 
received  with  much  distinction,  some  of  the  members  of 
our  party.  We  were  allowed  to  pass  very  close  to  the 
sacred  precincts,  and  saw  a comfortable  white  European 
building,  approached  by  flights  of  steps,  and  flanked  by 
pretty  gardens.  Police  and  law-courts  were  here  also,  as  I 
understood;  but  it  was  not  the  time  of  the  Egyptian 
assizes.  It  would  have  been  pleasant,  otherwise,  to  see 
the  chief  cadi  in  his  hall  of  justice ; and  painful,  though 
instructive,  to  behold  the  immediate  application  of  the 
bastinado. 

The  great  lion  of  the  place  is  a new  mosque  which 
Mehemet  Ali  is  constructing  very  leisurely.  It  is  built  of 
alabaster  of  a fair  white,  with  a delicate  blushing  tinge ; 
but  the  ornaments  are  European  — the  noble,  fantastic, 
beautiful  Oriental  art  is  forgotten.  The  old  mosques  of  the 
city,  of  which  I entered  two,  and  looked  at  many,  are  a 
thousand  times  more  beautiful.  Their  variety  of  orna- 
ment is  astonishing,  — the  difference  in  the  shapes  of  the 
domes,  the  beautiful  fancies  and  caprices  in  the  forms  of 
the  minarets,  which  violate  the  rules  of  proportion  with 
the  most  happy,  daring  grace,  must  have  struck  every 
architect  who  has  seen  them.  As  you  go  through  the 
streets,  these  architectural  beauties  keep  the  eye  contin- 
ually charmed : now  it  is  a marble  fountain,  with  it§ 


FROM  COUNHILL  TO  CAIRO. 


479 


arabesque  and  carved  overhanging  roof,  which  you  can  look 
at  with  as  much  pleasure  as  an  antique  gem,  so  neat  and 
brilliant  is  the  execution  of  it ; then,  you  come  to  the 
arched  entrance  to  a mosque,  which  shoots  up  like  — like 
what? — like  the  most  beautiful  pirouette  by  Taglioni,  let 
us  say.  This  architecture  is  not  sublimely  beautiful,  per- 
fect loveliness  and  calm,  like  that  which  was  revealed  to 
us  at  the  Parthenon  (and  in  comparison  of  which  the 
Pantheon  and  Colosseum  are  vulgar  and  coarse,  mere  broad- 
shouldered  Titans  before  ambrosial  Jove)  ; but  these  fan- 
tastic spires,  and  cupolas,  and  galleries,  excite,  amuse,  tickle 
the  imagination,  so  to  speak,  and  perpetually  fascinate  the 
eye.  There  were  very  few  believers  in  the  famous  mosque 
of  Sultan  Hassan  when  we  visited  it,  except  the  Moslemit- 
ish  beadle,  who  was  on  the  look-out  for  backsheesh,  just  like- 
his  brother  officer  in  an  English  cathedral ; and  who, 
making  us  put  on  straw  slippers,  so  as  not  to  pollute  the 
sacred  pavement  of  the  place,  conducted  us  through  it. 

It  is  stupendously  light  and  airy ; the  best  specimens 
of  Norman  art  that  I have  seen  (and  surely  the  Crusaders 
must  have  carried  home  the  models  of  these  heathenish 
temples  in  their  eyes ) do  not  exceed  its  noble  grace  and 
simplicity.  The  mystics  make  discoveries  at  home,  that 
the  Gothic  architecture  is  Catholicism  carved  in  stone  — 
( in  which  case,  and  if  architectural  beauty  is  a criterion  or 
expression  of  religion,  what  a dismal  barbarous  creed  must 
that  expressed  by  the  Bethesda  meeting-house  and  Inde- 
pendent chapels  be  ? ) — if,  as  they  would  gravely  hint, 
because  Gothic  architecture  is  beautiful,  Catholicism  is 
therefore  lovely  and  right, — why,  Mahometanism  must  have 
been  right  and  lovely  too  once.  Never  did  a creed  possess 
temples  more  elegant;  as  elegant  as  the  Cathedral  at 
Bouen,  or  the  Baptistery  at  Pisa. 

But  it  is  changed  now.  There  was  nobody  at  prayers ; 
only  the  official  beadles,  and  the  supernumerary  guides, 
who  came  for  backsheesh.  Faith  hath  degenerated.  Ac- 
cordingly they  can’t  build  these  mosques,  or  invent  these 
perfect  forms,  any  more.  Witness  the  tawdry  incomplete- 
ness and  vulgarity  of  the  Pasha’s  new  temple,  and  the  wo- 
ful  failures  among  the  very  late  edifices  in  Constantinople  ! 

However  they  still  make  pilgrimages  to  Mecca  in  great 
force.  The  Mosque  of  Hassan  is  hard  by  the  green  plain 
on  which  the  Hag  e;i camps  before  it  sets  forth  annually  on 
its  pious  peregrination.  It  was  not  yet  its  time,  but  I saw 


480 


EASTERN  SKETCHES. 


in  the  bazaars  that  redoubted  Dervish,  who  is  the  Master 
of  the  Hag  — the  leader  of  every  procession,  accompany- 
ing the  sacred  camel;  and  a personage  almost  as  much 
respected  as  Mr.  O’Connell  in  Ireland. 

This  fellow  lives  by  alms  ( I mean  the  head  of  the  Hag). 
Winter  and  summer  he  wears  no  clothes  but  a thin  and 
scanty  white  shirt.  He  wields  a staff,  and  stalks  along 
scowling  and  barefoot.  His  immense  shock  of  black  hair 
streams  behind  him,  and  his  brown,  brawny  body  is  curled 
over  with  black  hair,  like  a savage  man.  This  saint  has 
the  largest  harem  in  the  town  ; he  is  said  to  be  enormously 
rich  by  the  contributions  he  has  levied ; and  is  so  adored 
for  his  holiness  by  the  infatuated  folk,  that  when  he  returns 
from  the  Hag  ( which  he  does  on  horseback,  the  chief  Mol- 
lahs  going  out  to  meet  him  and  escort  him  home  in  state 
along  the  Ezbekieh  road),  the  people  fling  themselves 
down  under  the  horse’s  feet,  eager  to  be  trampled  upon  and 
killed,  and  confident  of  heaven  if  the  great  Hadji’s  horse 
will  but  kick  them  into  it.  Was  it  my  fault  if  I thought 
of  Hadji  Daniel,  and  the  believers  in  him  ? 

There  was  no  Dervish  of  repute  on  the  plain  when  I 
passed ; only  one  poor,  wild  fellow,  who  was  dancing,  with 
glaring  eyes  and  grizzled  beard,  rather  to  the  contempt  of 
the  bystanders,  as  I thought,  who  by  no  means  put  coppers 
into  his  extended  bowl.  On  this  poor  devil’s  head  there 
was  a poorer  devil  still  — a live  cock,  entirely  plucked,  but 
ornamented  with  some  bits  of  ragged  tape  and  scarlet  and 
tinsel,  the  most  horribly  grotesque  and  miserable  object  I 
e ver  saw. 

A little  way  from  him,  there  was  a sort  of  play  going  on 
— a clown  and  a knowing  one,  like  Widdicombe  and  the 
clown  with  us,  — the  buffoon  answering  with  blundering 
responses,  which  made  all  the  audience  shout  with  laugh- 
ter; but  the  only  joke  which  was  translated  to  me  would 
make  you  do  anything  but  laugh,  and  shall  therefore  never 
be  revealed  by  these  lips.  All  their  humor,  my  dragoman 
tells  me,  is  of  this  questionable  sort ; and  a young  Egyptian 
gentleman,  son  of  a Pasha,  whom  I subsequently  met  at 
Malta,  confirmed  the  statement,  and  gave  a detail  of  the 
practices  of  private  life  which  was  anything  but  edifying. 
The  great  aim  of  woman,  he  said,  in  the  much-maligned 
Orient,  is  to  administer  to  the  brutality  of  her  lord ; her 
merit  is  in  knowing  how  to  vary  the  beast’s  pleasures.  He 
could  give  us  no  idea,  he  said,  of  the  wit  of  the  Egyptian 


FROM  CORN IIILL  TO  CAIRO . 


481 


women,  and  their  skill  in  double  entendre  ; nor,  I presume, 
did  we  lose  much  by  our  ignorance.  What  I would  urge, 
humbly,  however,  is  this  — Do  not  let  us  be  led  away  by 
German  writers  and  aesthetics,  Semilassoisms,  Hahnhahn- 
isms,  and  the  like.  The  life  of  the  East  is  a life  of  brutes. 
The  much-maligned  Orient,  I am  confident,  has  not  been 
maligned  near  enough ; for  the  good  reason  that  none 
of  us  can  tell  the  amount  of  horrible  sensuality  practised 
there. 

Beyond  the  jack-pudding  rascal  and  his  audience,  there 
was  on  the  green  a spot,  on  which  was  pointed  out  to  me 
a mark,  as  of  blood.  That  morning  the  blood  had  spouted 
from  the  neck  of  an  Arnaoot  soldier,  who  had  been  exe- 
cuted for  murder.  These  Arnaoots  are  the  curse  and 
terror  of  the  citizens.  Their  camps  are  without  the  city  ; 
but  they  are  always  brawling,  or  drunken,  or  murdering 
within,  in  spite  of  the  rigid  law  which  is  applied  to  them, 
and  which  brings  one  or  more  of  the  scoundrels  to  death 
almost  every  week. 

Some  of  our  party  had  seen  this  fellow  borne  by  the 
hotel  the  day  before,  in  the  midst  of  a crowd  of  soldiers 
who  had  apprehended  him.  The  man  was  still  formidable 
to  his  score  of  captors : his  clothes  had  been  torn  off ; his 
limbs  were  bound  with  cords ; but  he  was  struggling  fran- 
tically to  get  free  ; and  my  informant  described  the  figure 
and  appearance  of  the  naked,  bound,  writhing  savage,  as 
quite  a model  of  beauty. 

Walking  in  the  street,  this  fellow  had  just  before  been 
struck  by  the  looks  of  a woman  who  was  passing,  and  laid 
hands  on  her.  She  ran  away,  and  he  pursued  her.  She 
ran  into  the  police-barrack,  which  was  luckily  hard  by ; but 
the  Arnaoot  was  nothing  daunted,  and  followed  into  the 
midst  of  the  police.  One  of  them  tried  to  stop  him.  The 
Arnaoot  pulled  out  a pistol,  and  shot  the  policeman  dead. 
He  cut  down  three  or  four  more  before  he  was  secured. 
He  knew  his  inevitable  end  must  be  death : that  he  could 
not  seize  upon  the  woman : that  he  could  not  hope  to 
resist  half  a regiment  of  armed  soldiers  : yet  his  instinct 
of  lust  and  murder  was  too  strong ; and  so  he  had  his  head 
taken  off  quite  calmly  this  morning,  many  of  his  comrades 
attending  their  brother’s  last  moments.  He  cared  not  the 
least  about  dying;  and  knelt  down  and  had  his  head  off  as 
coolly  as  if  he  were  looking  on  at  the  same  ceremony  per- 
formed on  another. 

31 


482 


EA  S TEEN  SKETCHES. 


When  the  head  was  off,  and  the  blood  was  spouting  on 
the  ground,  a married  woman,  who  had  no  children,  came 
forward  very  eagerly  out  of  the  crowd,  to  smear  herself 
with  it,  — the  application  of  criminals7  blood  being  con- 
sidered a very  favorable  medicine  for  women  afflicted  with 
barrenness, — so  she  indulged  in  this  remedy. 

But  one  of  the  Arnaoots  standing  near  said,  “ What,  you 
like  blood,  do  you?77  (or  words  to  that  effect).  “ Let’s  see 
how  yours  mixes  with  my  comrade’s.77  And  thereupon, 
taking  out  a pistol,  he  shot  the  woman  in  the  midst  of  the 
crowd,  and  the  guards  who  were  attending  the  execution  ; 
was  seized  of  course  by  the  latter ; and  no  doubt  to-morrow 
morning  will  have  his  head  off  too.  It  would  be  a good 
chapter  to  write — the  Death  of  the  Arnaoot  — but  I shan’t 
go.  Seeing  one  man  hanged  is  quite  enough  in  the  course 
of  a life,  c Py  ai  ete,  as  the  Frenchman  said  of  hunting. 

These  Arnaoots  are  the  terror  of  the  town.  They  seized 
hold  of  an  Englishman  the  other  day,  and  were  very  nearly 
pistolling  him.  Last  week  one  of  them  murdered  a shop- 
keeper at  Boulak,  who  refused  to  sell  him  a watermelon  at 
a price  which  he,  the  soldier,  fixed  upon  it.  So,  for  the 
matter  of  three-halfpence,  he  killed  the  shopkeeper ; and 
had  his  own  rascally  head  chopped  off,  universally  regretted 
by  his  friends.  Why,  I wonder,  does  not  his  Highness 
the  Pasha,  invite  the  Arnaoots  to  a dejehne  at  the  Citadel, 
as  he  did  the  Mamelukes,  and  serve  them  up  the  same  sort 
of  breakfast  ? The  walls  are  considerably  heightened  since 
Emin  Bey  and  his  horse  leapt  them,  and  it  is  probable  not 
one  of  them  would  escape. 

This  sort  of  pistol  practice  is  common  enough  here,  it 
would  appear;  and  not  among  the  Arnaoots  merely,  but 
the  higher  orders.  Thus,  a short  time  since,  one  of  his 
Highness’s  grandsons,  whom  I shall  call  Bluebeard  Pasha 
(lest  a revelation  of  the  name  of  the  said  Pasha  might 
interrupt  our  good  relations  with  his  country)  — one  of  the 
young  Pashas  being  backward  rather  in  his  education,  and 
anxious  to  learn  mathematics,  and  the  elegant  deportment 
of  civilized  life,  sent  to  England  for  a tutor.  I have  heard 
he  was  a Cambridge  man,  and  had  learned  both  algebra 

and  politeness  under  the  Reverend  Doctor  Whizzle,  of 

College. 

One  day,  when  Mr.  MacWhirter,  B.A.,  was  walking  in 
Shoubra  gardens,  with  his  Highness  the  young  Bluebeard 
Pasha,  inducting  him  into  the  usages  of  polished  society, 


FROM  C0RN1IILL  TO  CAIRO. 


483 


and  favoring  him  with  reminiscences  of  Trumpington, 
there  came  up  a poor  fellah,  who  flung  himself  at  the  feet 
of  the  young  Bluebeard,  and  calling  for  justice  in  a loud 
and  pathetic  voice,  and  holding  out  a petition,  besought  his 
Highness  to  cast  a gracious  eye  upon  the  same,  and  see 
that  his  slave  had  justice  done  him. 

Bluebeard  Pasha  was  so  deeply  engaged  and  interested 
by  his  respected  tutor’s  conversation,  that  he  told  the  poor 
fellah  to  go  to  the  deuce,  and  resumed  the  discourse  which 
his  ill-timed  outcry  for  justice  had  interrupted.  But  the 
unlucky  wight  of  a fellah  was  pushed  by  his  evil  destiny, 
and  thought  he  would  make  yet  another  application.  So  he 
took  a short  cut  down  one  of  the  garden  lanes,  and  as  the 
Prince  and  the  Keverend  Mr.  MacWhirter,  his  tutor,  came 
along  once  more  engaged  in  pleasant  disquisition,  behold 
the  fellah  was  once  more  in  their  way,  kneeling  at  the 
august  Bluebeard’s  feet,  yelling  out  for  justice  as  before, 
and  thrusting  his  petition  into  the  royal  face. 

When  the  Prince’s  conversation  was  thus  interrupted  a 
second  time,  his  royal  patience  and  clemency  were  at  an 
end.  “ Man,”  said  he,  “ once  before  I bade  thee  not  to 
pester  me  with  thy  clamor,  and  lo  ! you  have  disobeyed  me, 
— take  the  consequences  of  disobedience  to  a Prince,  and 
thy  blood  be  upon  thine  own  head.”  So  saying,  he  drew 
out  a pistol  and  blew  out  the  brains  of  that  fellah,  so  that 
he  never  bawled  out  for  justice  any  more. 

The  Reverend  Mr.  MacWhirter  was  astonished  at  this 
sudden  mode  of  proceeding : “ Gracious  Prince,”  said  he, 
“ we  do  not  shoot  an  undergraduate  at  Cambridge  even  for 
walking  over  a college  grass-plot. — Let  me  suggest  to  your 
Royal  Highness  that  this  method  of  ridding  yourself  of  a 
poor  devil’s  importunities  is  such  as  we  should  consider 
abrupt  and  almost  cruel  in  Europe.  Let  me  beg  you  to 
moderate  your  royal  impetuosity  for  the  future  ; and,  as 
your  Highness’s  tutor,  entreat  you  to  be  a little  less  prodi- 
gal of  your  powder  and  shot.” 

“ 0 Mollah ! ” said  his  Highness,  here  interrupting  his 
governor’s  affectionate  appeal, — “you  are  good  to  talk 
about  Trumpington  and  the  Pons  Asinorum,  but  if  you  in- 
terfere with  the  course  of  justice  in  any  way,  or  prevent 
me  from  shooting  any  dog  of  an  Arab  who  snarls  at  my 
heels,  I have  another  pistol ; and,  by  the  beard  of  the 
Prophet ! a bullet  for  you  too.”  So  saying  he  pulled  out  the 
weapon,  with  such  a terrific  and  significant  glance  at  the 


484 


EASTERN  SKETCHES. 


Reverend  Mr.  MacWhirter,  that  that  gentleman  wished 
himself  back  in  his  Combination  Room  again  ; and  is  by 
this  time,  let  us  hope,  safely  housed  there. 

Another  facetious  anecdote,  the  last  of  those  I had  from 
a well-informed  gentleman  residing  at  Cairo,  whose  name 
( as  many  copies  of  this  book  that  is  to  be  will  be  in  the 
circulating  libraries  there  ) I cannot,  for  obvious  reasons, 
mention.  The  revenues  of  the  country  come  into  the 
august  treasury  through  the  means  of  farmers,  to  whom  the 
districts  are  let  out,  and  who  are  personally  answerable  for 
their  quota  of  the  taxation.  This  practice  involves  an  in- 
tolerable deal  of  tyranny  and  extortion  on  the  part  of  those 
engaged  to  levy  the  taxes,  and  creates  a corresponding 
duplicity  among  the  fellahs,  who  are  not  only  wretchedly 
poor  among  themselves,  but  whose  object  is  to  appear  still 
more  poor,  and  guard  their  money  from  their  rapacious 
overseers.  Thus  the  Orient  is  much  maligned ; but  every- 
body cheats  there  : that  is  a melancholy  fact.  The  Pasha 
robs  and  cheats  the  merchants ; knows  that  the  overseer 
robs  him,  and  bides  his  time,  until  he  makes  him  disgorge 
by  the  application  of  the  tremendous  bastinado ; the  over- 
seer robs  and  squeezes  the  laborer : and  the  poverty-stricken 
devil  cheats  and  robs  in  return ; and  so  the  government 
moves  in  a happy  cycle  of  roguery. 

Deputations  from  the  fellahs  and  peasants  come  perpet- 
ually before  the  august  presence,  to  complain  of  the  cruelty 
and  exactions  of  the  chiefs  set  over  them : but,  as  it  is 
known  that  the  Arab  never  will  pay  without  the  bastinado, 
their  complaints,  for  the  most  part,  meet  with  but  little 
attention.  His  Highness’s  treasury  must  be  filled,  and  his 
officers  supported  in  their  authority. 

However,  there  was  one  village,  of  which  the  complaints 
were  so  pathetic,  and  the  inhabitants  so  supremely 
wretched,  that  the  royal  indignation  was  moved  at  their 
story,  and  the  chief  of  the  village,  Skinflint  Beg,  was  called 
to  give  an  account  of  himself  at  Cairo. 

When  he  came  before  the  presence,  Mehemet  Ali  re- 
proached him  with  his  horrible  cruelty  and  exactions ; 
asked  him  how  he  dared  to  treat  his  faithful  and  beloved 
subjects  in  this  way,  and  threatened  him  with  disgrace,  and 
the  utter  confiscation  of  his  property,  for  thus  having 
reduced  a district  to  ruin. 

“ Your  Highness  says  I have  reduced  these  fellahs  to 
ruin,”  said  Skinflint  Beg ; “ what  is  the  best  way  to 


FROM  C0RNH1LL  TO  CAIRO . 


485 


confound  my  enemies,  and  to  show  you  the  falsehood  of 
their  accusations  that  I have  ruined  them  ? — To  bring  more 
money  from  them.  If  I bring  you  five  hundred  purses 
from  my  village,  will  you  acknowledge  that  my  people  are 
not  ruined  yet  ? ” 

The  heart  of  the  Pasha  was  touched : “ I will  have  no 
more  bastinadoing,  0 Skinflint  Beg;  you  have  tortured 
these  poor  people  so  much,  and  have  got  so  little  from 
them,  that  my  royal  heart  relents  for  the  present,  and  I 
will  have  them  suffer  no  farther.” 

“ Give  me  free  leave  — give  me  your  Highness’s  gracious 
pardon,  and  I will  bring  the  five  hundred  purses  as  surely 
as  my  name  is  Skinflint  Beg.  I demand  only  the  time  to 
go  home,  the  time  to  return,  and  a few  days  to  stay,  and  I 
will  come  back  as  honestly  as  Regulus  Pasha  did  to  the 
Carthaginians, — I will  come  back  and  make  my  face  white 
before  your  Highness.” 

Skinflint  Beg’s  prayer  for  a reprieve  was  granted,  and  he 
returned  to  his  village,  where  he  forthwith  called  the  elders 
together.  “ 0 friends,”  he  said,  “ complaints  of  our  pov- 
erty and  misery  have  reached  the  royal  throne,  and  the 
benevolent  heart  of  the  sovereign  has  been  melted  by  the 
words  that  have  been  poured  into  his  ears.  ‘My  heart 
yearns  towards  my  people  of  El  Muddee,’  he  says  ; ‘ I 
have  thought  how  to  relieve  their  miseries.  Hear  them  lies 
the  fruitful  land  of  El  Guanee.  It  is  rich  in  maize  and  cot- 
ton, in  sesame  and  barley ; it  is  worth  a thousand  purses ; 
but  I will  let  it  to  my  children  for  seven  hundred,  and  I 
will  give  over  the  rest  of  the  profit  to  them,  as  an  alleviation 
for  their  affliction.’  ” 

The  elders  of  El  Muddee  knew  the  great  value  and  fer- 
tility of  the  lands  of  Guanee,  but  they  doubted  the  sincer- 
ity of  their  governor,  who,  however,  dispelled  their  fears, 
and  adroitly  quickened  their  eagerness  to  close  with  the 
proffered  bargain.  “I  will  myself  advance  two  hundred 
and  fifty  purses,”  he  said,  “do  you  take  counsel  among 
yourselves,  and  subscribe  the  other  five  hundred  ; and  when 
the  sum  is  ready,  a deputation  of  you  shall  carry  it  to 
Cairo,  and  I will  come  with  my  share  ; and  we  will  lay  the 
whole  at  the  feet  of  his  Highness.”  So  the  gray-bearded 
ones  of  the  village  advised  with  one  another;  and  those 
who  had  been  inaccessible  to  bastinadoes,  somehow  found 
money  at  the  calling  of  interest ; and  the  Sheikh,  and  they, 
and  the  five  hundred  purses,  set  off  on  the  road  to  the 
capital. 


486 


EASTERN  SKETCHES. 


When  they  arived,  Skinflint  Beg  and  the  elders  of  El  Mud- 
dee  sought  admission  to  the  royal  throne,  and  there  laid 
down  their  purses.  “ Here  is  your  humble  servant’s  con- 
tribution,” said  Skinflint,  producing  his  share ; “ and  here 
is  the  offering  of  your  loyal  village  of  El  Muddee.  Did  I 
not  before  say  that  enemies  and  deceivers  had  maligned  me 
before  the  august  presence,  pretending  that  not  a piastre 
was  left  in  my  village,  and  that  my  extortion  had  entirely 
denuded  the  peasantry  ? See ! here  is  proof  that  there  is 
plenty  of  money  still  in  El  Muddee  : in  twelve  hours  the 
elders  have  subscribed  five  hundred  purses,  and  lay  them  at 
the  feet  of  their  lord.” 

Instead  of  the  bastinado,  Skinflint  Beg  was  instantly  re- 
warded with  the  royal  favor,  and  the  former  mark  of  atten- 
tion was  bestowed  upon  the  fellahs  who  had  maligned  him ; 
Skinflint  Beg  was  promoted  to  the  rank  of  Skinflint  Bey  ; 
and  his  manner  of  extracting  money  from  his  people  may 
be  studied  with  admiration  in  a part  of  the  United  King- 
dom.# 

At  the  time  of  the  Syrian  quarrel,  and  when,  apprehend- 
ing some  general  rupture  with  England,  the  Pasha  wished 
to  raise  the  spirit  of  the  fellahs,  and  relever  la  morale  na - 
tionale , he  actually  made  one  of  the  astonished  Arabs  a 
colonel.  He  degraded  him  three  days  after  peace  was  con- 
cluded. The  young  Egyptian  colonel,  who  told  me  this, 
laughed  and  enjoyed  the  joke  with  the  utmost  gusto.  “Is 
it  not  a shame,”  he  said,  “ to  make  me  a colonel  at  three- 
and-twenty ; I,  who  have  no  particular  merit,  and  have 
never  seen  any  service  ? ” Death  has  since  stopped  the 
modest  and  good-natured  young  fellow’s  further  promotion. 

The  death  . of Bey  was  announced  in  the  French  papers 

a few  weeks  back. 

My  above  kind-hearted  and  agreeable  young  informant 
used  to  discourse,  in  our  evenings  in  the  Lazaretto  at  Malta, 
very  eloquently  about  the  beauty  of  his  wife,  whom  he  had 
left  behind  him  at  Cairo  — her  brown  hair,  her  brilliant 
complexion,  and  her  blue  eyes.  It  is  this  Circassian  blood, 
I suppose,  to  which  the  Turkish  aristocracy  that  governs 
Egypt  must  be  indebted  for  the  fairness  of  their  skin. 
Ibrahim  Pasha,  riding  by  in  his  barouche,  looked  like  a 
bluff,  jolly-faced  English  dragoon  officer,  with  a gray  mous- 
tache and  red  cheeks,  such  as  you  might  see  on  a field-day 

* At  Derrynane  Beg,  for  instance. 


FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO . 


487 


at  Maidstone.  All  the  numerous  officials  riding  through  the 
town  were  quite  as  fair  as  Europeans.  We  made  acquaint- 
ance with  one  dignitary,  a very  jovial  and  fat  Pasha,  the 
proprietor  of  the  inn,  I believe,  who  was  continually  loung- 
ing about  the  Ezbekieh  garden,  and  who,  but  for  a slight 
Jewish  cast  of  countenance,  might  have  passed  any  day 
for  a Frenchman.  The  ladies  whom  we  saw  were  equally 
fair ; that  is,  the  very  slight  particles  of  the  persons  of 
ladies  which  our  lucky  eyes  were  permitted  to  gaze  on. 
These  lovely  creatures  go  through  the  town  by  parties  of 
three  or  four,  mounted  on  donkeys,  and  attended  by  slaves 
holding  on  at  the  crupper,  to  receive  the  lovely  riders  lest 
they  should  fall,  and  shouting  out  shrill  cries  of  “ Schmaa- 
lek,”  u Ameenek  ” ( or  however  else  these  words  may  be  pro- 
nounced ),  and  flogging  off  the  people  right  and  left  with 
the  buffalo-thong.  But  the  dear  creatures  are  even  more 
closely  disguised  than  at  Constantinople  : their  bodies  are 
enveloped  with  a large  black  silk  hood,  like  a cab-head ; 
the  fashion  seemed  to  be  to  spread  their  arms  out,  and  give 
this  covering  all  the  amplitude  of  which  it  was  capable,  as 
they  leered  and  ogled  you  from  under  their  black  masks 
with  their  big  rolling  eyes. 

Everybody  has  big  rolling  eyes  here  (unless,  to  be 
sure,  they  lose  one  of  ophthalmia).  The  Arab  women  are 
some  of  the  noblest  figures  I have  ever  seen.  The  habit  of 
carrying  jars  on  the  head  always  gives  the  figure  grace  and 
motion ; and  the  dress  the  women  wear  certainly  displays  it 
to  full  advantage.  I have  brought  a complete  one  home 
with  me,  at  the  service  of  any  lady  for  a masqued  ball.  It 
consists  of  a coarse  blue  dress  of  calico,  opened  in  front,  and 
fastened  with  a horn  button.  Three  yards  of  blue  stuff  for 
a veil;  on  the  top  of  the  veil  a jar  to  be  balanced  on  the 
head  ; and  a little  black  strip  of  silk  to  fall  over  the  nose, 
and  leave  the  beautiful  eyes  full  liberty  to  roll  and  roam. 
But  such  a costume,  not  aided  by  any  stays  or  any  other 
article  of  dress  whatever,  can  be  worn  only  by  a very  good 
figure.  I suspect  it  won’t  be  borrowed  for  many  balls  next 
season. 

The  men,  a tall,  handsome,  noble  race,  are  treated  like 
dogs.  I shall  never  forget  riding  through  the  crowded 
bazaars,  my  interpreter,  or  laquais-de-place,  ahead  of  me  to 
clear  the  way  — when  he  took  his  whip  and  struck  it  over 
the  shoulders  of  a man  who  could  not  or  would  not  make 
way ! 


488 


EASTERN  SKETCHES. 


The  man  turned  round  — an  old,  venerable,  handsome 
face,  witli  awfully  sad  eyes,  and  a beard  long  and  quite 
gray.  He  did  not  make  the  least  complaint,  but  slunk  out 
of  the  way,  piteously  shaking  his  shoulder.  The  sight  of 
that  indignity  gave  me  a sickening  feeling  of  disgust.  I 
shouted  out  to  the  cursed  lackey  to  hold  his  hand,  and  for- 
bade him  ever  in  my  presence  to  strike  old  or  young  more  ; 
but  everybody  is  doing  it.  The  whip  is  in  everybody’s 
hands : the  Pasha’s  running  footman,  as  he  goes  bustling 
through  the  bazaar ; the  doctor’s  attendant,  as  he  soberly 
threads  the  crowd  on  his  mare ; the  negro  slave,  who  is  rid- 
ing by  himself,  the  most  insolent  of  all,  strikes  and  slashes 
about  without  mercy,  and  you  never  hear  a single  complaint. 

How  to  describe  the  beauty  of  the  streets  to  you!  — the 
fantastic  splendor ; the  variety  of  the  houses,  and  arch- 
ways, and  hanging  roofs,  and  balconies,  and  porches  ; the 
delightful  accidents  of  light  and  shade  which  chequer 
them ; the  noise,  the  bustle,  the  brilliancy  of  the  crowd ; 
the  interminable  vast  bazaars  with  their  barbaric  splendor ! 
There  is  a fortune  to  be  made  for  painters  in  Cairo,  and 
materials  for  a whole  Academy  of  them.  I never  saw  such 
a variety  of  architecture,  of  life,  of  picturesqueness,  of 
brilliant  color,  and  light  and  shade.  There  is  a picture  in 
every  street,  and  at  every  bazaar  stall.  Some  of  these  our 
celebrated  water-color  painter,  Mr.  Lewis,  has  produced 
with  admirable  truth  and  exceeding  minuteness  and  beauty ; 
but  there  is  room  for  a hundred  to  follow  him ; and  should 
any  artist  ( by  some  rare  occurrence ) read  this,  who  has 
leisure,  and  wants  to  break  new  ground,  let  him  take  heart, 
and  try  a winter  in  Cairo,  where  there  is  the  finest  climate 
and  the  best  subjects  for  his  pencil. 

A series  of  studies  of  negroes  alone  would  form  a picture- 
book,  delightfully  grotesque.  Mounting  my  donkey  to-day, 
I took  a ride  to  the  desolate,  noble  old  buildings  outside  the 
city,  known  as  the  Tombs  of  the  Caliphs.  Every  one  of 
these  edifices,  with  their  domes,  and  courts,  and  minarets, 
is  strange  and  beautiful.  In  one  of  them  there  was  an 
encampment  of  negro  slaves  newly  arrived : some  scores  of 
them  were  huddled  against  the  sunny  wall;  two  or  three 
of  their  masters  lounged  about  the  court,  or  lay  smoking 
upon  carpets.  There  was  one  of  these  fellows,  a straight- 
nosed, ebony-faced  Abyssinian,  with  an  expression  of  such 
sinister  good-humor  in  his  handsome  face  as  would  form  a 
perfect  type  of  villany.  He  sat  leering  at  me,  over  his 


FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO . 


489 


carpet,  as  I endeavored  to  get  a sketch  of  that  incarnate 
rascality.  “ Give  me  some  money,  ” said  the  fellow.  “ I 
know  what  you  are  about.  You  will  sell  my  picture  for 
money  when  you  get  back  to  Europe ; let  me  have  some  of 
it  now ! ” But  the  very  rude  and  humble  designer  was 
quite  unequal  to  depict  such  a consummation  and  perfec- 
tion of  roguery ; so  flung  him  a cigar,  which  he  bega»n  to 
smoke,  grinning  at  the  giver,  I requested  the  interpreter 
to  inform  him,  by  way  of  assurance  of  my  disinterested- 
ness, that  his  face  was  a great  deal  too  ugly  to  be  popular 
in  Europe,  and  that  was  the  particular  reason  why  I had 
selected  it. 

Then  one  of  his  companions  got  up  and  showed  us  his 
black  cattle.  The  male  slaves  were  chiefly  lads,  and  the 


women  young,  well  formed,  and  abominably  hideous.  The 
dealer  pulled  her  blanket  off  one  of  them  and  bade  her  stand 
up,  which  she  did  with  a great  deal  of  shuddering  modesty. 
She  was  coal  black,  her  lips  were  the  size  of  sausages,  her 
eyes  large  and  good-humored  ; the  hair  or  wool  on  this 
young  person’s  head  was  curled  and  greased  into  a thou- 
sand filthy  little  ringlets.  She  was  evidently  the  beauty 
of  the  flock. 

They  are  not  unhappy ; they  look  to  being  bought,  as 
many  a spinster  looks  to  an  establishment  in  England ; 
onoe  in  a family  they  are  kindly  treated  and  well  clothed, 
and  fatted,  and  are  the  merriest  people  of  the  whole  com- 
munity. These  were  of  a much  more  savage  sort  than  the 
slaves  I had  seen  in  the  horrible  market  at  Constantinople, 


490 


EASTERN  SKETCHES , 


where  I recollect  a young  creature — whilst  I was  looking 
at  her  and  forming  pathetic  conjectures  regarding  her  fate 

— smiling  very  good-humoredly,  and  bidding  the  inter- 
preter ask  me  to  buy  her  for  twenty  pounds. 

From  these  Tombs  of  the  Caliphs  the  Desert  is  before 
you.  It  comes  up  to  the  walls  of  the  city,  and  stops  at 
some  gardens  which  spring  up  all  of  a sudden  at  its  edge. 
You  can  see  the  first  Station-house  on  the  Suez  Hoad  ; and 
so  from  distance  point  to  point,  could  ride  thither  alone 
without  a guide. 

Asinus  trotted  gallantly  into  this  desert  for  the  space  of 
a quarter  of  an  hour.  There  we  were  ( taking  care  to  keep 
our  backs  to  the  city  walls),  in  the  real  actual  desert: 
mounds  upon  mounds  of  sand,  stretching  away  as  far  as 
the  eye  can  see,  until  the  dreary  prospect  fades  away  in 
the  yellow  horizon ! I had  formed  a finer  idea  of  it  out  of 
“ Eothen.  ” Perhaps  in  a simoom  it  may  look  more  awful. 
The  only  adventure  that  befell  in  this  romantic  place  was 
that  asinus’s  legs  went  deep  into  a hole : whereupon  his 
rider  went  over  his  head,  and  bit  the  sand,  and  measured 
his  length  there  ; and  upon  this  hint  rose  up,  and  rode 
home  again.  No  doubt  one  should  have  gone  out  for  a 
couple  of  days’  march  — as  it  was,  the  desert  did  not  seem 
to  me  sublime,  only  uncomfortable. 

Very  soon  after  this  perilous  adventure  the  sun  likewise 
dipped  into  the  sand  (but  not  to  rise  therefrom  so  quickly 
as  I had  done)  ; and  I saw  this  daily  phenomenon  of  sun- 
set with  pleasure,  for  I was  engaged  at  that  hour  to  dine 

with  our  old  friend  J , who  has  established  himself 

here  in  the  most  complete  Oriental  fashion. 

You  remember  J , and  what  a dandy  he  was,  the 

faultlessness  of  his  boots  and  cravats,  the  brilliancy  of  his 
waistcoats  and  kid-gloves ; we  have  seen  his  splendor  in 
Eegent  Street,  in  the  Tuileries,  or  on  the  Toledo.  My  first 
object  on  arriving  here  was  to  find  out  his  house,  which  he 
has  taken  far  away  from  the  haunts  of  European  civiliza- 
tion, in  the  Arab  quarter.  It  is  situated  in  a cool,  shady, 
narrow  alley  ; so  narrow,  that  it  was  with  great  difficulty 

— his  Highness  Ibrahim  Pasha  happening  to  pass  at  the 
same  moment  — that  my  little  procession  of  two  donkeys, 
mounted  by  self  and  valet-de-place,  with  the  two  donkey- 
boys  our  attendants,  could  range  ourselves  along  the  wall, 
and  leave  room  for  the  august  cavalcade.  His  Highness 
having  rushed  on  ( with  an  affable  and  good-humored 


FROM  CORN  HILL  TO  CAIRO . 


491 


salute  to  our  imposing  party),  we  made  J.’s  quarter’s ; and 
in  the  first  place,  entered  a broad  covered  court  or  porch, 
where  a swarthy,  tawny  attendant,  dressed  in  blue,  with 
white  turban,  keeps  a perpetual  watch.  Servants  in  the 
East  lie  about  all  the  doors,  it  appears ; and  you  clap  your 
hands,  as  they  do  in  the  dear  old  “Arabian  Nights,”  to 
summon  them. 

This  servant  disappeared  through  a narrow  wicket,  which 
he  closed  after  him  ; and  went  into  the  inner  chambers  to 
ask  if  his  lord  would  receive  us.  He  came  back  presently, 
and  rising  up  from  my  donkey,  I confided  him  to  his 
attendant  ( lads  more  sharp,  arch,  and  wicked  than  these 
donkey-boys  don’t  walk  the  pave*  of  Paris  or  London), 
and  passed  the  mysterious  outer  door. 


First  we  came  into  a broad  open  court,  with  a covered 
gallery  running  along  one  side  of  it.  A camel  was  reclin- 
ing on  the  grass  there ; near  him  was  a gazelle,  to  glad  J. 
with  his  dark  blue  eye ; and  a numerous  brood  of  hens  and 
chickens,  who  furnish  his  liberal  table.  On  the  opposite 
side  of  the  covered  gallery  rose  up  the  walls  of  his  long, 
queer,  many-windowed,  many-galleried  house.  There  were 
wooden  lattices  to  those  arched  windows,  through  the 
diamonds  of  one  of  which  I saw  two  of  the  most  beautiful, 
enormous,  ogling,  black  eyes  in  the  world,  looking  down 
upon  the  interesting  stranger.  Pigeons  were  flapping,  and 
and  hopping,  and  fluttering,  and  cooing  about.  Happy 


492 


EASTERN  SKETCHES. 


pigeons,  you  are,  no  doubt,  fed  with  crumbs  from  the 
henne-tipped  fingers  of  Zuleika  ! All  this  court,  cheerful 
in  the  sunshine,  cheerful  with  the  astonishing  brilliancy  of 
the  eyes  peering  out  from  the  lattice  bars,  was  as  mouldy, 
ancient,  and  ruinous  — as  any  gentleman’s  house  in  Ire- 
land, let  us  say.  The  paint  was  peeling  off  the  rickety 
old  carved  galleries ; the  arabesques  over  the  windows  were 
chipped  and  worn ; the  ancientness  of  the  place  rendered 
it  doubly  picturesque.  I have  detained  you  a long  time  in 
the  outer  court.  Why  the  deuce  was  Zuleika  there,  with 
the  beautiful  black  eyes  ! 

Hence  we  passed  into  a large  apartment,  where  there 
was  a fountain  ; and  another  domestic  made  his  appear- 
ance, taking  me  in  charge,  and  relieving  the  tawny  porter 
of  the  gate.  This  fellow  was  clad  in  blue  too,  with  a red 
sash  and  a gray  beard.  He  conducted  me  into  a great  hall, 
where  there  was  a great,  large  Saracenic  oriel  window.  He 
seated  me  on  a divan : and  stalking  off,  for  a moment, 
returned  with  a long  pipe  and  a brass  chafing-dish:  he 
blew  the  coal  for  the  pipe,  which  he  motioned  me  to  smoke, 
and  left  me  there  with  a respectful  bow.  This  delay,  this 
mystery  of  servants,  that  outer  court  with  the  camels, 
gazelles,  and  other  beautiful-eyed  things,  affected  me  pro- 
digiously all  the  time  he  was  staying  away ; and  while  I 
was  examining  the  strange  apartment  and  its  contents, 
my  respect  and  awe  for  the  owner  increased  vastly. 

As  you  will  be  glad  to  know  how  an  Oriental  nobleman 
(such  as  J.  undoubtedly  is)  is  lodged  and  garnished,  let  me 
describe  the  contents  of  this  hall  of  audience.  It  is  about 
forty  feet  long,  and  eighteen  or  twenty  high.  All  the 
ceiling  is  carved,  gilt,  painted  and  embroidered  with  ara- 
besques, and  choice  sentences  of  Eastern  writing.  Some 
Mameluke  Aga,  or  Bey,  whom  Mehemet  Ali  invited  to 
breakfast  and  massacred,  was  the  proprietor  of  this  man- 
sion once  : it  has  grown  dingier,  but,  perhaps,  handsomer, 
since  his  time.  Opposite  the  divan  is  a great  bay  window, 
the  divan  likewise  round  the  niche.  It  looks  out  upon  a 
garden  about  the  size  of  Fountain  Court,  Temple ; sur- 
rounded by  the  tall  houses  of  the  quarter.  The  garden  is 
full  of  green.  A great  palm-tree  springs  up  in  the  midst, 
with  plentiful  shrubberies,  and  a talking  fountain.  The 
room  beside  the  divan  is  furnished  with  one  deal  table, 
value  five  shillings ; four  wooden  chairs,  value  six  shil- 
lings ; and  a couple  of  mats  and  carpets.  The  tables  and 


FROM  CORN  HILL  TO  CAIRO . 


493 


chairs  are  luxuries  imported  from  Europe.  The  regular 
Oriental  dinner  is  put  upon  copper  trays,  which  are  laid 

upon  low  stools.  Hence  J Effendi’s  house  maybe  said 

to  be  much  more  sumptuously  furnished  than  those  of  the 
Beys  and  Agas  his  neighbors. 

When  these  things  had  been  examined  at  leisure,  J 

appeared.  Could  it  be  the  exquisite  of  the  “ Europa  ” and 
the  “ Trois  Freres  ? ” A man  — in  a long  yellow  gown,  with 
a long  beard  somewhat  tinged  with  gray,  with  his  head 
shaved,  and  wearing  on  it  first  a white  wadded  cotton 
nightcap,  second,  a red  tarboosh  — made  his  appearance  and 
welcomed  me  cordially.  It  was  some  time,  as  the  Ameri- 
cans say,  before  I could  “ realize  ” the  semillant  J.  of  old 
times. 


He  shuffled  off  his  outer  slippers  before  he  curled  up  on 
the  divan  beside  me.  He  clapped  his  hands,  and  languidly 
called  “Mustapha.”  Mustapha  came  with  more  lights, 
pipes,  and  coffee  ; and  then  we  fell  to  talking  about  Lon- 
don, and  I gave  him  the  last  news  of  the  comrades  in 
that  dear  city.  As  we  talked,  his  Oriental  coolness  and 
languor  gave  way  to  British  cordiality ; he  was  the  most 
amusing  companion  of  the Club  once  more. 

He  has  adapted  himself  outwardly,  however,  to  the 
Oriental  life.  When  he  goes  abroad  he  rides  a gray  horse 
with  red  housings,  and  has  two  servants  to  walk  beside 
him.  He  wears  a very  handsome,  grave  costume  of  dark 


494 


EASTERN  SKETCHES . 


blue,  consisting  of  an  embroidered  jacket  and  gaiters  and 
a pair  of  trousers,  which  would  make  a set  of  dresses  for  an 
English  family.  His  beard  curls  nobly  over  his  chest,  his 
Damascus  scimitar  on  his  thigh.  His  red  cap  gives  him  a 
venerable  and  Bey-like  appearance.  There  is  no  gewgaw 
or  parade  about  him,  as  in  some  of  your  dandified  young 
Agas.  I should  say  that  he  is  a Major-general  of  Engi- 
neers, or  a grave  officer  of  State.  We  and  the  Turkified 
European,  who  found  us  at  dinner,  sat  smoking  in  solemn 
divan. 

His  dinners  were  excellent;  they  were  cooked  by  a 
regular  Egyptian  female  cook.  We  had  delicate  cucum- 
bers stuffed  with  forced-meats ; yellow  smoking  pilaffs, 
the  pride  of  the  Oriental  cuisine ; kid  and  fowls  a 
l’Aboukir  and  a la  Pyramide : a number  of  little  savory 
plates  of  legumes  of  the  vegetable  marrow  sort : kibobs 
with  an  excellent  sauce  of  plums  and  piquant  herbs.  We 
ended  the  repast  with  ruby  pomegranates,  pulled  to  pieces, 
deliciously  cool  and  pleasant.  For  the  meats,  we  certainly 
ate  them  with  Infidel  knife  and  fork;  but  for  the  fruit,  we 
put  our  hands  into  the  dish  and  flicked  them  into  our 
mouths  in  what  cannot  but  be  the  true  Oriental  manner. 
I asked  for  lamb  and  pistachio-nuts,  and  cream-tarts  an 
poivre ; but  J.’s  cook  did  not  furnish  us  with  either  of 
those  historic  dishes.  As  for  drink,  we  had  water  fresh- 
ened in  the  porus  little  pots  of  gray  clay,  at  whose  spout 
every  traveller  in  the  East  has  sucked  delighted.  Also,  it 
must  be  confessed,  we  drank  certain  sherbets,  prepared  by 
the  two  great  rivals,  Hadji  Hodson  and  Bass  Bey  — the 
the  bitterest  and  most  delicious  of  draughts  ! 0 divine 

Hodson  ! a camel’s  load  of  thy  beer  came  from  Beyrout  to 
Jerusalem  while  we  were  there.  How  shall  I ever  forget 
the  joy  inspired  by  one  of  those  foaming  cool  flasks? 

We  don’t  know  the  luxury  of  thirst  in  English  climes. 
Sedentary  men  in  cities  at  least  have  seldom  ascertained 
it ; but  when  they  travel,  our  countrymen  guard  against  it 
well.  The  road  between  Cairo  and  Suez  is  jonche  with 
soda-water  corks.  Tom  Thumb  and  his  brothers  might 
track  their  way  across  the  desert  by  those  landmarks. 

Cairo  is  magnificently  picturesque ; it  is  fine  to  have 
palm-trees  in  your  gardens,  and  ride  about  on  a camel ; but, 
after  all,  I was  anxious  to  know  what  were  the  particular 
excitements  of  Eastern  life,  which  detained  J.,  who  is  a 
town-bred  man,  from  his  natural  pleasures  and  occupations 


FROM  CORNtilLL  TO  CAIRO. 


495 


in  London  ; where  his  family  don’t  hear  from  him,  where 
his  room  is  still  kept  ready  at  home,  and  his  name  is  on 
the  list  of  his  club  ; and  where  his  neglected  sisters  tremble 
to  think  that  their  Frederick  is  going  about  with  a great 
beard  and  a crooked  sword,  dressed  up  like  an  odious  Turk. 
In  a “ lark  ” such  a costume  may  be  very  well ; but  home, 
London,  a razor,  your  sister  to  make  tea,  a pair  of  moderate 
Christian  breeches  in  lieu  of  these  enormous  Turkish  shul- 
wars,  are  vastly  more  convenient  in  the  long  run.  What 
was  it  that  kept  him  away  from  these  decent  and  accus- 
tomed delights  ? 

It  couldn’t  be  the  black  eyes  in  the  balcony  — upon  his 
honor  she  was  only  the  black  cook,  who  has  done  the  pilaff, 
and  stuffed  the  cucumbers.  No,  it  was  an  indulgence  of 
laziness  such  as  Europeans,  Englishmen  at  least,  don’t 
know  how  to  enjoy.  Here  he  lives  like  a languid  Lotus- 
eater  — a dreamy,  hazy,  lazy,  tobaccofied  life.  He  was 
away  from  evening-parties,  he  said  ; he  needn’t  wear  white 
kid  gloves,  or  starched  neck-cloths,  or  read  a newspaper. 
And  even  this  life  at  Cairo  was  too  civilized  for  him  ; Eng- 
lishmen passed  through  ; old  acquaintances  would  call : the 
great  pleasure  of  pleasures  was  life  in  the  desert, — under 
the  tents,  with  still  more  nothing  to  do  than  in  Cairo  ; now 
smoking,  now  cantering  on  Arabs,  and  no  crowd  to  jostle 
you ; solemn  contemplations  of  the  stars  at  night,  as  the 
camels  were  picketed,  and  the  fires  and  the  pipes  were 
lighted. 

The  night-scene  in  the  city  is  very  striking  for  its  vast- 
ness and  loneliness.  Everybody  has  gone  to  rest  long 
before  ten  o’clock.  There  are  no  lights  in  the  enormous 
buildings ; only  the  stars  blazing  above,  with  their  aston- 
ishing brilliancy,  in  the  blue,  peaceful  sky.  Your  guides 
carry  a couple  of  little  lanterns,  which  redouble  the  dark- 
ness in  the  solitary,  echoing  street.  Mysterious  people  are 
curled  up  and  sleeping  in  the  porches.  A patrol  of  soldiers 
passes,  and  hails  you.  There  is  a light  yet  in  one  mosque, 
where  some  devotees  are  at  prayers  all  night ; and  you  hear 
the  queerest  nasal  music  proceeding  from  those  pious 
believers.  As  you  pass  the  mad-house,  there  is  one  poor 
fellow  still  talking  to  the  moon  — no  deep  for  him.  He 
howls  and  sings  there  all  the  night  — quite  cheerfully,  how- 
ever. He  has  not  lost  his  vanity  with  his  reason  ; he  is  a 
Prince  in  spite  of  the  bars  and  the  straw. 

What  to  say  about  those  famous  edifices,  which  has  not 


496 


EASTERN  SKETCHES . 


been  better  said  elsewhere  ? — but  you  will  not  believe  that 
we  visited  them,  unless  I bring  some  token  from  them. 
Here  is  one. 

That  white-capped  lad  skipped  up  the  stones  with  a jug 
of  water  in  his  hand,  to  refresh  weary  climbers  ; and,  squat- 
ting himself  down  on  the  summit,  was  designed  as  you  see. 
The  vast,  flat  landscape  stretches  behind  him ; the  great 
winding  river ; the  purple  city,  with  forts,  and  domes,  and 
spires;  the  green  fields,  and  palm-groves,  and  speckled 
villages  ; the  plains  still  covered  with  shining  inundations 
— the  landscape  stretches  far,  far  away,  until  it  is  lost  and 
mingled  in  the  golden  horizon.  It  is  poor  work,  this  land- 
scape-painting in  print.  Shelley’s  two  sonnets  are  the  best 


views  that  I know  of  the  Pyramids  — better  than  the 
reality  ; for  a man  may  lay  down  the  book,  and  in  quiet 
fancy  conjure  up  a picture  out  of  these  magnificent  words, 
which  shan’t  be  disturbed  by  any  pettinesses  or  mean 
realities, — such  as  the  swarms  of  howling  beggars,  who 
jostle  you  about  the  actual  place,  and  scream  in  your  ears 
incessantly,  and  hang  on  your  skirts  and  bawl  for  money. 

The  ride  to  the  Pyramids  is  one  of  the  pleasantest  possi- 
ble. In  the  fall  of  the  year,  though  the  sky  is  almost 
cloudless  above  you,  the  sun  is  not  too  hot  to  bear ; and 
the  landscape,  refreshed  by  the  subsiding  inundations,  de- 
lightfully green  and  cheerful.  We  made  up  a party  of 
some  half-dozen  from  the  hotel,  a lady  (the  kind  soda- 
water  provider,  for  whose  hospitality  the  most  grateful 


FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO . 


497 


compliments  are  hereby  offered  ) being  of  the  company,  bent 
like  the  rest  upon  going  to  the  summit  of  Cheops.  Those 
who  were  cautious  and  wise,  took  a brace  of  donkeys.  At 
least  five  times  during  the  route  did  my  animals  fall  with 
me,  causing  me  to  repeat  the  Desert  experiment  over  again, 
but  with  more  success.  The  pace  between  a moderate  pair 
of  legs  and  the  ground  is  not  many  inches.  By  eschewing 
stirrups,  the  donkey  could  fall,  and  the  rider  alight  on  the 
ground,  with  the  greatest  ease  and  grace.  Almost  every- 
body was  down  and  up  again  in  the  course  of  the  day. 

We  passed  through  the  Ezbekieh  and  by  the  suburbs 
of  the  town,  where  the  garden-houses  of  the  Egyptian 
noblesse  are  situated,  to  Old  Cairo,  where  a ferry-boat  took 
the  whole  party  across  the  Nile,  with  that  noise  and  bawl- 
ing volubilffy  in  which  the  Arab  people  seem  to  be  so 
unlike  the  grave  and  silent  Turks ; and  so  took  our  course 
for  some  eight  or  ten  miles  over  the  devious  track  which 
the  still  outlying  waters  obliged  us  to  pursue.  The  Pyra- 
mids were  in  sight  the  whole  way.  One  or  two  thin, 
silvery  clouds  were  hovering  over  them,  and  casting  deli- 
cate, rosy  shadows,  upon  the  grand,  simple,  old  piles. 
Along  the  track  we  saw  a score  of  pleasant  pictures  of 
Eastern  life  : — The  Pasha’s  horses  and  slaves  stood  capari- 
soned at  his  door ; at  the  gate  of  one  country-house,  I am 
sorry  to  say,  the  Bey’s  gig  was  in  waiting,  — a most  unro- 
mantic chariot : the  husbandmen  were  coming  into  the  city, 
with  their  strings  of  donkeys  and  their  loads ; as  they 
arrived,  they  stopped  and  sucked  at  the  fountain  : a column 
of  red-capped  troops  passed  to  drill,  with  slouched  gait, 
white  uniforms,  and  glittering  bayonets.  Then  we  had  the 
pictures  at  the  quay : the  ferry-boat,  and  the  red-sailed 
river-boat,  getting  under  weigh,  and  bound  up  the  stream. 
There  was  the  grain  market,  and  the  huts  on  the  oppo- 
site side ; and  that  beautiful  woman,  with  silver  armlets, 
and  a face  the  color  of  gold,  which  ( the  nose-bag  having 
been  luckily  removed  ) beamed  solemnly  on  us  Europeans, 
like  a great  yellow  harvest-moon.  The  bunches  of  pur- 
pling dates  were  pending  from  the  branches ; gray  cranes 
or  herons  were  flying  over  the  cool,  shining  lakes,  that 
the  river’s  overflow  had  left  behind ; water  was  gurgling 
through  the  courses  by  the  rude  locks  and  barriers  formed 
there,  and  overflowing  this  patch  of  ground ; whilst  the 
neighboring  field  was  fast  budding  into  the  more  brill- 
iant fresh  green.  Single  dromedaries  were  stepping  along, 
32 


498 


EASTERN  SKETCHES. 


their  riders  lolling  on  their  hunches ; low  sail-boats  were 
lying  in  the  canals , now,  we  crossed  an  old  marble  bridge  ; 
now,  we  went,  one  by  one,  over  a ridge  of  slippery  earth ; 
now,  we  floundered  through  a small  lake  of  mud.  At  last, 
at  about  half  a mile  off  the  Pyramid,  we  came  to  a piece 
of  water  some  two  score  yards  broad,  where  a regiment  of 
half-naked  Arabs,  seizing  upon  each  individual  of  the  party, 
bore  us  off  on  their  shoulders,  to  the  laughter  of  all,  and 
the  great  perplexity  of  several,  who  every  moment  ex- 
pected to  be  pitched  into  one  of  the  many  holes  with  which 
the  treacherous  lake  abounded. 

It  was  nothing  but  joking  and  laughter,  bullying  of 
guides,  shouting  for  interpreters,  quarrelling  about  six- 
pences. We  were  acting  a farce,  with  the  Pyramids  for 
the  scene.  There  they  rose  up  enormous  under  our  eyes, 
and  the  most  absurd,  trivial  things  were  going  on  under 
their  shadow.  The  sublime  had  disappeared,  vast  as  they 
were.  Do  you  remember  how  Gulliver  lost  his  awe  of  the 
tremendous  Brobdingnag  ladies?  Every  traveller  must  go 
through  all  sorts  of  chaffering,  and  bargaining,  and  paltry 
experiences  at  this  spot.  You  look  up  the  tremendous  steps, 
with  a score  of  savage  ruffians  bellowing  round  you ; you 
hear  faint  cheers  and  cries  high  up,  and  catch  sight  of  little 
reptiles  crawling  upwards ; or,  having  achieved  the  sum- 
mit, they  come  hopping  and  bouncing  down  again  from 
degree  to  degree,  — the  cheers  and  cries  swell  louder  and 
more  disagreeable ; presently  the  little  jumping  thing,  no 
bigger  than  an  insect  a moment  ago,  bounces  down  upon 
you  expanded  into  a panting  Major  of  Bengal  cavalry.  He 
drives  off  the  Arabs  with  an  oath,  — wipes  his  red  shining 
face  with  his  yellow  handkerchief,  drops  puffing  on  the 
sand  in  a shady  corner,  where  cold  fowl  and  hard  eggs  are 
awaiting  him,  and  the  next  minute  you  see  his  nose 
plunged  in  a foaming  beaker  of  brandy  and  soda-water. 
He  can  say  now,  and  for  ever,  he  has  been  up  the  Pyramid. 
There  is  nothing  sublime  in  it.  You  cast  your  eye  once 
more  up  that  staggering  perspective  of  a zig-zag  line,  which 
ends  at  the  summit,  and  wish  you  were  up  there  — and 
down  again.  Forwards  ! — Up  with  you ! It  must  be 
done.  Six  Arabs  are  behind  you,  who  won’t  let  you  escape 
if  you  would. 

The  importunity  of  these  ruffians  is  a ludicrous  annoy- 
ance to  which  a traveller  must  submit.  For  two  miles 
before  you  reach  the  Pyramids  they  seize  on  you  and  never 


FROM  CORN  HILL  TO  CAIRO. 


499 


cease  howling.  Five  or  six  of  them  pounce  upon  one  vic- 
tim, and  never  leave  him  until  they  have  carried  him  up 
and  down.  Sometimes  they  conspire  to  run  a man  up  the 
huge  stair,  and  bring  him,  half  killed  and  fainting,  to  the 
top.  Always  a couple  of  brutes  insist  upon  impelling  you 
sternwards  ; from  whom  the  only  means  to  release  your- 
self is  to  kick  out  vigorously  and  unmercifully,  when  the 
Arabs  will  possibly  retreat.  The  ascent  is  not  the  least 
romantic,  or  difficult,  or  sublime  : you  walk  up  a great 
broken  staircase,  of  which  some  of  the  steps  are  four  feet 
high.  It’s  not  hard,  only  a little  high.  You  see  no  better 
view  from  the  top  than  you  beheld  from  the  bottom ; only 
a little  more  river,  and  sand,  and  rice-field.  You  jump 
down  the  big  steps  at  your  leisure;  but  your  meditations 
you  must  keep  for  after-times,  — the  cursed  shrieking  of 
the  Arabs  prevents  all  thought  or  leisure. 

— And  this  is  all  you  have  to  tell  about  the  Pyramids  ? 
Oh  ! for  shame  ! Not  a compliment  to  their  age  and  size  ? 
Not  a big  phrase,  — not  a rapture  ? Do  you  mean  to  say 
that  you  had  no  feeling  of  respect  and  awe  ? Try,  man, 
and  build  up  a monument  of  words  as  lofty  as  they  are  — 
they,  whom  “ imber  edax  ” and  u aquilo  impotens  ” and  the 
flight  of  ages  have  not  been  able  to  destroy ! 

— No  : be  that  work  for  great  geniuses,  great  painters, 
great  poets  ! This  quill  was  never  made  to  take  such 
flights ; it  comes  of  the  wing  of  a humble  domestic  bird, 
who  walks  a common  ; who  talks  a great  deal  ( and  hisses 
sometimes  ) ; who  can’t  fly  far  or  high,  and  drops  always 
very  quickly ; and  whose  unromantic  end  is,  to  be  laid  on  a 
Michaelmas  or  Christmas  table,  and  there  to  be  discussed 
for  half  an  hour  — let  us  hope,  with  some  relish. 


Another  week  saw  us  in  the  Quarantine  Harbor  at  Malta, 
where  seventeen  days  of  prison  and  quiet  were  almost 
agreeable,  after  the  incessant  sight-seeing  of  the  last  two 
months.  In  the  interval,  between  the  23rd  of  August  and 
the  27th  of  October,  we  may  boast  of  having  seen  more 
men  and  cities  than  most  travellers  have  seen  in  such  a 
time  : — Lisbon,  Cadiz,  Gibraltar,  Malta,  Athens,  Smyrna, 
Constantinople,  Jerusalem,  Cairo.  I shall  have  the  carpet- 
bag which  has  visited  these  places  in  company  with  its 


500 


EASTERN  SKETCHES . 


owner,  embroidered  with  their  names ; as  military  flags 
are  emblazoned,  and  laid  up  in  ordinary,  to  be  looked  at  in 
old  age.  With  what  a number  of  sights  and  pictures, — of 
novel  sensations,  and  lasting  and  delightful  remembrances, 
does  a man  furnish  his  mind  after  such  a tour ! You 
forget  all  the  annoyances  of  travel;  but  the  pleasure  re- 
mains with  you,  through  that  kind  provision  of  nature  by 
which  a man  forgets  being  ill,  but  thinks  with  joy  of 
getting  well,  and  can  remember  all  the  minute  circum- 
stances of  his  convalescence.  I forget  what  sea-sickness 
is  now : though  it  occupies  a woful  portion  of  my  Journal. 
There  was  a time  on  board  when  the  bitter  ale  was  decid- 
edly muddy ; and  the  cook  of  the  ship  deserting  at  Con- 
stantinople, it  must  be  confessed  his  successor  was  for  some 
time  before  he  got  his  hand  in.  These  sorrows  have  passed 
away  with  the  soothing  influence  of  time : the  pleasures  of 
the  voyage  remain,  let  us  hope,  as  long  as  life  will  endure. 
It  was  but  for  a couple  of  days  that  those  shining  columns 
of  the  Parthenon  glowed  under  the  blue  sky  there  ; but 
the  experience  of  a life  could  scarcely  impress  them  more 
vividly.  We  saw  Cadiz  only  for  an  hour ; but  the  white 
buildings,  and  the  glorious  blue  sea,  how  clear  they  are  to 
the  memory!  — with  the  tang  of  that  gipsy’s  guitar  danc- 
ing in  the  market-place,  in  the  midst  of  the  fruit,  and  the 
beggars,  and  the  sunshine.  Who  can  forget  the  Bosphorus, 
the  brightest  and  fairest  scene  in  all  the  world;  or  the 
towering  lines  of  Gibraltar ; or  the  great  piles  of  Mafra,  as 
we  rode  into  the  Tagus?  As  I write  this,  and  think,  back 
comes  Rhodes,  with  its  old  towers  and  artillery,  and  that 
wonderful  atmosphere,  and  that  astonishing  blue  sea  which 
environs  the  island.  The  Arab  riders  go  pacing  over  the 
plains  of  Sharon,  in  the  rosy  twilight,  just  before  sunrise ; 
and  I can  see  the  ghastly  Moab  mountains,  with  the  Dead 
Sea  gleaming  before  them,  from  the  mosque  on  the  way 
towards  Bethany.  The  black,  gnarled  trees  of  Gethsem- 
ane  lie  at  the  foot  of  Olivet,  and  the  yellow  ramparts  of 
the  city  rise  up  on  the  stony  hills  beyond. 

But  the  happiest  and  best  of  all  the  recollections,  per- 
haps, are  those  of  the  hours  passed  at  night  on  the  deck, 
when  the  stars  were  shining  overhead,  and  the  hours  were 
tolled  at  their  time,  and  your  thoughts  were  fixed  upon 
home  far  away.  As  the  sun  rose  I once  heard  the  priest, 
from  the  minaret  of  Constantinople,  crying  out,  “ Come  to 
prayer,”  with  his  shrill  voice  ringing  through  the  clear  air ; 


FROM  CORNHILL  TO  CAIRO. 


501 


and  saw,  at  the  same  hour,  the  Arab  prostrate  himself  and 
pray,  and  the  Jew  Eabbi,  bending  over  his  book,  and  wor- 
shipping the  Maker  of  Turk  and  Jew.  Sitting  at  home  in 
London,  and  writing  this  last  line  of  farewell,  those  figures 
come  back  the  clearest  of  all  to  the  memory,  with  the  pict- 
ure, too,  of  our  ship  sailing  over  the  peaceful  Sabbath  sea, 
and  our  own  prayers  and  services  celebrated  there.  So 
each,  in  his  fashion,  and  after  his  kind,  is  bowing  down,  and 
adoring  the  Father,  who  is  equally  above  all.  Cavil  not, 
you  brother  or  sister,  if  your  neighbor’s  voice  is  not  like 
yours ; only  hope  that  his  words  are  honest  ( as  far  as  they 
may  be),  and  his  heart  humble  and  thankful. 


THE  END. 


. 

' 


. 

T ? 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK 


TO 


CHARLES  LEVER,  Esq., 

OF  TEMPLEOGUE  HOUSE,  NEAR  DUBLIN. 


My  dear  Lever  : — Harry  Lorrequer  needs  no  compli- 
menting in  a dedication ; and  I would  not  venture  to  in- 
scribe this  volume  to  the  Editor  of  the  “ Dublin  University 
Magazine/’  who,  I fear,  must  disapprove  of  a great  deal 
which  it  contains. 

But  allow  me  to  dedicate  my  little  book  to  a good  Irish- 
man (the  hearty  charity  of  whose  visionary  red-coats,  some 
substantial  personages  in  black  might  imitate  to  advantage), 
and  to  a friend  from  whom  I have  received  a hundred  acts 
of  kindness  and  cordial  hospitality. 

Laying  aside  for  a moment  the  travelling-title  of  Mr. 
Titmarsh,  let  me  acknowledge  these  favors  in  my  own  name, 
and  subscribe  myself,  my  dear  Lever, 

Most  sincerely  and  gratefully  yours, 

W.  M.  Thackeray. 


London,  April  27,  1843. 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


CHAPTER  I. 

A SUMMER  DAY  IN  DUBLIN,  OR  THERE  AND  THEREABOUTS. 

TE  coach  that  brings  the 
passenger  by  wood  and 
mountain,  by  brawling 
waterfall  and  gloomy 
plain,  by  the  lonely  lake 
of  Festiniog  and  across  the. 
swinging  world’s  wonder 
of  a Menai  Bridge,  through 
dismal  Anglesea  to  dismal 
Holyhead  — the  Birming- 
ham mail  — manages  mat- 
ters so  cleverly,  that  after 
ten  hours’  ride  the  travel- 
ler is  thrust  incontinently 
on  board  the  packet,  and 
the  steward  says  there’s  no 
use  in  providing  dinner  on  board  because  the  passage  is  so 
short. 

That  is  true : but  why  not  give  us  half  an  hour  on  shore  ? 
Ten  hours  spent  on  a coach-box  render  the  dinner  question 
one  of  extreme  importance ; and  as  the  packet  reaches 
Kingstown  at  midnight,  when  all  the  world  is  asleep,  the 
inn-larders  locked  up,  and  the  cook  in  bed  ; and  as  the  mail 
is  not  landed  until  live  in  the  morning  (at  which  hour  the 
passengers  are  considerately  awakened  by  a great  stamping 
and  shouting  overhead),  might  not  “Lord  Lowther”  give  us 
one  little  half-hour  ? Even  the  steward  agreed  that  it  was 
a useless  and  atrocious  tyranny  ; and,  indeed,  after  a little 

VOL.  it.  — i 1 


2 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


demur,  produced  a half-dozen  of  fried  eggs,  a feeble  make- 
shift for  a dinner. 

Our  passage  across  from  the  Head  was  made  in  a rain  so 
pouring  and  steady,  that  sea  and  coast  were  entirely  hidden 
from  us,  and  one  could  see  very  little  beyond  the  glowing 
tip  of  the  cigar  which  remained  alight  nobly  in  spite  of  the 
weather.  When  the  gallant  exertions  of  that  fiery  spirit 
were  over  forever,  and  burning  bravely  to  the  end  it  had 
breathed  its  last  in  doing  its  master  service,  all  became 
black  and  cheerless  around ; the  passengers  had  dropped  off 
one  by  one,  preferring  to  be  dry  and  ill  below  rather  than 
wet  and  squeamish  above : even  the  mate  with  his  gold- 
laced  cap  (who  is  so  astonishingly  like  Mr.  Charles  Dickens 
that  he  might  pass  for  that  gentleman)  — even  the  mate 
said  he  would  go  to  his  cabin  and  turn  in.  So  there 
remained  nothing  for  it  but  to  do  as  all  the  world  had  done. 

Hence  it  was  impossible  to  institute  the  comparison 
between  the  Bay  of  Naples  and  that  of  Dublin  (the  Bee  of 
Neeples  the  former  is  sometimes  called  in  this  country), 
where  I have  heard  the  likeness  asserted  in  a great  number 
of  societies  and  conversations.  But  how  could  one  see  the 
Bay  of  Dublin  in  the  dark  ? and  how,  supposing  one  could 
see  it,  should  a person  behave  who  has  never  seen  the  Bay 
of  Naples  ? It  is  but  to  take  the  similarity  for  granted, 
and  remain  in  bed  till  morning. 

When  everybody  was  awakened  at  five  o’clock  by  the 
noise  made  upon  the  removal  of  the  mail-bags,  there  was 
heard  a cheerless  dribbling  and  pattering  overhead,  which 
led  one  to  wait  still  further  until  the  rain  should  cease.  At 
length  the  steward  said  the  last  boat  was  going  ashore.,  and 
receiving  half  a crown  for  his  own  services  (the  regular 
tariff)  intimated  likewise  that  it  was  the  custom  for  gentle- 
men to  compliment  the  stewardess  with  a shilling,  which 
ceremony  was  also  complied  with.  No  doubt  she  is  an 
amiable  woman,  and  deserves  any  sum  of  money.  As  for 
inquiring  whether  she  merited  it  or  not  in  this  instance, 
that  surely  is  quite  unfair.  A traveller  who  stops  to 
inquire  the  deserts  of  every  individual  claimant  of  a shilling 
on  his  road,  had  best  stay  quiet  at  home.  If  we  only  got 
what  we  deserved , — heaven  save  us  ! — many  of  us  might 
whistle  for  a dinner. 

A long  pier,  with  a steamer  or  two  at  hand,  and  a few 
small  vessels  lying  on  either  side  of  the  jetty;  a town  irreg- 
ularly built,  with  many  handsome  terraces,  some  churches, 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


3 


and  showy-looking  hotels ; a few  people  straggling  on  the 
beach ; two  or  three  cars  at  the  railroad  station,  which  runs 
along  the  shore  as  far  as  Dublin ; the  sea  stretching  inter- 
minably eastward ; to  the  north  the  Hill  of  Howth,  lying 
gray  behind  the  mist ; and,  directly  under  his  feet  upon  the 
wet,  black,  shining,  slippery  deck,  an  agreeable  reflection 
of  his  own  legs,  disappearing  seemingly  in  the  direction  of 
the  cabin  from  which  he  issues  ; are  the  sights  which  a 
traveller  may  remark  on  coming  on  deck  at  Kingstown  pier 


on  a wet  morning  — let  us  say  on  an  average  morning ; for, 
according  to  the  statement  of  well-informed  natives,  the 
Irish  day  is  more  often  rainy  than  otherwise.  A hideous 
obelisk,  stuck  upon  four  fat  balls,  and  surmounted  with  a 
crown  on  a cushion  (the  latter  were  no  bad  emblems  per- 
haps of  the  monarch  in  whose  honor  they  were  raised), 
commemorates  the  sacred  spot  at  which  George  IV.  quitted 
Ireland.  You  are  landed  here  from  the  steamer  ; and  a car- 
man, who  is  dawdling  in  the  neighborhood,  with  a straw 
in  his  mouth,  comes  leisurely  up  to  ask  whether  you  will 
go  to  Dublin  ? Is  it  natural  indolence,  or  the  effect  of 
despair  because  of  the  neighboring  railroad,  which  renders 


4 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


him  so  indifferent  ? — He  does  not  even  take  the  straw  out 
of  his  mouth  as  he  proposes  the  question  — he  seems  quite 
careless  as  to  the  answer. 

He  said  he  would  take  me  to  Dublin  “in  three  quar- 
thers,”  as  soon  as  we  began  a parley.  As  to  the  fare,  he 
would  not  hear  of  it  — he  said  he  would  leave  it  to  my 
honor;  he  would  take  me  for  nothing.  Was  it  possible  to 
refuse  such  a genteel  offer  ? * The  times  are  very  much 
changed  since  those  described  by  the  facetious  Jack  Hin- 
ton, when  the  carmen  tossed  up  for  the  passenger,  and 
those  who  won  him  took  him : for  the  remaining  cars  on 
the  stand  did  not  seem  to  take  the  least  interest  in  the  bar- 
gain, or  to  offer  to  overdrive  or  underbid  their  comrade  in 
any  way. 

Before  that  day,  so  memorable  for  joy  and  sorrow,  for 
rapture  at  receiving  its  monarch  and  tearful  grief  at  losing 
him,  when  George  IV.  came  and  left  the  maritime  resort  of 
the  citizens  of  Dublin,  it  bore  a less  genteel  name  than  that 
which  it  owns  at  present,  and  was  called  Dunleary.  After 
that  glorious  event  Dunleary  disdained  to  be  Dunleary  any 
longer,  and  became  Kingstown  henceforward  and  forever. 
Numerous  terraces  and  pleasure -houses  have  been  built  in 
the  place  — they  stretch  row  after  row  along  the  banks  of 
the  sea,  and  rise  one  above  another  on  the  hill.  The  rents 
of  these  houses  are  said  to  be  very  high ; the  Dublin  citi- 
zens crowd  into  them  in  summer ; and  a great  source  of 
pleasure  and  comfort  must  it  be  to  them  to  have  the  fresh 
sea-breezes  and  prospects  so  near  to  the  metropolis. 

The  better  sort  of  houses  are  handsome  and  spacious  ; but 
the  fashionable  quarter  is  yet  in  an  unfinished  state,  for 
enterprising  architects  are  always  beginning  new  roads, 
rows  and  terraces : nor  are  those  already  built  by  any 
means  complete.  Beside  the  aristocratic  part  of  the  town 
is  a commercial  one,  and  nearer  to  Dublin  stretch  lines  of 
low  cottages  which  have  not  a Kingstown  look  at  all,  but 
are  evidently  of  the  Dunleary  period.  It  is  quite  curious 
to  see  in  the  streets  where  the  shops  are,  how  often  the 
painter  of  the  signboards  begins  with  big  letters,  and  ends, 
for  want  of  space,  with  small ; and  the  Englishman  accus- 
tomed to  the  thriving  neatness  and  regularity  which  char- 
acterize towns  great  and  small  in  his  own  country,  can’t  fail 
to  notice  the  difference  here.  The  houses  have  a battered, 
rakish  look,  and  seem  going  to  ruin  before  their  time.  As 
seamen  of  all  nations  come  hither  who  have  made  no  vow 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK . 


5 


of  temperance,  there  are  plenty  of  liquor-shops  still,  and 
shabby  cigar-shops,  and  shabby  milliners’  and  tailors’  with 
fly-blown  prints  of  old  fashions.  The  bakers  and  apothe- 
caries make  a great  brag  of  their  calling,  and  you  see 

MEDICAL  HALL,  01’  PUBLIC  BAKERY,  BALLYRAGGET  FLOUR- 

STORE  (or  whatever  the  name  may  be),  pompously  inscribed 
over  very  humble  tenements.  Some  comfortable  grocers’ 
and  butchers’  shops,  and  numbers  of  shabby  sauntering 
people,  the  younger  part  of  whom  are  barelegged  and  bare- 
headed, make  up  the  rest  of  the  picture  which  the  stranger 
sees  as  his  car  goes  jingling  through  the  street. 

After  the  town  come  the  suburbs  of  pleasure-houses ; low 
one-storied  cottages  for  the  most  part : some  neat  and  fresh, 
some  that  have  passed  away  from  the  genteel  state  alto- 
gether, and  exhibit  downright  poverty ; some  in  a state  of 
transition,  with  broken  windows  and  pretty  romantic  names 
upon  tumble-down  gates.  Who  lives  in  them  ? One  fancies 
that  the  chairs  and  tables  inside  are  broken,  that  the  teapot 
on  the  breakfast-table  has  no  spout,  and  the  tablecloth  is 
ragged  and  sloppy  ; that  the  lady  of  the  house  is  in  dubious 
curl-papers,  and  the  gentleman,  with  an  imperial  to  his 
chin,  wears  a flaring  dressing-gown  all  ragged  at  the 
elbows. 

To  be  sure,  a traveller  who  in  ten  minutes  can  see  not 
only  the  outsides  of  houses,  but  the  interiors  of  the  same, 
must  have  remarkably  keen  sight ; and  it  is  early  yet  to 
speculate.  It  is  clear,  however,  that  these  are  pleasure- 
houses  for  a certain  class ; and  looking  at  the  houses,  one 
can’t  but  fancy  the  inhabitants  resemble  them  somewhat. 
The  car,  on  its  road  to  Dublin,  passes  by  numbers  of  these 
— by  more  shabbiness  than  a Londoner  will  see  in  the 
course  of  his  home  peregrinations  for  a year. 

The  capabilities  of  the  country,  however,  are  very  great, 
and  in  many  instances  have  been  taken  advantage  of  : Tor 
you  see,  besides  the  misery,  numerous  handsome  houses 
and  parks  along  the  road,  having  flne  lawns  and  woods ; 
and  the  sea  is  in  our  view  at  a quarter  of  an  hour’s  ride 
from  Dublin.  It  is  the  continual  appearance  of  this  sort  of 
wealth  which  makes  the  poverty  more  striking : and  thus 
between  the  two  (for  there  is  no  vacant  space  of  fields 
between  Kingstown  and  Dublin)  the  car  reaches  the  city. 
There  is  but  little  commerce  on  this  road,  which  was  also 
in  extremely  bad  repair.  It  is  neglected  for  the  sake  of  its 
thriving  neighbor  the  railroad;  on  which  a dozen  pretty 


6 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK . 


little  stations  accommodate  tlie  inhabitants  of  the  various 
villages  through  which  we  pass. 

The  entrance  to  the  capital  is  very  handsome.  There  is 
no  bustle  and  throng  of  carriages,  as  in  London  ; but  you 
pass  by  numerous  rows  of  neat  houses,  fronted  with  gardens 
and  adorned  with  all  sorts  of  gay-looking  creepers.  Pretty 
market-gardens,  with  trim  beds  of  plants  and  shining  glass- 
houses, give  the  suburbs  a riante  and  cheerful  look ; and, 
passing  under  the  arch  of  the  railway,  we  are  in  the  city 
itself.  Hence  you  come  upon  several  old-fashioned,  well- 
built,  airy,  stately  streets,  and  through  Fitzwillkm  Square, 
a noble  place,  the  garden  of  which  is  full  of  flowers  and 
foliage.  The  leaves  are  green,  and  not  black  as  in  similar 
places  in  London ; the  red  brick  houses  tall  and  handsome. 
Presently  the  car  stops  before  an  extremely  big  red  house, 
in  that  extremely  large  square,  Stephen’s  Green,  where 
Mr.  O’Connell  says  there  is  one  day  or  other  to  be  a Parlia- 
ment. There  is  room  enough  for  that,  or  for  any  other 
edifice  which  fancy  or  patriotism  may  have  a mind  to  erect, 
for  part  of  one  of  the  sides  of  the  square  is  not  yet  built, 
and  you  see  the  fields  and  the  country  beyond. 

This  then  is  the  chief  city  of  aliens.  — The  hotel  to 
which  I had  been  directed  is  a respectable  old  edifice,  much 
frequented  by  families  from  the  country,  and  where  the 
solitary  traveller  may  likewise  find  society  : for  he  may 
either  use  the  “ Shelburne  ” as  an  hotel  or  a boarding-house, 
in  which  latter  case  he  is  comfortably  accommodated  at  the 
very  moderate  daily  charge  of  six-and-eight-pence.  For 
this  charge  a copious  breakfast  is  provided  for  him  in  the 
coffee-room,  a perpetual  luncheon  is  likewise  there  spread,  a 
plentiful  dinner  is  ready  at  six  o’clock  : after  which  there 
is  a drawing-room  and  a rubber  of  whist,  with  tay  and 
coffee  and  cakes  in  plenty  to  satisfy  the  largest  appetite. 
The  hotel  is  majestically  conducted  by  clerks  and  other 
officers  ; the  landlord  himself  does  not  appear,  after  the 
honest,  comfortable  English  fashion,  but  lives  in  a private 
mansion  hard  by,  where  his  name  may  be  read  inscribed  on 
a brass-plate,  like  that  of  any  other  private  gentleman. 

A woman  melodiously  crying  “ Dublin  Bay  herrings” 
passed  just  as  we  came  up  to  the  door,  and  as  that  fish  is 
famous  throughout  Europe,  I seized  the  earliest  opportunity 
and  ordered  a broiled  one  for  breakfast.  It  merits  all  its 
reputation : and  in  this  respect  I should  think  the  Bay  of 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK.  ^ 7 

Dublin  is  far  superior  to  its  rival  of  Naples.  Are  there 
any  herrings  in  Naples  Bay  ? Dolphins  there  may  be  ; and 
Mount  Vesuvius,  to  be  sure,  is  bigger  than  even  the  Hill  of 
Howth ; but  a dolphin  is  better  in  a sonnet  than  at  a break- 
fast, and  what  poet  is  there  that,  at  certain  periods  of  the 
day,  would  hesitate  in  his  choice  between  the  two  ? 

With  this  famous  broiled  herring  the  morning  papers  are 
served  up ; and  a great  part  of  these,  too,  gives  opportunity 
of  reflection  to  the  new-comer,  and  shows  him  how  different 
this  country  is  from  his  own.  Some  hundred  years  hence, 
when  students  want  to  inform  themselves  of  the  history  of 
the  present  day,  and  refer  to  files  of  Times  and  Chronicle 
for  the  purpose,  I think  it  is  possible  that  they  will  consult, 
not  so  much  those  luminous  and  philosophical  leading- 
articles  which  call  our  attention  at  present  both  by  the 
majesty  of  their  eloquence  and  the  largeness  of  their  type, 
but  that  they  will  turn  to  those  parts  of  the  journals  into 
which  information  is  squeezed  in  the  smallest  possible 
print : to  the  advertisements,  namely,  the  law  and  police 
reports,  and  to  the  instructive  narratives  supplied  by  that 
ill-used  body  of  men  who  transcribe  knowledge  at  the  rate 
of  a penny  a line. 

The  papers  before  me  ( The  Morning  Register , Liberal 
and  Roman  Catholic,  Saunders’s  News-Letter , neutral  and 
Conservative)  give  a lively  picture  of  the  movement  of 
city  and  country  on  this  present  fourth  day  of  July,  1842, 
and  the  Englishman  can  scarcely  fail,  as  he  reads  them,  to 
note  many  small  points  of  difference  existing  between  his 
own  country  and  this.  How  do  the  Irish  amuse  themselves 
in  the  capital  ? The  love  for  theatrical  exhibitions  is 
evidently  not  very  great.  Theatre  Royal  — Miss  Kemble 
and  the  Sonnambula,  an  Anglo-Italian  importation.  Thea- 
tre Royal,  Abbey  Street  — The  Temple  of  Magic  and  the 
Wizard,  last  week.  Adelphi  Theatre,  Great  Brunswick 
Street  — The  Original  Seven  Lancashire  Bell-ringers : a 
delicious  excitement  indeed  ! Portobello  Gardens  — “ The 
last  eruption  but  six,”  says  the  advertisement  in  capitals. 
And,  finally,  “Miss  Hayes  will  give  her  first  and  farewell 
concert  at  the  Rotunda,  previous  to  leaving  her  native 
country.”  Only  one  instance  of  Irish  talent  do  we  read  of, 
and  that,  in  a desponding  tone,  announces  its  intention  of 
quitting  its  native  country.  All  the  rest  of  the  pleasures 
of  the  evening  are  importations  from  cockney-land.  The 
Soemambula  from  Covent  Garden,  the  Wizard  from  the 


8 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


Strand,  the  Seven  Lancashire  Bell-ringers  from  Islington, 
or  the  City  Load,  no  doubt ; and  as  for  u The  last  Eruption 
but  Six/’  it  has  erumjped  near  the  “Elephant  and  Castle” 
any  time  these  two  years,  until  the  cockneys  would  wonder 
at  it  no  longer. 

The  commercial  advertisements  are  but  few  — a few 
horses  and  cars  for  sale ; some  flaming  announcements  of 
insurance  companies  ; some  “ emporiums”  of  Scotch  tweeds 
and  English  broadcloths;  an  auction  for  damaged  sugar; 
and  an  estate  or  two  for  sale.  They  lie  in  the  columns 
languidly,  and  at  their  ease  as  it  were : how  different  from 
the  throng,  and  squeeze,  and  bustle  of  the  commercial  part 
of  a London  paper,  where  every  man  (except  Mr.  George 
Robins)  states  his  case  as  briefly  as  possible,  because  thou- 
sands more  are  to  be  heard  besides  himself,  and  as  if  he 
had  no  time  for  talking ! 

The  most  active  advertisers  are  the  schoolmasters.  It  is 
now  the  happy  time  of  the  Midsummer  holidays ; and  the 
pedagogues  make  wonderful  attempts  to  encourage  parents, 
and  to  attract  fresh  pupils  for  the  ensuing  half-year.  Of 
all  these  announcements  that  of  Madame  Shanahan  (a  de- 
lightful name)  is  perhaps  the  most  brilliant.  “ To  Parents 
and  Guardians.  — Paris.  — Such  parents  and  guardians  as 
may  wish  to  entrust  their  children  for  education  in  its 
fullest  extent  to  Madame  Shanahan,  can  have  the  advan- 
tage of  being  conducted  to  Paris  by  her  brother,  the  Rev.  J. 
P.  O’Reilly,  of  Church  Street  Chapel : ” which  admirable 
arrangement  carries  the  parents  to  Paris  and  leaves  the 
children  in  Dublin.  Ah,  Madame,  you  may  take  a French 
title ; but  your  heart  is  still  in  your  country,  and  you  are 
to  the  fullest  extent  an  Irishwoman  still ! 

Fond  legends  are  to  be  found  in  Irish  books  regarding 
places  where  you  may  now  see  a round  tower  and  a little 
old  chapel,  twelve  feet  square,  where  famous  universities 
are  once  said  to  have  stood,  and  which  have  accommodated 
myriads  of  students.  Mrs.  Hall  mentions  Glendalough,  in 
Wicklow,  as  one  of  these  places  of  learning ; nor  can  the 
fact  be  questioned,  as  the  universities  existed  hundreds  of 
years  since,  and  no  sort  of  records  are  left  regarding  them. 
A century  hence  some  antiquary  may  light  upon  a Dublin 
paper,  and  form  marvellous  calculations  regarding  the  state 
of  education  in  the  country.  For  instance,  at  Bective 
House  Seminary,  conducted  by  Dr.  J.  L.  Burke,  ex-Scholar 
T.  C.  D.,  no  less  than  two  hundred  and  three  young  gentle- 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


9 


men  took  prizes  at  the  Midsummer  examination  : nay,  some 
of  the  most  meritorious  carried  oh  a dozen  premiums  apiece. 
A Dr.  Delamere,  ex-Scholar  T.  C.  D.,  distributed  three 
hundred  and  twenty  rewards  to  his  young  friends : and  if 
we  allow  that  one  lad  in  twenty  is  a prizeman,  it  is  clear 
that  there  must  be  six  thousand  four  hundred  and  forty 
youths  under  the  Doctor’s  care. 

Other  schools  are  advertised  in  the  same  journals,  each 
with  its  hundred  of  prize-bearers ; and  if  other  schools  are 
advertised,  how  many  more  must  there  be  in  the  country 
which  are  not  advertised ! There  must  be  hundreds  of 
thousands  of  prizemen,  millions  of  scholars ; besides 
national-schools,  hedge-schools,  infant-schools,  and  the  like. 
The  English  reader  will  see  the  accuracy  of  the  calculation. 

In  the  Morning  Register , the  Englishman  will  find  some- 
thing to  the  full  as  curious  and  startling  to  him ; you  read 
gravely  in  the  English  language  how  the  Bishop  of  Aureli- 
opolis  has  just  been  consecrated ; and  that  the  distinction 
has  been  conferred  upon  him  by  — the  Holy  Pontiff ! — the 
Pope  of  Pome,  by  all  that  is  holy  ! Such  an  announcement 
sounds  quite  strange  in  English , and  in  your  own  country, 
as  it  were  : or  isn’t  it  your  own  country  ? Suppose  the 
Archbishop  of  Canterbury  were  to  send  over  a clergyman  to 
Pome,  and  consecrate  him  Bishop  of  the  Palatine  or  the 
Suburra,  I wonder  how  his  Holiness  would  like  that  ? 

There  is  a report  of  Dr.  Miley’s  sermon  upon  the  occasion 
of  the  new  bishop’s  consecration ; and  the  Register  happily 
lauds  the  discourse  for  its  “ refined  and  fervent  eloquence.” 
The  Doctor  salutes  the  Lord  Bishop  of  Aureliopolis  on  his 
admission  among  the  “ Princes  of  the  Sanctuary,”  gives  a 
blow  en  passant  at  the  Established  Church,  whereof  the 
revenues,  he  elegantly  says,  “ might  excite  the  zeal  of  Dives 
or  Epicurus  to  become  a bishop,”  and  having  vented  his  sly 
wrath  upon  the  “ courtly  artifice  and  intrigue  ” of  the  Bench, 
proceeds  to  make  the  most  outrageous  comparisons  with  re- 
gard to  my  Lord  of  Aureliopolis ; his  virtues,  his  sincerity, 
and  the  severe  privations  and  persecutions  which  accept- 
ance of  the  episcopal  office  entails  upon  him. 

“ That  very  evening,”  says  the  Register , “the  new  bishop 
entertained  at  dinner,  in  the  chapel-house,  a select  number 
of  friends  ; amongst  whom  were  the  officiating  prelates  and 
clergymen  who  assisted  in  the  ceremonies  of  the  day.  The 
repast  was  provided  by  Mr.  Jude,  of  Grafton  Street,  and 
was  served  up  in  a style  of  elegance  and  comfort  that  did 


10 


TJIE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


great  honor  to  that  gentleman’s  character  as  a restaurateur. 
The  wines  were  of  the  richest  and  rarest  quality.  It  may  be 
truly  said  to  have  been  an  entertainment  where  the  feast 
of  reason  and  the  flow  of  soul  predominated.  The  company 
broke  up  at  nine.” 

And  so  my  lord  is  scarcely  out  of  chapel  but  his  priva- 
tions begin ! Well.  Let  us  hope  that,  in  the  course  of  his 
episcopacy,  he  may  incur  no  greater  hardships,  and  that 
Dr.  Miley  may  come  to  be  a bishop  too  in  his  time ; when 
perhaps  he  will  have  a better  opinion  of  the  Bench. 

The  ceremony  and  feelings  described  are  curious,  I 
think;  and  more  so  perhaps  to  a person  who  was  in 
England  only  yesterday,  and  quitted  it  just  as  their 
Graces,  Lordships,  and  Reverences  were  sitting  down  to 
dinner.  Among  what  new  sights,  ideas,  customs,  does  the 
English  traveller  find  himself  after  that  brief  six-hours’ 
journey  from  Holyhead ! 

There  is  but  one  part  more  of  the  papers  to  be  looked 
at ; and  that  is  the  most  painful  of  all.  In  the  law  reports 
of  the  Tipperary  special  commission  sitting  at  Clonmel, 
you  read  that  Patrick  Byrne  is  brought  up  for  sentence, 
for  the  murder  of  Robert  Hall,  Esq. : and  Chief  J ustice 
Doherty  says,  “ Patrick  Byrne,  I will  not  now  recapitulate 
the  circumstances  of  your  enormous  crime,  but  guilty  as 
you  are  of  the  barbarity  of  having  perpetrated  with  your 
hand  the  foul  murder  of  an  unoffending  old  man  — barbar- 
ous, cowardly,  and  cruel  as  that  act  was  — there  lives  one 
more  guilty  man,  and  that  is  he  whose  diabolical  mind 
hatched  the  foul  conspiracy  of  which  you  were  but  the 
instrument  and  the  perpetrator.  Whoever  that  may  be, 
I do  not  envy  him  his  protracted  existence.  He  has  sent 
that  aged  gentleman,  without  one  moment’s  warning,  to 
face  his  God ; but  he  has  done  more : he  has  brought  you, 
unhappy  man,  with  more  deliberation  and  more  cruelty,  to 
face  your  God,  with  the  weight  of  that  man’s  blood  upon 
you.  I have  now  only  to  pronounce  the  sentence  of  the 
law : ” — it  is  the  usual  sentence,  with  the  usual  prayer  of  the 
judge,  that  the  Lord  may  have  mercy  upon  the  convict’s  soul. 

Timothy  Woods,  a young  man  of  twenty  years  of  age,  is 
then  tried  for  the  murder  of  Michael  Laffan.  The  Attor- 
ney-General states  the  case : — On  the  19th  of  May  last, 
two  assassins  dragged  Laffan  from  the  house  of  Patrick 
Cummins,  fired  a pistol-shot  at  him,  and  left  him  dead  as 
they  thought.  Laffan,  though  mortally  wounded,  crawled 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOCK. 


11 


away  after  the  fall ; when  the  assassins,  still  seeing  him 
give  signs  of  life,  rushed  after  him,  fractured  his  skull  by 
blows  of  a pistol,  and  left  him  on  a dunghill  dead.  There 
Laffan’s  body  lay  for  several  hours,  and  nobody  dared  to 
touch  it.  Laffan’s  widow  found  the  body  there  two  hours 
after  the  murder,  and  an  inquest  was  held  on  the  body  as  it 
lay  on  the  dunghill.  Laffan  was  driver  on  the  lands  of 
Kilnertin,  which  were  formerly  held  by  Pat  Cummins,  the 
man  who  had  the  charge  of  the  lands  before  Laffan  was 
murdered ; the  latter  was  dragged  out  of  Cummins's  house 
in  the  presence  of  a witness  who  refused  to  swear  to  the 
murderers,  and  was  shot  in  the  sight  of  another  witness, 
James  Meara,  who  with  other  men  was  on  the  road : when 
asked  whether  he  cried  out,  or  whether  he  went  to  assist 
the  deceased,  Meara  answers,  “ Indeed  I did  not ; ice  icould 
not  interfere  — it  icas  no  business  of  ours  ! ” 

Six  more  instances  are  given  of  attempts  to  murder:  on 
which  the  judge,  in  passing  sentence,  comments  in  the  fol- 
lowing way : — 

“The  Lord  Chief  Justice  addressed  the  several  persons, 
and  said  — It  was  now  his  painful  duty  to  pronounce  upon 
them  severally  and  respectively  the  punishment  which  the 
law  and  the  court  awarded  against  them  for  the  crimes  of 
which  they  had  been  convicted.  Those  crimes  were  one 
and  all  of  them  of  no  ordinary  enormity  — they  were 
crimes  which,  in  point  of  morals,  involved  the  atrocious 
guilt  of  murder ; and  if  it  had  pleased  God  to  spare  their 
souls  from  the  pollution  of  that  offence,  the  court  could  not 
still  shut  its  eyes  to  the  fact,  that  although  death  had 
not  ensued  in  consequence  of  the  crimes  of  which  they 
had  been  found  guilty,  yet  it  was  not  owing  to  their  for- 
bearance that  such  a dreadful  crime  had  not  been  perpe- 
trated. The  prisoner,  Michael  Hughes,  had  been  convicted 
of  firing  a gun  at  a person  of  the  name  of  John  Eyan 
(Luke)  ; his  horse  had  been  killed,  and  no  one  could  say 
that  the  balls  were  not  intended  for  the  prosecutor  himself. 
The  prisoner  had  fired  ,one  shot  himself,  and  then  called  on 
his  companion  in  guilt  to  discharge  another.  One  of  these 
shots  killed  Eyan’s  mare,  and  it  was  by  the  mercy  of  God 
that  the  life  of  the  prisoner  had  not  become  forfeited  by 
his  own  act.  The  next  culprit  was  John  Pound,  who  was 
equally  guilty  of  the  intended  outrage  perpetrated  on  the 
life  of  an  unoffending  individual  — that  individual  a female, 
surrounded  by  her  little  children,  five  or  six  in  number  — 


12 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK . 


with  a complete  carelessness  to  the  probable  consequences, 
while  she  and  her  family  were  going,  or  had  gone,  to  bed. 
The  contents  of  a gun  were  discharged  through  the  door, 
which  entered  the  panel  in  three  different  places.  The 
deaths  resulting  from  this  act  might  have  been  extensive, 
but  it  was  not  a matter  of  any  moment  how  many  were 
deprived  of  life.  The  woman  had  just  risen  from  her 
prayers,  preparing  herself  to  sleep  under  the  protection  of 
that  arm  which  would  shield  the  child  and  protect  the 
innocent,  when  she  was  wounded.  As  to  Cornelius  Flynn 
and  Patrick  Dwyer,  they  likewise  were  the  subjects  of 
similar  imputations  and  similar  -observations.  There  was 
a very  slight  difference  between  them,  but  not  such  as 
to  amount  to  any  real  distinction.  They  had  gone  upon 
a common,  illegal  purpose,  to  the  house  of  a respectable 
individual,  for  the  purpose  of  interfering  with  the  domestic 
arrangements  he  thought  lit  to  make.  They  had  no  sort  of 
right  to  interfere  with  the  disposition  of  a maids  affairs  ; 
and  what  would  be  the  consequences  if  the  reverse  were  to 
be  held?  No  imputation  had  ever  been  made  upon  the 
gentleman  whose  house  was  visited,  but  he  was  desired  to 
dismiss  another,  under  the  pains  and  penalties  of  death, 
although  that  other  was  not  a retained  servant,  but  a friend 
who  had  come  to  Mr.  Hogan  on  a visit.  Because  this 
visitor  used  sometimes  to  inspect  the  men  at  work,  the 
lawless  edict  issued  that  he  should  be  put  away.  Good 
God ! to  what  extent  did  the  prisoners  and  such  misguided 
men  intend  to  carry  out  their  objects  ? Where  was  their 
dictation  to  cease  ? are  they,  and  those  in  a similar  rank  to 
take  upon  themselves  to  regulate  how  many  and  what  men 
a farmer  should  take  into  his  employment  ? Were  they  to 
be  the  judges  whether  a servant  had  discharged  his  duty  to 
his  principal  ? or  was  it  because  a visitor  happened  to 
come,  that  the  host  should  turn  him  away,  under  the  pains 
and  penalties  of  death  ? His  lordship,  after  adverting 
to  the  guilt  of  the  prisoners  in  this  case  — the  last  two 
persons  convicted,  Thos.  Stapleton  and  Thos.  Gleeson  — 
said  their  case  was  so  recently  before  the  public,  that 
it  was  sufficient  to  say  they  were  morally  guilty  of  what 
might  be  considered  wilful  and  deliberate  murder.  Murder 
was  most  awful,  because  it  could  only  be  suggested  by 
deliberate  malice,  and  the  act  of  the  prisoners  was  the 
result  of  that  base,  malicious,  and  diabolical  disposition. 
What  was  the  cause  of  resentment  against  the  unfortunate 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK . 


13 


man  who  had  been  shot  at,  and  so  desperately  wounded  ? 
Why,  he  had  dared  to  comply  with  the  wishes  of  a just 
landlord ; and  because  the  landlord,  for  the  benefit  of  his 
tenantry,  proposed  that  the  farms  should  be  squared,  those 
who  acquiesced  in  his  wishes  were  to  be  equally  the  victims 
of  the  assassin.  What  were  the  facts  in  this  case  ? The 
two  prisoners  at  the  bar,  Stapleton  and  Gleeson,  sprung 
out  at  the  man  as  he  was  leaving  work,  placed  him  on  his 
knees,  and  .without  giving  him  a moment  of  preparation 
commenced  the  work  of  blood,  intending  deliberately  to 
despatch  that  unprepared  and  unoffending  individual  to 
eternity.  What  country  was  it  that  they  lived  in,  in  which 
such  crimes  could  be  perpetrated  in  the  open  light  of  day  ? 
It  was  not  necessary  that  deeds  of  darkness  should  be 
shrouded  in  the  clouds  of  night,  for  the  darkness  of  the 
deeds  themselves  was  considered  a sufficient  protection.  He 
(the  Chief  Justice)  was  not  aware  of  any  solitary  instance 
at  the  present  commission,  to  show  that  the  crimes  com- 
' mitted  were  the  consequences  of  poverty.  Poverty  should 
be  no  justification,  however ; it  might  be  some  little  pallia- 
tion, but  on  no  trial  at  this  commission  did  if  appear  that 
the  crime  could  be  attributed  to  distress.  His  lordship 
concluded  a most  impressive  address,  by  sentencing  the  six 
prisoners  called  up  to  transportation  for  life. 

“ The  clock  was  near  midnight  as  the  court  was  cleared, 
and  the  whole  of  the  proceedings  were  solemn  and  impres- 
sive in  the  extreme.  The  commission  is  likely  to  prove 
extremely  beneficial  in  its  results  on  the  future  tranquillity 
of  the  country.” 

I confess,  for  my  part,  to  that  common  cant  and  sickly 
sentimentality,  which,  thank  God ! is  felt  by  a great 
number  of  people  nowadays,  and  which  leads  them  to  re- 
volt against  murder,  whether  performed  by  a ruffian’s  knife 
or  a hangman’s  rope : whether  accompanied  with  a curse 
from  the  thief  as  he  blows  his  victim’s  brains  out,  or 
a prayer  from  my  lord  on  the  bench  in  his  wig  and 
black  cap.  Nay,  is  all  the  cant  and  sickly  sentimentality 
on  our  side,  and  might  not  some  such  charge  be  applied 
to  the  admirers  of  the  good  old  fashion  ? Long  ere  this  is 
printed,  for  instance,  Byrne  and  Woods  have  been  hanged  : * 

* The  two  men  were  executed  pursuant  to  sentence,  and  both 
persisted  solemnly  in  denying  their  guilt.  There  can  be  no  doubt  of 
it  : but  it  appears  to  be  a point  of  honor  with  these  unhappy  men  to 
make  no  statement  which  may  incriminate  the  witnesses  who  ap- 
peared on  their  behalf,  and  on  their  part  perjured  themselves  equally. 


14 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


sent  “to  face  their  God/’  as  the  Chief  Justice  says,  “with 
the  weight  of  their  victim’s  blood  upon  them/’  — a just 
observation ; and  remember  that  it  is  we  who  send  them . 
It  is  true  that  the  judge  hopes  Heaven  will  have  mercy 
upon  their  souls ; but  are  such  recommendations  of  par- 
ticular weight  because  they  come  from  the  bench  ? Psha ! 
If  we  go  on  killing  people  without  giving  them  time  to 
repent,  let  us  at  least  give  up  the  cant  of  praying  for 
their  souls’  salvation.  We  find  a man  drowning  in  a 
well,  shut  the  lid  upon  him,  and  heartily  pray  that  he 
may  get  out.  Sin  has  hold  of  him,  as  the  two  ruffians  of 
Laffan  yonder,  and  we  stand  aloof,  and  hope  that  he  may 
escape.  Let  us  give  up  this  ceremony  of  condolence, 
and  be  honest,  like  the  witness,  and  say,  “ Let  him  save 
himself  or  not,  it’s  no  business  of  ours.”  . . . Here  a 
waiter,  with  a very  broad,  though  insinuating  accent  says, 
“ Have  you  done  with  the  Sandthers , sir  ! there’s  a gentle- 
man waiting  for’t  these  two  hours.”  And  so  he  carries  off 
that  strange  picture  of  pleasure  and  pain,  trade,  theatres, 
schools,  courts,  churches,  life  and  death,  in  Ireland,  which 
a man  may  buy  for  a fourpenny -piece. 

The  papers  being  read,  it  became  my  duty  to  discover  the 
town ; and  a handsomer  town,  with  fewer  people  in  it,  it  is 
impossible  to  see  on  a summer’s  day.  In  the  whole  wide 
square  of  Stephen’s  Green,  I think  there  were  not  more 
than  two  nursery-maids  to  keep  company  with  the  statue 
of  George  I.,  who  rides  on  horseback  in  the  middle  of  the 
garden,  the  horse  having  his  foot  up  to  trot,  as  if  he 
wanted  to  go  out  of  town  too.  Small  troops  of  dirty 
children  (too  poor  and  dirty  to  have  lodgings  at  Kings- 
town) were  squatting  here  and  there  upon  the  sunshiny 
steps,  the  only  clients  at  the  thresholds  of  the  professional 
gentlemen  whose  names  figure  on  brass-plates  on  the  doors. 
A stand  of  lazy  carmen,  a policeman  or  two  with  clinking 
boot-heels,  a couple  of  moaning  beggars  leaning  against  the 
rails  and  calling  upon  the  Lord,  and  a fellow  with  a toy 
and  book  stall,  where  the  lives  of  St.  Patrick,  Robert 
Emmett,  and  Lord  Edward  Eitzgerald  may  be  bought  for 
double  their  value,  were  all  the  population  of  the  Green. 

At  the  door  of  the  Kildare  Street  Club,  I saw  eight 
gentlemen  looking  at  two  boys  playing  at  leapfrog ; at  the 
door  of  the  University  six  lazy  porters,  in  jockey-caps, 
were  sunning  themselves  on  a bench  — a sort  of  blue-bottle 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


15 


race  ; and  the  Bank  of  the  opposite  side  did  not  look  as  if 
sixpence-worth  of  change  had  been  negotiated  there  during 
the  day.  There  was  a lad  pretending  to  sell  umbrellas 
under  the  colonnade,  almost  the  only  instance  of  trade 
going  on;  and  I began  to  think  of  Juan  Fernandez,  or 
Cambridge  in  the  long  vacation.  In  the  courts  of  the 
College,  scarce  the  ghost  of  a gyp  or  the  shadow  of  a bed- 
maker. 

In  spite  of  the  solitude,  the  square  of  the  College  is  a 
fine  sight:  a large  ground,  surrounded  by  buildings' of 
various  ages  and  styles,  but  comfortable,  handsome,  and  in 
good  repair ; a modern  row  of  rooms  ; a row  that  has  been 
Elizabethan  once ; a hall  and  senate-house,  facing  each 
other,  of  the  style  of  George  I. ; and  a noble  library,  with 
a range  of  many  windows,  and  a fine  manly  simple  * facade 
of  cut  stone.  The  library  was  shut.  The  librarian,  * I 
suppose,  is  at  the  seaside ; and  the  only  part  of  the  estab- 
lishment which  I could  see  was  the  museum,  to  which  one 
of  the  jockey-capped  porters  conducted  me,  up  a wide, 
dismal  staircase  (adorned  with  an  old  pair  of  jack-boots,  a 
dusty  Cctnoe  or  two,  a few  helmets,  and  a South  Sea 
Islander’s  armor),  which  passes  through  a hall  hung  round 
with  cobwebs  (with  which  the  blue-bottles  are  too  wise  to 
meddle),  into  an  old  mouldy  room,  filled  with  dingy  glass- 
cases,  under  which  the  articles  of  curiosity  or  science  were 
partially  visible.  In  the  middle  was  a very  seedy  camelopard 
(the  word  has  grown  to  be  English  by  this  time),  the  straw 
splitting  through  his  tight  old  skin  and  the  black  cobbler’s- 
wax  stuffing  the  dim  orifices  of  his  eyes.  Other  beasts 
formed  a pleasing  group  around  him,  not  so  tall,  but 
equally  mouldy  and  old.  The  porter  took  me  round  to 
the  cases,  and  told  me  a great  number  of  fibs  concerning 
their  contents : there  was  the  harp  of  Brian  Borou,  and  the 
sword  of  some  one  else,  and  other  cheap  old  gimcracks 
with  their  corollary  of  lies.  The  place  would  have  been  a 
disgrace  to  Don  Saltero.  I was  quite  glad  to  walk  out  of  it, 
and  down  the  dirty  staircase  again : about  the  ornaments 
of  which  the  jockey-capped  gyp  had  more  figments  to  tell ; 
an  atrocious  one  (I  forget  what)  relative  to  the  pair  of 
boots;  near  which  — a fine  specimen  of  collegiate  taste  — 
were  the  shoes  of  Mr.  O’Brien,  the  Irish  giant.  If  the 
collection  is  worth  preserving,  — and  indeed  the  mineral- 
ogical  specimens  look  quite  as  awful  as  those  in  the  British 
Museum,  — one  thing  is  clear,  that  the  rooms  are  worth 


16 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK . 


sweeping.  A pail  of  water  costs  nothing,  a scrubbing- 
brush  not  much,  and  a charwoman  might  be  hired  for  a 
trifle,  to  keej)  the  room  in  a decent  state  of  cleanliness. 

Among  the  curiosities  is  a mask  of  the  Dean  — not  the 
scoffer  and  giber,  not  the  fiery  politician,  nor  the  courtier  of 
St.  John  and  Harley,  equally  ready  with  servility  and 
scorn;  but  the  poor  old  man,  whose  great  intellect  had 
deserted  him,  and  who  died  old,  wild,  and  sad.  The  tall 
forehead  is  fallen  away  in  a ruin,  the  mouth  has  settled  in 
a hideous,  vacant  smile.  Well,  it  was  a mercy  for  Stella 
that  she  died  first : it  was  better  that  she  should  be  killed 
by  his  unkindness  than  by  the  sight  of  his  misery ; which, 
to  such  a gentle  heart  as  that,  would  have  been  harder  still 
to  bear. 

The  Bank,  and  other  public  buildings  of  Dublin,  are 
justly  famous.  In  the  former  may  still  be  seen  the  room 
which  was  the  House  of  Lords  formerly,  and  where  the 
Bank  directors  now  sit,  under  a clean  marble  image  of 
George  III.  The  House  of  Commons  has  disappeared,  for 
the  accommodation  of  clerks  and  cashiers.  The  interior  is 
light,  splendid,  airy,  well-furnished,  and  the  outside  of  the 
building  not  less  so.  The  Exchange,  hard  by,  is  an  equally 
magnificent  structure  ; but  the  genius  of  commerce  has 
deserted  it,  for  all  its  architectural  beauty.  There  was 
nobody  inside  when  I entered  but  a pert  statue  of  George 
III.  in  a Roman  toga,  simpering  and  turning,  out  his  toes; 
and  two  dirty  children  playing,  whose  hoop-sticks  caused 
great  clattering  echoes  under  the  vacant  sounding  dome. 
The  neighborhood  is  not  cheerful,  and  has  a dingy,  poverty- 
stricken  look. 

Walking  towards  the  river,  you  have  on  either  side  of 
you,  at  Carlisle  Bridge,  a very  brilliant  and  beautiful 
prospect:  the  Four  Courts  and  their  dome  to  the  left,  the 
Custom  House  and  its  dome  to  the  right;  and  in  this 
direction,  seaward,  a considerable  number  of  vessels  are 
moored,  and  the  quays  are  black  and  busy  with  the  cargoes 
discharged  from  ships.  Seamen  cheering,  herring-women 
bawling,  coal-carts  loading  — the  scene  is  animated  and 
lively.  Yonder  is  the  famous  Corn  Exchange;  but  the 
Lord  Mayor  is  attending  to  his  duties  in  Parliament,  and 
little  of  note  is  going  on.  I had  just  passed  his  lordship’s 
mansion  in  Dawson  Street,  — a queer  old  dirty  brick  house, 
with  dumpy  urns  at  each  extremity,  and  looking  as  if  a 
story  of  it  had  been  cut  off  — a rasee-house.  Close  at  hand, 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK 


17 


and  peering  over  a paling,  is  a statue  of  our  blessed 
sovereign  George  II.  How  absurd  these  pompous  images 
look,  of  defunct  majesties,  for  whom  no  breathing  soul 
cares  a half-penny!  It ’is  not  so  with  the  effigy  of  William 
III.,  who  has  done  something  to  merit  a.  statue.  At  this 
minute  the  Lord  Mayor  lias  William’s  effigy  under  a canvas, 
and  is  painting  him  of  a bright  green,  picked  out  with 
yellow  — his  lordship’s  own  livery. 

The  view  along  the  quays  to  the  Four  Courts  has  no 
small  resemblance  to  a view  along  the  quays  at  Paris, 
though  not  so  lively  as  are  even  those  quiet  walks.  The 
vessels  do  not  come  above-bridge,  and  the  marine  popula- 
tion remains  constant  about  them,  and  about  numerous 
dirty  liquor-shops,  eating-houses,  and  marine-store  establish- 
ments, which  are  kept  for  their  accommodation  along  the 
quay.  As  far  as  you  can  see,  the  shining  Liffey  flows 
away  eastward,  hastening  (like  the  rest  of  the  inhabitants 
of  Dublin)  to  the  sea. 

In  front  of  Carlisle  Bridge,  and  not  in  the  least  crowded, 
though  in  the  midst  of  Sackville  Street,  stands  Nelson  upon 
a stone  pillar.  The  Post  Office  is  on  his  right  hand  (only 
it  is  cut  off) ; and  on  his  left,  “ Gresham’s  ” and  the 
“ Imperial  Hotel.”  Of  the  latter  let  me  say  (from  subse- 
quent experience)  that  it  is  ornamented  by  a cook  who 
could  dress  a dinner  by  the  side  of  M.  Borel  or  M.  Soyer. 
Would  there  were  more  such  artists  in  this  ill-fated 
country  ! The  street  is  exceedingly  broad  and  handsome  ; 
the  shops  at  the  commencement,  rich  and  spacious ; but  in 
Upper  Sackville  Street,  which  closes  with  the  pretty  build- 
ing and  gardens  of  the  Rotunda,  the  appearance  of  wealth 
begins  to  fade  somewhat,  and  the  houses  look  as  if  they 
had  seen  better  days.  Even  in  this,  the  great  street  of  the 
town,  there  is  scarcely  any  one,  and  it  is  as  vacant  and 
listless  as  Pall  Mall  in  October.  In  one  of  the  streets  off 
Sackville  Street,  is  the  house  and  exhibition  of  the  Irish 
Academy,  which  I went  to  see,  as  it  was  positively  to  close 
at  the  end  of  the  week.  While  I was  there,  two  other 
people  came  in;  and  we  had,  besides,  the  money-taker  and 
a porter,  to  whom  the  former  was  reading,  out  of  a news- 
paper, those  Tipperary  murders  which  were  mentioned  in 
a former  page.  The  echo  took  up  the  theme,  and  hummed 
it  gloomily  through  the  vacant  place. 

The  drawings  and  reputation  of  Mr.  Burton  are  well 
known  in  England : his  pieces  were  the  most  admired  in  the 
VOL.  II.  — 2 


18 


THE  HUSH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


collection.  The  best  draughtsman  is  an  imitator  of  Maclise, 
Mr.  Bridgeman,  whose  pictures  are  full  of  vigorous  draw- 
ing, and  remarkable  too  for  their  grace.  I gave  my  cata- 
logue to  the  two  young  ladies  before  mentioned,  and  have 
forgotten  the  names  of  other  artists  of  merit,  whose  works 
decked  the  walls  of  the  little  gallery.  Here,  as  in  London, 
the  Art  Union  is  making  a stir;  and  several  of  the  pieces 
were  marked  as  the  property  of  members  of  that  body. 
The  possession  of  some  of  these  one  would  not  be  inclined 
to  covet ; but  it  is  pleasant  to  see  that  people  begin  to  buy 
pictures  at  all,  and  there  will  be  no  lack 
of  artists  presently,  in  a country  where 
nature  is  so  beautiful,  and  genius  so 
plenty.  In  speaking  of  the  hue  arts 
and  of  views  of  Dublin,  it  may  be  said 
that  Mr.  Petrie’s  designs  for  Curry’s 
Guide-book  of  the  City  are  exceedingly 
beautiful,  and,  above  all,  trustworthy: 
no  common  quality  in  a descriptive  art- 
ist at  present. 

Having  a couple  of  letters  of  introduc- 
tion to  leave,  I had  the  pleasure  to  find 
the  blinds  down  at  one  house,  and  the  window  in  papers  at 
another ; and  at  each  place  the  knock  was  answered  in  that 
leisurely  way,  by  one  of  those  dingy  female  lieutenants  who 
have  no  need  to  tell  you  that  families  are  out  of  town.  So 
the  solitude  became  very  painful,  and  I thought  I would  go 
back  and  talk  to  the  waiter  at  the  “ Shelburne,”  the  only 
man  in  the  whole  kingdom  that  I knew.  I had  been  accom- 
modated with  a queer  little  room  and  dressing-room  on  the 
ground-floor,  looking  towards  the  Green : a black-faced,  good- 
humored  chamber-maid  had  promised  to  perform  a deal  of 
scouring  which  was  evidently  necessary  (a  fact  she  might 
have  observed  for  six  months  back,  only  she  is  no  doubt  of  an 
absent  turn),  and  when  I came  back  from  the  walk,  I saw 
the  little  room  was  evidently  enjoying  itself  in  the  sun- 
shine, for  it  had  opened  its  window,  and  was  taking  a 
breath  of  fresh  air,  as  it  looked  out  upon  the  Green. 

As  I came  up  to  it  in  the  street,  its  appearance  made  me 
burst  out  laughing,  very  much  to  the  surprise  of  a ragged 
cluster  of  idlers  lolling  upon  the  steps  next  door ; and  I 
have  drawn  it  here,  not  because  it  is  a particularly  pictur- 
esque or  rare  kind  of  window,  but  because,  as  I fancy, 
there  is  a sort  of  moral  in  it.  You  don’t  see  such 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


19 


windows  commonly  in  respectable  English  inns  — win- 
dows leaning  gracefully  upon  hearth-brooms  for  support. 
Look  out  of  that  window  without  the  hearth-broom  and  it 
would  cut  your  head  off  : how  the  beggars  would  start  that 
are  always  sitting  on  the  steps  next  door ! Is  it  prejudice 
that  makes  one  prefer  the  English  window,  that  relies  on 
its  own  ropes  and  ballast  (or  lead  if  you  like),  and  does 
not  need  to  be  propped  by  any  foreign  aid  ? or  is  this  only 
a solitary  instance  of  the  kind,  and  are  there  no  other 
specimens  in  Ireland  of  the  careless,  dangerous,  extrava- 
gant hearth-broom  system  ? 

In  the  midst  of  these  reflections  (which  might  have  been 
carried  much  farther,  for  a person  with  an  allegorical  turn 
might  examine  the  entire  country  through  this  window), 
a most  wonderful  cab,  with  an  immense  prancing  cab- 
horse,  was  seen  to  stop  at  the  door  of  the  hotel,  and  Pat 
the  waiter  tumbling  into  the  room  swiftly  with  a card  in 
his  hand,  says,  “ Sir,  the  gentleman  of  this  card  is  waiting 
for  you  at  the  door.”  Mon  Dieu  ! <it  was  an  invitation  to 
dinner ! and  I almost  leapt  into  the  arms  of  the  man  in  the 
cab  — so  delightful  was  it  to  find  a friend  in  a place  where, 
a moment  before,  I had  been  as  lonely  as  Robinson  Crusoe. 

The  only  drawback,  perhaps,  to  pure  happiness,  when 
riding  in  such  a gorgeous  equipage  as  this,  was  that  we 
could  not  drive  up  Regent  Street,  and  meet  a few  creditors, 
or  acquaintances  at  least.  However,  Pat,  I thought,  was 
exceedingly  awe-stricken  by  my  disappearance  in  this 
vehicle ; which  had  evidently,  too,  a considerable  effect 
upon  some  other  waiters  at  the  “ Shelburne,”  with  whom 
I was  not  as  yet  so  familiar.  The  mouldy  camelopard  at 
the  Trinity  College  “ Musayum  ” was  scarcely  taller  than 
the  bay-horse  in  the  cab ; the  groom  behind  was  of  a cor- 
responding smallness.  The  cab  was  of  a lovely  olive-green, 
picked  out  with  white,  high  on  high  springs  and  enormous 
wheels,  which,  big  as  they  were,  scarcely  seemed  to  touch 
the  earth.  The  little  tiger,  swung  gracefully  up  and  down, 
holding  on  by  the  hood,  which  was  of  the  material  of  which 
the  most  precious  and  polished  boots  are  made.  As  for  the 
lining  — but-  here  we  come  too  near  the  sanctity  of  private 
life ; suffice  that  there  was  a kind  friend  inside,  who 
(though  by  no  means  of  the  fairy  sort)  was  as  welcome 

as  any  fairy  in  the  finest  chariot.  W had  seen  me 

landing  from  the  packet  that  morning,  and  was  the  very 
man  who  in  London,  a month  previous,  had  recommended 


20 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


me  to  the  “ Shelburne.”  These  facts  are  not  of  much  con- 
sequence to  the  public,  to  be  sure,  except  that  an  explana- 
tion was  necessary  of  the  miraculous  appearance  of  the  cab 
and  horse. 

Our  course,  as  may  be  imagined,  was  towards  the  seaside, 
for  whither  else  should  an  Irishman  at  this  season  go  ? 
Not  far  from  Kingstown  is  a house  devoted  to  the  purpose 
of  festivity  : it  is  called  Salt  Hill,  stands  upon  a rising 
ground,  commanding  a fine  view  of  the  bay  and  the  rail- 
road, and  is  kept  by  persons  bearing  the  celebrated  name 
of  Lovegrove.  It  is  in  fact  a sea-Greenwich,  and  though 
there  are  no  marine  whitebait,  other  fishes  are  to  be  had  in 
plenty,  and  especially  the  famous  Bray  trout,  which  does 
not  ill  deserve  its  reputation. 

Here  we  met  three  young  men,  who  may  be  called  by  the 
names  of  their  several  counties — Mr.  Galway,  Mr.  Ros- 
common, and  Mr.  Clare  ; and  it  seemed  that  I was  to  com- 
plain of  solitude  no  longer  : for  one  straightway  invited  me 
to  his  county,  where  was  the  finest  salmon-fishing  in  the 
world;  another  said  he  would  drive  me  through  the  county 
Kerry  in  his  four-in-hand  drag ; and  the  third  had  some 
propositions  of  sport  equally  hospitable.  As  for  going 
down  to  some  races,  on  the  Curragh  of  Kildare  I think, 
which  were  to  be  held  on  the  next  and  the  following  days, 
there  seemed  to  be  no  question  about  that.  That  a man 
should  miss  a race  within  forty  miles,  seemed  to  be  a point 
never  contemplated  by  these  jovial  sporting  fellows. 

Strolling  about  in  the  neighborhood  before  dinner,  we 
went  down  to  the  sea-shore,  and  to  some  caves  which  had 
lately  been  discovered  there  : and  two  Irish  ladies,  who 
were  standing  at  the  entrance  of  one  of  them,  permitted 
me  to  take  the  following  portraits,  which  were  pronounced 
to  be  pretty  accurate. 

They  said  they  had  not  acquiesced  in  the  general  Tem- 
perance movement  that  had  taken  place  throughout  the 
country  ; and  indeed,  if  the  truth  must  be  known,  it  was 
only  under  promise  of  a glass  of  whiskey  apiece  that  their 
modesty  could  be  so  far  overcome  as  to  permit  them  to  sit 
for  their  portraits.  By  the  time  they  were  done,  a crowd 
of  both  sexes  had  gathered  round,  and  expressed  them- 
selves quite  ready  to  sit  upon  the  same  terms.  But  though 
there  was  great  variety  in  their  countenances,  there  was 
not  much  beauty  ; and  besides,  dinner  was  by  this  time  ready, 
which  has  at  certain  periods  a charm  even  greater  than  art. 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


21 


The  bay,  which  had  been  veiled  in  mist  and  gray  in  the 
morning,  was  now  shining  under  the  most  beautiful  clear 
sky,  which  presently  became  rich  with  a thousand  gorgeous 
hues  of  sunset.  The  view  was  as  smiling  and  delightful  a 
one  as  can  be  conceived,  — just  such  a one  as  should  be 
seen  a travers  a good  dinner ; with  no  fatiguing  sublimity 


or  awful  beauty  in  it,  but  brisk,  brilliant,  sunny,  enliven- 
ing. In  fact,  in  placing  his  banqueting-house  here,  Mr. 
Lovegrove  had,  as  usual,  a brilliant  idea.  You  must  not 
have  too  much  view,  or  a severe  one,  to  give  a relish  to  a 
good  dinner  ; nor  too  much  music,  nor  too  quick,  nor  too 
slow,  nor  too  loud.  Any  reader  who  has  dined  at  a table - 
cVliote  in  Germany  will  know  the  annoyance  of  this  : a set  of 
musicians  immediately  at  your  back  will  sometimes  play 
you  a melancholy  polonaise  ; and  a man  with  a good  ear 


99 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


must  perforce  eat  in  time,  and  your  soup  is  quite  cold 
before  it  is  swallowed.  Then,  all  of  a sudden,  crash  goes  a 
brisk  gallop ! and  you  are  obliged  to  gulp  your  victuals  at 
the  rate  of  ten  miles  an  hour.  And  in  respect  of  conversa- 
tion during  a good  dinner,  the  same  rules  of  propriety 
should  be  consulted.  Deep  and  sublime  talk  is  as  im- 
proper as  sublime  prospects.  Dante  and  champagne  (i 
was  going  to  say  Milton  and  oysters,  but  that  is  a pun)  are 
quite  unfit  themes  of  dinner-talk.  Let  it  be  light,  brisk, 
not  oppressive  to  the  brain.  Our  conversation  was,  I recol- 
lect, just  the  thing.  We  talked  about  the  last  Derby  the 
whole  time,  and  the  state  of  the  odds  for  the  St.  Leger ; 
nor  was  the  Ascot  Cup  forgotten ; and  a bet  or  two  was 
gayly  booked. 

Meanwhile  the  sky,  which  had  been  blue  and  then  red, 
assumed,  towards  the  horizon,  as  the  red  was  sinking  under 
it,  a gentle,  delicate  cast  of  green.  Howth  Hill  became  of  a 
darker  purple,  and  the  sails  of  the  boats  rather  dim.  The 
sea  grew  deeper  and  deeper  in  color.  The  lamps  at  the 
railroad  dotted  the  line  with  fire ; and  the  light-houses  of 
the  bay  began  to  flame.  The  trains  to  and  from  the  city 
rushed  flashing  and  hissing  by.  In  a word,  everybody 
said  it  was  time  to  light  a cigar  ; which  was  done,  the 
conversation  about  the  Derby  still  continuing. 

“Put  out  that  candle,”  said  Koscommon  to  Clare.  This 
the  latter  instantly  did  by  flinging  the  taper  out  of  the 
window  upon  the  lawn,  which  is  a thoroughfare ; and 
where  a great  laugh  arose  among  half  a score  of  beggar- 
boys,  who  had  been  under  the  window  for  some  time  past, 
repeatedly  requesting  the  company  to  throw  oat  sixpence 
between  them. 

Two  other  sporting  young  fellows  had  now  joined  the 
company  ; and  as  by  this  time  claret  began  to  have  rather 
a mawkish  taste,  whiskey-and- water  was  ordered,  which 
was  drunk  upon  the  perron  before  the  house,  whither 
the  whole  party  adjourned,  and  where  for  many  hours 
we  delightfully  tossed  for  sixpences  — a noble  and  fasci- 
nating sport.  Nor  would  these  remarkable  events  have 
been  narrated,  had'  I not  received  express  permission 
from  the  gentlemen  of  the  party  to  record  all  that  was  said 
and  done.  Who  knows  but,  a thousand  years  hence,  some 
antiquary  or  historian  may  find  a moral  in  this  description 
of  the  amusement  of  the  British  youth  at  the  present  en- 
lightened time  ? 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


23 


HOT  LOBSTER. 

P.S. — You  take  a lobster,  about  three  feet  long  if  pos- 
sible, remove  the  shell,  cut  or  break  the  flesh  of  the  fish  in 
pieces  not  too  small.  Some  one  else  meanwhile  makes  a 
mixture  of  mustard,  vinegar,  catsup,  and  lots  of  cayenne 
pepper.  You  produce  a machine  called  a despatcher , which 
has  a spirit-lamp  under  it  that  is  usually  illuminated  with 
whiskey.  The  lobster,  the  sauce,  and  near  half  a pound  of 
butter  are  placed  in  the  despatcher,  which  is  immediately 
closed.  When  boiling,  the  mixture  is  stirred  up,  the 
lobster  being  sure  to  heave  about  in  the  pan  in  a con- 
vulsive manner,  while  it  emits  a remarkably  rich  and 
agreeable  odor  through  the  apartment.  A glass  and  a 
half  of  sherry  is  now  thrown  into  the  pan,  and  the  con- 
tents served  out  hot,  and  eaten  by  the  company.  Porter 
is  commonly  drunk,  and  whiskey-punch  afterwards,  and 
the  dish  is  fit  for  an  emperor. 

N.B.  — You  are  recommended  not  to  hurry  yourself  in 
getting  up  the  next  morning,  and  may  take  soda-water  with 
advantage.  — Probatum  est. 


CHAPTER  II. 


A COUNTRY-HOUSE  IN  KILDARE SKETCHES  OF  AN  IRISH 

FAMILY  AND  FARM. 


;;  T T had  been  settled  among 
I;  my  friends,  I don’t  know 
for  what  particular  rea- 
son, that  the  Agricultu- 
ral Show  at  Cork  was  an 
exhibition  I was  specially 
bound  to  see.  When, 
therefore,  a gentleman 
to  whom  I had  brought 
a letter  of  introduction 
kindly  offered  me  a seat 
in  his  carriage,  which 
was  to  travel  by  short 
days’  journeys  to  that 
city,  I took  an  abrupt 
farewell  of  Pat  the 
waiter,  and  some  other  friends  in  Dublin  : proposing  to 
renew  our  acquaintance,  however,  upon  some  future  day. 

We  started  then  one  fine  afternoon  on  the  road  from  Dub- 
lin to  Naas,  which  is  the  main  southern  road  from  the  capi- 
tal to  Munster,  and  met,  in  the  course  of  the  ride  of  a score 
of  miles,  a dozen  of  coaches  very  heavily  loaded,  and  bring- 
ing passengers  to  the  city.  The  exit  from  Dublin  this  way 
is  not  much  more  elegant  than  the  outlet  by  way  of  Kings- 
town : for  though  the  great  branches  of  the  city  appear 
flourishing  enough  as  yet,  the  small  outer  ones  are  in  a sad 
state  of  decay.  Houses  drop  off  here  and  there,  and  dwindle 
wofully  in  size ; we  are  got  into  the  back  premises  of  the 
seemingly  prosperous  place,  and  it  looks  miserable,  careless, 
and  deserted.  We  passed  through  a street  which  was 
thriving  once,  but  has  fallen  since  into  a sort  of  decay,  to 
judge  outwardly,  — St.  Thomas  Street.  Emmet  was  hanged 
in  the  midst  of  it.  And  on  pursuing  the  line  of  street,  and 

24 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOH 


25 


crossing  the  Great  Canal,  you  come  presently  to  a hue  tall 
square  building  in  the  outskirts  of  the  town,  which  is  no 
more  nor  less  than  Kilmainham  Jail,  or  Castle.  Poor 
Emmett  is  the  Irish  darling  still  — his  history  is  on  every 
book-stall  in  the  city,  and  yonder  trim-looking  brick  jail  a 
spot  where  Irishmen  may  go  and  pray.  Many  a martyr  of 
theirs  has  appeared  and  died  in  front  of  it,  — found  guilty 
of  “ wearing  of  the  green.” 

There  must  be  a fine  view  from  the  jail  windows,  for  we 
presently  come  to  a great  stretch  of  brilliant  green  country, 
leaving  the  Dublin  hills  lying  to  the  left,  picturesque  in 
their  outline,  and  of  wonderful  color.  It  seems  to  me  to  be 
quite  a different  color  to  that  in  England  — different-shaped 
clouds  — different  shadows  and  lights.  The  country  is  well 
tilled,  well  peopled  ; the  hay-harvest  on  the  ground,  and  the 
people  taking  advantage  of  the  sunshine  to  gather  it  in  ; 
but  in  spite  of  everything,  — green  meadows,  white  villages 
and  sunshine,  — the  place  has  a sort  of  sadness  in  the  look 
of  it. 

The  first  town  we  passed,  as  appears  by  reference  to  the 
Guide-book,  is  the  little  town  of  Rathcoole  ; but  in  the 
space  of  three  days  Rathcoole  has  disappeared  from  my 
memory,  with  the  exception  of  a little  low  building  which 
the  village  contains,  and  where  are  the  quarters  of  the  Irish 
constabulary.  Nothing  can  be  finer  than  the  trim,  orderly, 
and  soldier-like  appearance  of  this  splendid  corps  of  men. 

One  has  glimpses  all  along  the  road  of  numerous  gentle- 
men’s places,  looking  extensive  and  prosperous,  of  a few 
mills  by  streams  here  and  there  ; but  though  the  streams 
run  still,  the  mill-wheels  are  idle  for  the  chief  part ; and 
the  road  passes  more  than  one  long  low  village,  looking 
bare  and  poor,  but  neat  and  whitewashed  : it  seems  as  if 
the  inhabitants  were  determined  to  put  a decent  look  upon 
their  poverty.  One  or  two  villages  there  were  evidently 
appertaining  to  gentlemen’s  seats ; these  are  smart  enough, 
especially  that  of  Johnstown, . near  Lord  Mayo’s  fine 
domain,  where  the  houses  are  of  the  Gothic  sort,  with 
pretty  porches,  creepers,  and  railings.  Noble  purple  hills 
to  the  left  and  right  keep  up,  as  it  were,  an  accompaniment 
to  the  road. 

As  for  the  town  of  Naas,  the  first  after  Dublin  that  I 
have  seen,  what  can  be  said  of  it  but  that  it  looks  poor, 
mean,  and  yet  somehow  cheerful  ? There  was  a little 
bustle  in  the  small  shops,  a few  cars  were  jingling  along  the 


26 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


broadest  street  of  the  town  — some  sort  of  dandies  and  mili- 
tary individuals  were  lolling  about  right  and  left ; and  I 
saw  a fine  court-house,  where  the  assizes  of  Kildare  county 
are  held. 

But  by  far  the  finest,  and  I think  the  most  extensive  edi- 
fice in  Naas,  was  a haystack  in  the  inn-yard,  the  proprietor 
of  which  did  not  fail  to  make  me  remark  its  size  and  splen- 
dor. It  was  of  such  dimensions  as  to  strike  a cockney  with 
respect  and  pleasure  ; and  here  standing  just  as  the  new 
crops  were  coming  in,  told  a tale  of  opulent  thrift  and  good 
husbandry.  Are  there  many  more  such  haystacks,  I wonder, 
in  Ireland?  The’ crops  along  the  road  seemed  healthy, 
though  rather  light : wheat  and  oats  plenty,  and  especially 
flourishing ; hay  and  clover  not  so  good ; and  turnips  (let 
the  important  remark  be  taken  at  its  full  value)  almost 
entirely  wanting. 

The  little  town  as  they  call  it  of  Kilcullen  tumbles  down 
a hill  and  struggles  up  another ; the  two  being  here  pictu- 
resquely divided  by  the  Liffey,  over  which  goes  an  antique 
bridge.  It  boasts,  moreover,  of  a portion  of  an  abbey  wall, 
and  a piece  of  round  tower,  both  on  the  hill  summit,  and  to 
be  seen  (says  the  Guide-book)  for  many  miles  round.  Here 
we  saw  the  first  public  evidences  of  the  distress  of  the 
country.  There  was  no  trade  in  the  little  place,  and  but 
few  people  to  be  seen,  except  a crowd  round  a meal-shop, 
where  meal  is  distributed  once  a week  by  the  neigh- 
boring gentry.  There  must  have  been  some  hundreds  of 
persons  waiting  about  the  doors  ; women  for  the  most  part ; 
some  of  their  children  were  to  be  found  loitering  about  the 
bridge  much  farther  up  the  street : but  it  was  curious  to  note, 
amongst  these  undeniably  starving  people,  how  healthy  their 
looks  were.  Going  a little  farther  we  saw  women  pulling 
weeds  and  nettles  in  the  hedges,  on  which  dismal  suste- 
nance the  poor  creatures  live,  having  no  bread,  no  potatoes, 
no  work.  Well ! these  women  did  not  look  thinner  or  more 
unhealthy  than  many  a well-fed  person.  A company  of 
English  lawyers,  now,  look  more  cadaverous  than  these 
starving  creatures. 

Stretching  away  from  Kilcullen  bridge,  for  a couple  of 
miles  or  more,  near  the  fine  house  and  plantations  of  the 
Latouche  family,  is  to  be  seen  a much  prettier  sight,  I think, 
than  the  finest  park  and  mansion  in  the  world.  This  is  a 
tract  of  excessively  green  land,  dotted  over  with  brilliant 
white  cottages,  each  with  its  couple  of  trim  acres  of  garden, 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


27 


where  you  see  thick  potato-ridges  covered  with  blossom, 
great  blue  plots  of  comfortable  cabbages  and  such  pleasant 
plants  of  the  poor  man’s  garden.  Two  or  three  years  since, 
the  land  was  a marshy  common,  which  had  never  since  the 
days  of  the  Deluge  fed  any  being  bigger  than  a snipe,  and 
into  which  the  poor  people  descended,  draining  and  cultiva- 
ting and  rescuing  the  marsh  from  the  water,  and  raising 
their  cabins  and  setting  up  their  little  inclosures  of  two  or 
three  acres  upon  the  land  which  they  had  thus  created. 
“ Many  of  ’em  has  passed  months  in  jail  for  that,”  said  my 
informant  (a  groom  on  the  back  seat  of  my  host’s  phaeton)  : 
for  it  appears  that  certain  gentlemen  in  the  neighborhood 
looked  upon  the  titles  of  these  new  colonists  with  .some 
jealousy,  and  would  have  been  glad  to  depose  them  ; but 
there  were  some  better  philosophers  among  the  surrounding 
gentry,  who  advised  that  instead  of  discouraging  the  settlers 
it  would  be  best  to  help  them ; and  the  consequence  has 
been,  that  there  are  now  two  hundred  flourishing  little  home- 
steads upon  this  rescued  land,  and  as  many  families  in  com- 
fort and  plenty. 

Just  at  the  confines  of  this  pretty  rustic  republic,  our 
pleasant  afternoon’s  drive  ended ; and  I must  begin  this 
tour  with  a monstrous  breach  of  confidence,  by  first  describ- 
ing what  I saw. 

Well,  then,  we  drove  through  a neat  lodge-gate,  with  no 
stone  lions  or  supporters,  but  riding  well  on  its  hinges,  and 
looking  fresh  and  white  ; and  passed  by  a lodge,  not  Gothic, 
but  decorated  with  flowers  and  evergreens,  with  clean  win- 
dows, and  a sound  slate  roof ; and  then  went  over  a trim 
road,  through  a few  acres  of  grass,  adorned  with  plenty  of 
young  firs  and  other  healthy  trees,  under  which  were  feed- 
ing a dozen  of  fine  cows  or  more.  The  road  led  up  to  a 
house,  or  rather  a congregation  of  rooms,  built  seemingly  to 
suit  the  owner’s  convenience,  and  increasing  with  his  increas- 
ing wealth,  or  whim,  or  family.  This  latter  is  as  plentiful 
as  everything  else  about  the  place ; and  as  the  arrows 
increased,  the  good-natured,  lucky  father  has  been  forced  to 
multiply  the  quivers. 

First  came  out  a young  gentleman,  the  heir  of  the  house, 
who,  after  greeting  his  papa,  began  examining  the  horses 
with  much  interest ; whilst  three  or  four  servants,  quite 
neat  and  well-dressed,  and,  wonderful  to  say,  without  any 
talking,  began  to  occupy  themselves  with  the  carriage,  the 
passengers,  and  the  trunks.  Meanwhile,  the  owner  of  the 


28 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOH 


house  had  gone  into  the  hall,  which  is  snugly  furnished  as 
a morning-room,  and  where  one,  two,  three  young  ladies  came 
in  to  greet  him.  The  young  ladies  having  concluded  their 
embraces  performed  (as  I am  bound  to  say  from  experience, 
both  in  London  and  Paris)  some  very  appropriate  and  well- 
finished  courtesies  to  the  strangers  arriving.  And  these 
three  young  persons  were  presently  succeeded  by  some  still 
younger,  who  came  without  any  courtesies  at  all ; but,  bound- 
ing, and  jumping,  and  shouting  out  “Papa”  at  the  top  of 
their  voices,  they  fell  forthwith  upon  that  worthy  gentle- 
man 7s  person,  taking  possession  this  of  his  knees,  that  of 
his  arms,  that  of  his  whiskers,  as  fancy  or  taste  might  dic- 
tate. 

“ Are  there  any  more  of  you  ? ” says  he,  with  perfect 
good-humor ; and,  in  fact,  it  appeared  that  there  were  some 
more  in  the  nursery,  as  we  subsequently  had  occasion  to 
see. 

Well,  this  large  happy  family  are  lodged  in  a house  than 
which  a prettier  or  more  comfortable  is  not  to  be  seen  even 
in  England ; of  the  furniture  of  which  it  may  be  in  confi- 
dence said,  that  each  article  is  only  made  to  answer  one 
purpose  : — thus,  that  chairs  are  never  called  upon  to  exer- 
cise the  versatility  of  their  genius  by  propping  up  windows  ; 
that  chests  of  drawers  are  not  obliged  to  move  their  un- 
wieldy persons  in  order  to  act  as  locks  to  doors  ; that  the 
windows  are  not  variegated  by  paper,  or  adorned  with  wafers, 
as  in  other  places  which  I have  seen : in  fact,  that  the  place 
is  just  as  comfortable  as  a place  can  be. 

And  if  these  comforts  and  reminiscences  of  three  days’ 
date  are  enlarged  upon  at  some  length,  the  reason  is  simply 
this : — this  is  written  at  what  is  supposed  to  be  the  best 
inn  at  one  of  the  best  towns  of  Ireland,  Waterford.  Dinner 
is  just  over;  it  is  assize-week,  and  the  table-cVhote  was  sur- 
rounded for  the  chief  part  by  English  attorneys  — the 
cyouncillors  (as  the  bar  are  pertinaciously  called)  dining  up- 
stairs in  private.  Well,  on  going  to  the  public  room  and 
being  about  to  lay  down  my  hat  on  the  sideboard,  I was 
obliged  to  pause  — out  of  regard  to  a fine  thick  coat  of  dust 
which  had  been  kindly  left  to  gather  for  some  days  past  I 
should  think,  and  which  it  seemed  a shame  to  displace. 
Yonder  is  a chair  basking  quietly  in  the  sunshine  ; some 
round  object  has  evidently  reposed  upon  it  (a  hat  or  plate 
probably),  for  you  see  a clear  circle  of  black  horsehair  in 
the  middle  of  the  chair,  and  dust  all  round  it.  Hot  one  of 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


29 


those  dirty  napkins  that  the  four  waiters  carry,  would  wipe 
away  the  grime  from  the  chair,  and  take  to  itself  a little 
dust  more ! The  people  in  the  room  are  shouting  out  for 
the  waiters,  who  cry,  “ Yes,  sir,”  peevishly,  and  don’t 
coine ; but  stand  bawling,  and  jangling,  and  calling  each 
other  names,  at  the  sideboard.  The  dinner  is  plentiful  and 
nasty  — raw  ducks,  raw  pease,  on  a crumpled  tablecloth, 
over  which  a waiter  has  just  spirted  a pint  of  obstreperous 
cider.  The  windows  are  open,  to  give  free  view  of  a crowd 
of  old  beggar-women,  and  of  a fellow  playing  a cursed  Irish 
pipe.  Presently  this  delectable  apartment  fills  with  chok- 
ing peat-smoke ; and  on  asking  what  is  the  cause  of  this 
agreeable  addition  to  the  pleasures  of  the  place,  you  are 
told  that  they  are  lighting  a fire  in  a back-room. 

Why  should  lighting  a fire  in  a back-room  fill  a whole 
enormous  house  with  smoke  ? Why  should  four  waiters 
stand  andjaiv  and  gesticulate  among  themselves,  instead  of 
waiting  on  the  guests  ? Why  should  ducks  be  raw,  and 
dust  lie  quiet  in  places  where  a hundred  people  pass  daily  ? 
All  these  points  make  one  think  very  regretfully  of  neat, 

pleasant,  comfortable,  prosperous  H town,  where  the 

meat  was  cooked,  and  the  rooms  were  clean,  and  the  ser- 
vants didn’t  talk.  Nor  need  it  be  said  here,  that  it  is  as 
cheap  to  have  a house  clean  as  dirty,  and  that  a raw  leg  of 
mutton  costs  exactly  the  same  sum  as  one  cult  a 'point . 
And  by  this  moral  earnestly  hoping  that  all  Ireland  may 

profit,  let  us  go  back  to  H , and  the  sights  to  be  seen 

there. 

There  is  no  need  to  particularize  the  chairs  and  tables 
any  farther,  nor  to  say  what  sort  of  conversation  and  claret 
we  had ; nor  to  set  down  the  dishes  served  at  dinner.  If  an 
Irish  gentleman  does  not  give  you  a more  hearty  welcome 
than  an  Englishman,  at  least  he  has  a more  hearty  manner 
of  welcoming  you;  and  while  the  latter  reserves  his  fun 
and  humor  (if  he  possess  those  qualities)  for  his  particular 
friends,  the  former  is  ready  to  laugh  and  talk  his  best  with 
all  the  world,  and  give  way  entirely  to  his  mood.  And  it 
would  be  a good  opportunity  here  for  a man  who  is  clever 
at  philosophizing  to  expound  various  theories  upon  the 
modes  of  hospitality  practised  in  various  parts  of  Europe. 
In  a couple  of  hours’  talk,  an  Englishman  will  give  you  his 
notions  on  trade,  politics,  the  crops ; the  last  run  with  the 
hounds,  or  the  weather : it  requires  a long  sitting,  and  a 
bottle  of  wine  at  the  least,  to  induce  him  to  laugh  cordially, 


30 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK . 


or  to  speak  unreservedly;  and  if  you  joke  with  him  before 
you  know  him,  he  will  assuredly  set  you  down  as  a low,  im- 
pertinent fellow.  In  two  hours,  and  over  a pipe,  a German 
will  be  quite  ready  to  let  loose  the  easy  floodgates  of  his 
sentiment,  and  confide  to  you  many  of  the  secrets  of  his 
soft  heart.  In  two  hours  a Frenchman  will  say  a hundred 
and  twenty  smart,  witty,  brilliant,  false  things,  and  will 
care  for  you  as  much  then  as  he  would  if  you  saw  him 
every  day  for  twenty  years  — that  is,  not  one  single  straw ; 
and  in  two  hours  an  Irishman  will  have  allowed  his  jovial 
humor  to  unbutton,  and  gambolled  and  frolicked  to  his 
heart’s  content.  Which  of  these,  putting  Monsieur  out  of 
the  question,  will  stand  by  his  friend  with  the  most  con- 
stancy, and  maintain  his  steady  wish  to  serve  him  ? That 
is  a question  which  the  Englishman  (and  I think  with  a 
little  of  his  ordinary  cool  assumption)  is  disposed  to  decide 
in  his  own  favor;  but  it  is  clear  that  for  a stranger  the 
Irish  ways  are  the  pleasantest,  for  here  he  is  at  once  made 
happy  and  at  home ; or  at  ease  rather : for  home  is  a strong 
word,  and  implies  much  more  than  any  stranger  can  expect, 
or  even  desire  to  claim. 

Nothing  could  be  more  delightful  to  witness  than  the  evi- 
dent affection  which  the  children  and  parents  bore  to  one 
another,  and  the  cheerfulness  and  happiness  of  their  family- 
parties.  The  father  of  one  lad  went  with  a party  of  his 
friends  and  family  on  a pleasure-party,  in  a handsome' 
coach-and-four.  The  little  fellow  sat  on  the  coach-box  and 
played  with  the  whip  very  wistfully  for  some  time : the 
sun  was  shining,  the  horses  came  out  in  bright  harness, 
with  glistening  coats ; one  of  the  girls  brought  a geranium 
to  stick  in  papa’s  button-hole,  who  was  to  drive.  But 
although  there  was  room  in  the  coach,  and  though  papa 
said  he  should  go  if  he  liked,  and  though  the  lad  longed  to 
go  — as  .who  wouldn’t?  — he  jumped  off  the  box,  and  said 
he  would  not.  go : mamma  would  like  him  to  stop  at  home 
and  keep  his  sister  company;  and  so  down  he  went  like  a 
hero.  Does  this  story  appear  trivial  to  any  one  who  reads 
it  ? If  so,  he  is  a pompous  fellow,  whose  opinion  is  not 
worth  the  having ; or  he  has  no  children  of  his  own  ; or  lie 
has  forgotten  the  day  when  he  was  a child  himself ; or  he 
has  never  repented  of  the  surly  selfishness  with  which  he 
treated  brothers  and  sisters,  after  the  habit  of  young  Eng- 
lish gentlemen. 

“ That’s  a list  that  uncle  keeps  of  his  children,”  said  the 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK 


31 


same  young  fellow,  seeing  liis  uncle  reading  a paper ; and 
to  understand  this  joke,  it  must  be  remembered  that  the 
children  of  the  gentleman  called  uncle  came  into  the 
breakfast-room  by  half-dozens.  “ That’s  a rum  fellow,” 
said  the  eldest  of  these  latter  to  me,  as  his  father  went  out 
of  the  room,  evidently  thinking  his  papa  was  the  greatest 
wit  and  wonder  in  the  whole  world.  And  a great  merit,  as 
it  appeared  to  me,  on  the  part  of  these  worthy  parents  was, 
that  they  consented  not  only  to  make,  but  to  take  jokes 
from  their  young  ones  : nor  was  the  parental  authority  in 
the  least  weakened  by  this  kind  familiar  intercourse. 

A word  with  regard  to  the  ladies  so  far.  Those  I have 
seen  appear  to  the  full  as  well  educated  and  refined,  and 
far  more  frank  and  cordial,  than  the  generality  of  the  fair 
creatures  on  the  other  side  of  the  Channel.  I have  not 
heard  anything  about  poetry,  to  be  sure,  and  in  only  one 
house  have  seen  an  album ; but  I have  heard  some  capital 
music,  of  an  excellent  family  sort  — that  sort  which  is 
used,  namely,  to  set  young  people  dancing,  which  they 
have  done  merrily  for  some  nights.  In  respect  of  drinking, 
among  the  gentry  teetotalism  does  not,  thank  heaven ! as 
yet  appear  to  prevail;  but  although  the  claret  has  been 
invariably  good,  there  has  been  no  improper  use  of  it.* 
Let  all  English  be  recommended  to  be  very  careful  of  whis- 
key, which  experience  teaches  to  be  a very  deleterious 
drink.  Natives  say  that  it  is  wholesome,  and  may  be  some- 
times seen  to  use  it  with  impunity ; but  the  whiskey-fever 
is  naturally  more  fatal  to  strangers  than  inhabitants  of  the 
country ; and  whereas  an  Irishman  will  sometimes  imbibe 
a half-dozen  tumblers  of  the  poison,  two  glasses  will  be 
often  found  to  cause  headaches,  heartburns,  and  fevers,  to  a 
person  newly  arrived  in  the  country.  The  said  whiskey  is 
always  to  be  had  for  the  asking,  but  is  not  produced  at  the 
bettermost  sort  of  tables. 

Before  setting  out  on  our  second  day’s  journey,  we  had 
time  to  accompany  the  well -pleased  owner  of  H— — town 
over  some  of  his  fields  and  out-premises.  Nor  can  there  be 

a pleasanter  sight  to  owner  or  stranger.  Mr.  P farms 

four  hundred  acres  of  land  about  his  house ; and  employs 
on  this  estate  no  less  than  a hundred  and  ten  persons.  He 
says  there  is  full  work  for  every  one  of  them ; and  to  see 

* The  only  instances  of  intoxication  that  I have  heard  of  as  yet, 
have  been  on  the  part  of  two  “cyouncillors,”  undeniably  drunk  and 
noisy  yesterday  after  the  bar  dinner  at  Waterford. 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK . 


09 
• pjj 

the  elaborate  state  of  cultivation  in  which  the  land  was,  it 
is  easy  to  understand  how  such  an  agricultural  regiment 
were  employed.  The  estate  is  like  a well-ordered  garden : 
we  walked  into  a huge  field  of  potatoes,  and  the  landlord 
made  us  remark  that  there  was  not  a single  weed  between 
the  furrows ; and  the  whole  formed  a vast  flower-bed  of  a 
score  of  acres.  Every  bit  of  land  up  to  the  hedge-side  was 
fertilized  and  full  of  produce : the  space  left  for  the  plough 
having  afterwards  been  gone  over,  and  yielding  its  fullest 
proportion  of  “fruit.”  In  a turnip-field  were  a score  or 
more  of  women  and  children,  who  were  marching  through 
the  ridges,  removing  the  young  plants  where  two  or  three 
had  grown  together,  and  leaving  only  the  most  healthy. 
Every  individual  root  in  the  field  was  thus  the  object  of 
culture ; and  the  owner  said  that  this  extreme  cultivation 
answered  his  purpose,  and  that  the  employment  of  all  these 
hands  (the  women  and  children  earn  6d.  and  8r/.  a day  all 
the  year  round),  which  gained  him  some  reputation  as  a 
philanthropist,  brought  him  profit  as  a farmer  too ; for  his 
crops  were  the  best  that  land  could  produce.  He  has  fur- 
ther the  advantage  of  a large  stock  for  manure,  and  does 
everything  for  the  land  which  art  can  do. 

Here  we  saw  several  experiments  in  manuring : an  acre 
of  turnips  prepared  with  bone-dust ; another  with  “ Mur- 
ray’s Composition,”  whereof  I do  not  pretend  to  know  the 
ingredients ; another  with  a new  manure  called  guano.  As 
far  as  turnips  and  a first  year’s  crop  went,  the  guano  car- 
ried the  day.  The  plants  on  the  guano  acre  looked  to  be 
three  weeks  in  advance  of  their  neighbors,  and  were 
extremely  plentiful  and  healthy.  I went  to  see  this  field 
two  months  after  the  above  passage  was  written : the  guano 
acre  still  kept  the  lead  ; the  bone-dust  ran  guano  very  hard  ; 
and  composition  was  clearly  distanced. 

Behind  the  house  is  a fine  village  of  corn  and  hayricks, 
and  a street  of  out-buildings,  where  all  the  work  of  the 
farm  is  prepared.  Here  were  numerous  people  coming  with 
pails  for  buttermilk,  which  the  good-natured  landlord  made 
over  to  them.  A score  of  men  or  more  were  busied  about 
the  place  ; some  at  a grindstone,  others  at  a forge  — other 
fellows  busied  in  the  cart-houses  and  stables,  all  of  which 
were  as  neatly  kept  as  in  the  best  farm  in  England.  A lit- 
tle further  on  was  a flower-garden,  a kitchen-garden,  a hot- 
house just  building,  a kennel  of  fine  pointers  and  setters; 
— indeed  a noble  feature  of  country  neatness,  thrift,  and 
plenty. 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


33 


We  went  into  the  cottages  and  gardens  of  several  of  Mr. 

P ’s  laborers,  which  were  all  so  neat  that  I could  not 

help  fancying  they  were  pet  cottages,  erected  under  the 
landlord’s  own  superintendence,  and  ornamented  to  his  or- 
der. But  he  declared  that  it  was  not  so ; that  the  only 
benefit  his  laborers  got  from  him  was  constant  work,  and  a 
house  rent-free ; and  that  the  neatness  of  the  gardens  and 
dwellings  was  of  their  own  doing.  By  making  them  a pres- 
ent of  the  house,  he  said  he  made  them  a present  of  the  pig 
and  live  stock,  with  which  almost  every  Irish  cotter  pays 
his  rent,  so  that  each  workman  could  have  a bit  of  meat 
for  his  support ; — would  that  all  laborers  in  the  empire 
had  as  much  ! With  regard  to  the  neatness  of  the  houses, 
the  best  way  to  insure  this,  he  said,  was  for  the  master  con- 
stantly to  visit  them  — to  awaken  as  much  emulation  as  he 
could  amongst  the  cottagers,  so  that  each  should  make  his 
place  as  good  as  his  neighbor’s  — and  to  take  them  good- 
humoredly  to  task  if  they  failed  in  the  requisite  care. 

And  so  this  pleasant  day’s  visit  ended.  A more  practical 
person  would  have  seen,  no  doubt,  and  understood  much 
more  than  a mere  citizen  could,  whose  pursuits  have  been 
very  different  from  those  noble  and  useful  ones  here  spoken 
of.  But  a man  has  no  call  to  be  a judge  of  turnips  or  live 
stock,  in  order  to  admire  such  an  establishment  as  this,  and 
heartily  to  appreciate  the  excellence  of  it.  There  are  some 
happy  organizations  in  the  world  which  possess  the  great 
virtue  of  prosperity.  It  implies  cheerfulness,  simplicity, 
shrewdness,  perseverance,  honesty,  good  health.  See  how, 
before  the  good-humored  resolution  of  such  characters,  ill- 
luck  gives  way,  and  fortune  assumes  their  own  smiling 
complexion ! Such  men  grow  rich  without  driving  a single 
hard  bargain ; their  condition  being  to  make  others  prosper 
along  with  themselves.  Thus,  his  very  charity,  another  in- 
formant tells  me,  is  one  of  the  causes  of  my  host’s  good  for- 
tune. He  might  have  three  pounds  a year  from  each  of 
forty  cottagers,  but  instead  prefers  a hundred  healthy 
workmen ; or  he  might  have  a fourth  of  the  number  of 
workmen,  and  a farm  yielding  a produce  proportionately 
less ; but  instead  of  saving  the  money  of  their  wages,  pre- 
fers a farm  the  produce  of  which,  as  I have  heard  from  a 
gentleman  whom  I take  to  be  good  authority,  is  unequalled 
elsewhere. 

Besides  the  cottages,  we  visited  a pretty  school  where 
children  of  an  exceeding  smallness  were  at  their  work,  — - 

VOL.  ti. — 3 


34 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


the  children  of  the  Catholic  peasantry.  The  few  Protes- 
tants of  the  district  do  not  attend  the  national-school,  nor 
learn  their  alphabet  or  their  multiplication-table  in  com- 
pany with  their  little  Poman  Catholic  brethren.  The  cler- 
gyman who  lives  hard  by  the  gate  of  H town,  in  his 

communication  with  his  parishioners  cannot  fail  to  see  how 
much  misery  is  relieved  and  how  much  good  is  done  by  his 
neighbor  ; but  though  the  two  gentlemen  are  on  good  terms, 
the  clergyman  will  not  break  bread  with  his  Catholic  fellow- 
Christian.  There  can  be  no  harm,  I hope,  in  mentioning 
this  fact,  as  it  is  rather  a public  than  a private  matter ; 
and,  unfortunately,  it  is  only  a stranger  that  is  surprised 
by  such  a circumstance,  which  is  quite  familiar  to  residents 
of  the  country.  There  are  Catholic  inns  and  Protestant 
inns  in  the  towns ; Catholic  coaches  and  Protestant  coaches 
on  the  roads ; nay,  in  the  North,  I have  since  heard  of  a 
High  Church  coach  and  a Low  Church  coach  adopted  by 
travelling  Christians  of  either  party. 


CHAPTER  III. 


FROM  CARLOW  TO  WATERFORD. 

j— --j  HE  next  morning  being 
fixed  for  the  commence- 
ment of  our  journey  to- 
wards Waterford,  a carriage 
made  its  appearance  in  due 
time  before  the  hall-door  : 
an  amateur  stage-coach, 
with  four  fine  horses,  that 
were  to  carry  us  to  Cork. 
The  crew  of  the  “ drag,” 
for  the  present,  consisted 
of  two  young  ladies,  and 
two  who  will  not  be  old, 
please  heaven ! for  these 
thirty  years  ; three  gentle- 
men whose  collected 
weights  might  amount  to 
fifty-four  stone : and  one 
of  smaller  proportions,  being  as  yet  only  twelve  years  old : 
to  these  were  added  a couple  of  grooms  and  a lady\s  maid. 
Subsequently  we  took  in  a dozen  or  so  more  passengers, 
who  did  not  seem  in  the  slightest  degree  to  inconvenience 
the  coach  or  the  horses  ; and  thus  was  formed  a tolerably 
numerous  and  merry  party.  The  governor  took  the  reins, 
with  his  geranium  in  his  button-hole,  and  the  place  on  the 
box  was  quarrelled  for  without  ceasing,  and  taken  by  turns. 

Our  day’s  journey  lay  through  a country  more  pictu- 
resque, though  by  no  means  so  prosperous  and  well  cultiva- 
ted as  the  district  through  which  we  had  passed  on  our 
drive  from  Dublin.  This  trip  carried  us  through  the  Coun- 
ty of  Carlow  and  the  town  of  that  name  : a wretched  place 
enough,  with  a fine  court-house,  and  a couple  of  fine 
churches  : the  Protestant  church  a noble  structure,  and  the 
Catholic  cathedral,  said  to  be  built  after  some  continental 

35 


36 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


model.  The  Catholics  point  to  the  structure  with  consider- 
able pride  : it  was  the  first,  I believe,  of  the  many  hand- 
some cathedrals  for  their  worship  which  have  been  built 
of  late  years  in  this  country  by  the  noble  contributions  of 
the  poor  man’s  penny,  and  by  the  untiring  energies  and  sac- 
rifices of  the  clergy.  Bishop  Boyle,  the  founder  of  the 
church,  has  the  place  of  honor  within  it ; nor,  perhaps,  did 
any  Christian  pastor  ever  merit  the  affection  of  his  flock 
more  than  that  great  and  high-minded  man.  He  was  the 
best  champion  the  Catholic  Church  and  cause  ever  had  in 
Ireland  : in  learning,  and  admirable  kindness  and  virtue,  the 
best  example  to  the  clergy  of  his  religion  : and  if  the  coun- 
try is  now  filled  with  schools,  where  the  humblest  peasant 
in  it  can  have  the  benefit  of  a liberal  and  wholesome  educa- 
tion, it  owes  this  great  boon  mainly  to  his  noble  exertions, 
and  to  the  spirit  which  they  awakened. 

As  for  the  architecture  of  the  cathedral,  I do  not  fancy 
a professional  man  would  find  much  to  praise  in  it;  it 
seems  to  me  overloaded  with  ornaments,  nor  were  its  innu- 
merable spires  and  pinnacles  the  more  pleasing  to  the  eye 
because  some  of  them  were  out  of  the  perpendicular.  The 
interior  is  quite  plain,  not  to  say  bare  and  unfinished. 
Many  of  the  chapels  in  the  country  that  I have  since  seen 
are  in  a similar  condition ; for  when  the  walls  are  once 
raised,  the  enthusiasm  of  the  subscribers  to  the  building 
seems  somewhat  characteristically  to  grow  cool,  and  you 
enter  at  a porch  that  would  suit  a palace,  with  an  interior 
scarcely  more  decorated  than  a barn.  A wide  large  floor, 
some  confession -boxes  against  the  blank  walls  here  and 
there,  with  some  humble  pictures  at  the  “ stations,”  and  the 
statue,  under  a mean  canopy  of  red  woollen  stuff,  were  the 
chief  furniture  of  the  cathedral. 

The  severe  homely  features  of  the  good  bishop  were  not 
very  favorable  subjects  for  Mr.  Hogan’s  chisel ; but  a figure 
of  prostrate  weeping  Ireland,  kneeling  by  the  prelate’s  side, 
and  for  whom  he  is  imploring  protection,  has  much  beauty. 
In  the  chapels  of  Dublin  and  Cork  some  of  this  artist’s 
work  may  be  seen,  and  his  countrymen  are  exceedingly 
proud  of  him. 

Connected  with  the  Catholic  cathedral  is  a large  tumble- 
down-looking divinity  college ; there  are  upwards  of  a hun- 
dred students  here,  and  the  college  is  licensed  to  give  de- 
grees in  arts  as  well  as  divinity ; at  least  so  the  officer  of 
the  church  said,  as  he  showed  us  the  place  through  the  bars 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


37 


of  the  sacristy-windows,  in  which  apartment  may  be  seen 
sundry  crosses,  a pastoral  letter  of  Dr.  Doyle,  and  a num- 
ber of  ecclesiastical  vestments  formed  of  laces,  poplins,  and 
velvets  handsomely  laced  with  gold.  There  is  a convent 
by  the  side  of  the  cathedral,  and,  of  course,  a parcel  of 
beggars  all  about,  and  indeed  all  over  the  town,  profuse  in 
their  prayers  and  invocations  of  the  Lord,  and  whining  flat- 
teries of  the  persons  whom  they  address.  One  wretched 
old  tottering  hag  began  whining  the  Lord’s  Prayer  as  a 
proof  of  her  sincerity,  and  blundered  in  the  very  midst  of 
it,  and  left  us  thoroughly  disgusted  after  the  very  first  sen- 
tence. 

It  was  market-day  in  the  town,  which  is  tolerably  full  of 
poor-looking  shops,  the  streets  being  thronged  with  don- 
key-carts, and  people  eager  to  barter  their  small  wares. 
Here  and  there  were  picture-stalls,  with  huge  hideous-col- 
ored engravings  of  the  Saints  : and  indeed  the  objects  of 
barter  upon  the  banks  of  the  clear  bright  river  Barrow 
seemed  scascely  to  be  of  more  value  than  the  articles  which 
change  hands,  as  one  reads  of,  in  a town  of  African  huts 
and  traders  on  the  banks  of  the  Quorra.  Perhaps  the  very 
bustle  and  cheerfulness  of  the  people  served  only,  to  a Lon- 
doner’s eye,  to  make  it  look  the  more  miserable.  It  seems 
as  if  they  had  no  right  to  be  eager  about  such  a parcel  of 
wretched  rags  and  trifles  as  were  exposed  to  sale. 

There  are  some  old  towers  of  a castle  here,  looking  finely 
from  the  river ; and  near  the  town  is  a grand  modern  resi- 
dence belonging  to  Colonel  Bruen,  with  an  oak-park  on  one 
side  of  the  road,  and  a deer-park  on  the  other.  These  re- 
tainers of  the  Colonel’s  lay  in  their  rushy  green  enclosures, 
in  great  numbers,  and  seemingly  in  flourishing  condition. 

The  road  from  Carlow  to  Leighlin  Bridge  is  exceedingly 
beautiful : noble  pure  hills  rising  on  either  side,  and  the 
broad  silver  Barrow  flowing  through  rich  meadows  of  that 
astonishing  verdure  which  is  only  to  be  seen  in  this  coun- 
try. Here  and  there  was  a country-house,  or  a tall  mill  by 
a stream  side : but  the  latter  buildings  were  for  the  most 
part  empty,  the  gaunt  windows  gaping  without  glass,  and 
their  great  wheels  idle.  Leighlin  Bridge,  lying  up  and 
down  a hill  by  the  river  contains  a considerable  number  of 
pompous-looking  warehouses,  that  looked  for  the  most  part 
to  be  doing  no  more  business  than  the  mills  on  the  Carlow 
road,  but  stood  by  the  roadside  staring  at  the  coach  as  it 
were,  and  basking  in  the  sun,  swaggering,  idle,  insolvent. 


38 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


and  out-at-elbows.  There  are  one  or  two  very  pretty,  mod- 
est, comfortable-looking  country  places  about  Leighlin 
Bridge,  and  on  the  road  thence  to  a miserable  village  called 
the  Royal  Oak,  a beggarly  sort  of  bustling  place. 

Here  stands  a dilapidated  hotel  and  posting-house  : and 
indeed  on  every  road,  as  yet,  I have  been  astonished  at  the 
great  movement  and  stir ; the  old  coaches  being  invariably 
crammed,  cars  jingling  about  equally  full,  and  no  want  of 
gentlemen’s  carriages  to  exercise  the  horses  of  the  “ Royal 
Oak  ” and  similar  establishments.  In  the  time  of  the 
rebellion,  the  landlord  of  this  “ Royal  Oak,”  a great  char- 
acter in  those  parts,  was  a fierce  United  Irishman.  One 
day  it  happened  that  Sir  John  Anderson  came  to  the  inn, 
and  was  eager  for  horses  on.  The  landlord,  who  knew  Sir 
John  to  be  a Tory,  vowed  and  swore  he  had  no  horses  ; 
that  the  judges  had  the  last  going  to  Kilkenny;  that  the 
yeomanry  had  carried  off  the  best  of  them ; that  he  could 
not  give  a horse  for  love  or  money.  “ Poor  Lord  Edward ! ” 
said  Sir  John,  sinking  down  in  a chair,  and  clasping  his 
hands,  “ my  poor  dear  misguided  friend,  and  must  you  die 
for  the  loss  of  a few  hours  and  the  want  of  a pair  of  horses. 

“Lord  What?”  says  the  landlord. 

“Lord  Edward  Fitzgerald,”  replied  Sir  John.  “The 
Government  has  seized  his  papers,  and  got  scent  of  his 
hiding-place.  If  I can’t  get  to  him  before  two  hours,  Sirr 
will  have  him.” 

“ My  dear  Sir  John,”  cried  the  landlord,  “it’s  not  two 
horses  but  it’s  eight  I’ll  give  you,  and  may  the  judges  go 
hang  for  me  ! Here,  Larry  ! Tim  ! First  and  second  pair 
for  Sir  John  Anderson  ; and  long  life  to  you,  Sir  John,  and 
the  Lord  reward  you  for  your  good  deed  this  day  ! ” 

Sir  John,  my  informant  told  me,  had  invented  this  pre- 
dicament of  Lord  Edward’s  in  order  to  get  the  horses ; and 
by  way  of  corroborating  the  whole  story,  pointed  out  an 
old  chaise  which  stood  at  the  inn-door  with  its  window 
broken,  a great  crevice  in  the  panel,  some  little  wretches 
crawling  underneath  the  wheels,  and  two  huge  blackguards 
lolling  against  the  pole.  “ And  that,”  says  he,  “ is  no  doubt 
the  very  post-chaise  Sir  John  Anderson  had.”  It  certainly 
looked  ancient  enough. 

Of  course,  as  we  stopped  for  a moment  in  the  place, 
troops  of  slatternly,  ruffianly-looking  fellows  assembled 
round  the  carriage,  dirty  heads  peeped  out  of  all  the  dirty 
windows,  beggars  came  forward  with  a joke  and  a prayer, 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK 


39 


and  troops  of  children  raised  their  shouts  and  halloos.  I 
confess,  with  regard  to  the  beggars,  that  I have  never  yet 
had  the  slightest  sentiment  of  compassion  for  the  very  old- 
est or  dirtiest  of  them,  or  been  inclined  to  give  them  a 
penny : they  come  crawling  round  you  with  lying  prayers 
and  loathsome  compliments,  that  make  the  stomach  turn ; 
they  do  not  even  disguise  that  they  are  lies ; for,  refuse 
them,  and  the  wretches  turn  off  with  a laugh  and  a joke,  a 
miserable  grinning  cynicism  that  creates  distrust  and  in- 
difference, and  must  be,  one  would  think,  the  very  best  way 
to  close  the  purse,  not  to  open  it,  for  objects  so  unworthy. 

How  do  all  these  people  live  ? one  can’t  help  wondering ; 
— these  multifarious  vagabonds,  without  work  or  work- 
house,  or  means  of  subsistence  ? The  Irish  Poor  Law  Re- 
port says  that  there  are  twelve  hundred  thousand  people  in 
Ireland  — a sixth  of  the  population  — who  have  no  means 
of  livelihood  but  charity,  and  whom  the  State,  or  individual 
members  of  it,  must  maintain.  How  can  the  State  support 
such  an  enormous  burden ; or  the  twelve  hundred  thousand 
be  supported  ? What  a strange  history  it  would  be,  could 
one  but  get  it  true,  — that  of  the  manner  in  which  a score 
of  these  beggars  have  maintained  themselves  for  a fort- 
night past ! 

Soon  after  quitting  the  “ Royal  Oak,”  our  road  branches 
off  to  the  hospitable  house  where  our  party,  consisting  of  a 
dozen  persons,  was  to  be  housed  and  fed  for  the  night. 
Fancy  the  look  which  an  English  gentleman  of  moderate 
means  would  assume,  at  being  called  on  to  receive  such  a 
company  ! A pretty  road  of  a couple  of  miles,  thickly 
grown  with  ash  and  oak  trees,  under  which  the  hats  of 
coach-passengers  suffered  some  danger,  leads  to  the  house 

of  D . A young  son  of  the  house,  on  a white  pony, 

was  on  the  lookout,  and  great  cheering  and  shouting  took 
place  among  the  young  people  as  we  came  in  sight. 

Trotting  away  by  the  carriage-side  he  brought  us  through 
a gate  with  a pretty  avenue  of  trees  leading  to  the  pleasure- 
grounds  of  the  house  — a handsome  building  commanding 
noble  views  of  river,  mountains,  and  plantations.  Our 
entertainer  only  rents  the  place  ; so  I may  say,  without  any 
imputation  against  him,  that  the  house  was  by  no  means  so 
handsome  within  as  without,  — not  that  the  want  of  finish 
in  the  interior  made  our  party  the  less  merry,  or  the  host’s 
entertainment  less  hearty  and  cordial. 

The  gentleman  who  built  and  owns  the  house,  like  many 


40 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


other  proprietors  in  Ireland,  found  his  mansion  too  expen- 
sive for  his  means,  and  has  relinquished  it.  I asked  what 
his  income  might  be,  and  no  wonder  that  he  was  compelled 
to  resign  his  house  ; which  a man  with  four  times  the 
income  in  England  would  scarcely  venture  to  inhabit. 
There  were  numerous  sitting-rooms  below ; a large  suite  of 
rooms  above,  in  which  our  large  party,  with  their  servants, 
disappeared  without  any  seeming  inconvenience,  and  which 
already  accommodated  a family  of  at  least  a dozen  persons, 
and  a numerous  train  of  domestics.  There  was  a great 
court-yard  surrounded  by  capital  offices,  with  stabling  and 
coach-houses  sufficient  for  a half-dozen  of  country  gentle- 
men. An  English  squire  of  ten  thousand  a year  might  live 
in  such  a place — the  original  owner,  1 am  told,  had  not 
many  more  hundreds. 

Our  host  has  wisely  turned  the  chief  part  of  the  pleasure- 
ground  round  the  house  into  a farm ; nor  did  the  land  look 
a bit  the  worse,  as  I thought,  for  having  rich  crops  of 
potatoes  growing  in  place  of  grass,  and  hue  plots  of  waving 
wheat  and  barley.  The  care,  skill,  and  neatness  every- 
where exhibited,  and  the  immense  luxuriance  of  the  crops, 
could  not  fail  to  strike  even  a cockney  : and  one  of  our 
party,  a very  well  known,  practical  farmer,  told  me  that 
there  was  at  least  five  hundred  pounds’  worth  of  produce 
upon  the  little  estate  of  some  sixty  acres,  of  which  only 
live-and-twenty  were  under  the  plough. 

As  at  H town,  on  the  previous  day,  several  men  and 

women  appeared  sauntering  in  the  grounds,  and  as  the 
master  came  up,  asked  for  work,  or  sixpence,  or  told  a 
story  of  want.  There  are  lodge-gates  at  both  ends  of  the 
demesne ; but  it  appears  the  good-natured  practice  of  the 
country  admits  a beggar  as  well  as  any  other  visitor.  To  a 
couple  our  landlord  gave  money,  to  another  a little  job  of 
work  ; another  he  sent  roughly  out  of  the  premises : and  I 
could  judge  thus  what  a continual  tax  upon  the  Irish  gen- 
tleman these  travelling  paupers  must  be,  of  whom  his 
ground  is  never  free. 

There,  loitering  about  the  stables  and  out-houses,  were 
several  people  who  seemed  to  have  acquired  a sort  of  right 
to  be  there : women  and  children  who  had  a claim  upon  the 
buttermilk  ; men  who  did  an  odd  job  now  and  then  ; loose 
hangers-on  of  the  family : and  in  the  lodging-houses  and 
inns  I have  entered,  the  same  sort  of  ragged  vassals  are  to 
be  found  ; in  a house  however  poor,  you  are  sure  to  see 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK 


41 


some  poorer  dependant  wlio  is  a stranger,  taking  a meal  of 
potatoes  in  the  kitchen ; a Tim  or  Mike  loitering  hard  by, 
ready  to  run  on  a message,  or  carry  a bag.  This  is  written, 
for  instance,  at  a lodging  over  a shop  at  Cork.  There  sits 
in  the  shop  a poor  old  fellow  quite  past  work,  but  who 
totters  up  and  down  stairs  to  the  lodgers,  and  does  what  little 
he  can  for  his  easily-won  bread.  There  is  another  fellow 
outside  who  is  sure  to  make  his  bow  to  anybody  issuing 
from  the  lodging,  and  ask  if  his  honor  wants  an  errand 
done  ? Neither  class  of  such  dependants  exists  with  us. 
What  housekeeper  in  London  is  there  will  feed  an  old  man 


of  seventy  that’s  good  for  nothing,  or  encourage  such  a dis- 
reputable hanger-on  as  yonder  shuffling,  smiling  cad  ? 

Nor  did  Mr.  M ?s  “ irregulars”  disappear  with  the 

day ; for  when,  after  a great  deal  of  merriment,  and  kind, 
happy  dancing  and  romping  of  young  people,  the  fineness 
of  the  night  suggested  the  propriety  of  smoking  a certain 
cigar  (it  is  never  more  acceptable  than  at  that  season),  the 
young  squire  voted  that  we  should  adjourn  to  the  stables 
for  the  purpose,  where  accordingly  the  cigars  were  dis- 
cussed. There  were  still  the  inevitable  half-dozen  hangers- 
on  : one  came  grinning  with  a lantern,  all  nature  being  in 
universal  blackness  except  his  grinning  face ; another  ran 
obsequiously  to  the  stables  to  show  a favorite  mare  — I 


42 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


think  it  was  a mare  — though  it  may  have  been  a mule,  and 
your  humble  servant  not  much  the  wiser.  The  cloths  were 
taken  off ; the  fellows  with  the  candles  crowded  about ; and 
the  young  squire  bade  me  admire  the  beauty  of  her  fore-leg, 
which  I did  with  the  greatest  gravity.  “Did  you  ever  see 
such  a fore-leg  as  that  in  your  life  ? ” says  the  young 
squire,  and  further  discoursed  upon  the  horse’s  points,  the 
amateur  grooms  joining  in  chorus. 

There  was  another  young  squire  of  our  party,  a pleasant 
gentlemanlike  young  fellow,  who  danced  as  prettily  as  any 
Frenchman,  and  who  had  ridden  over  from  a neighboring 
house  : as  I went  to  bed,  the  two  lads  were  arguing  whether 

young  Squire  B should  go  home  or  stay  at  D that 

night.  There  was  a bed  for  him  — there  was  a bed  for 
everybody  it  seemed,  and  a kind  welcome  too.  How  differ- 
ent was  all  this  to  the  ways  of  a severe  English  house. 

Next  morning  the  whole  of  our  merry  party  assembled 
round  a long,  jovial  breakfast-table,  stored  with  all  sorts  of 
good  things  ; and  the  biggest  and  jovialest  man  of  all,  who 
had  just  come  in  fresh  from  a walk  in  the  fields,  and  vowed 
that  he  was  as  hungry  as  a hunter,  and  was  cutting  some 
slices  out  of  an  inviting  ham  on  the  side-table,  suddenly 
let  fall  his  knife  and  fork  with  dismay.  “Sure,  John, 
don’t  you  know  it’s  Friday  ? ” cried  a lady  from  the  table  ; 
and  back  John  came  with  a most  lugubrious  queer  look  on 
his  jolly  face,  and  fell  to  work  upon  bread-and-butter,  as 
resigned  as  possible,  amidst  no  small  laughter,  as  may  be 
well  imagined.  On  this  I was  bound,  as  a Protestant,  to 
eat  a large  slice  of  pork,  and  discharged  that  duty  nobly, 
and  with  much  self-sacrifice. 

The  famous  “ drag  ” which  had  brought  us  so  far,  seemed 
to  be  as  hospitable  and  elastic  as  the  house  which  we  now 
left,  for  the  coach  accommodated,  inside  and  out,  a consid- 
erable party  from  the  house ; and  we  took  our  road  leisure- 
ly, in  a cloudless,  scorching  day,  towards  Waterford.  The 
first  place  we  passed  through  was  the  little  town  of  Gow- 
ran,  near  which  is  a grand,  well-ordered  park,  belonging  to 
Lord  Clifden,  and  where  his  mother  resides,  with  whose 
beautiful  face,  in  Lawrence’s  pictures,  every  reader  must 
be  familiar.  The  kind  English  lady  has  done  the  greatest 
good  in  the  neighborhood,  it  is  said,  and  the  little  town 
bears  marks  of  her  beneficence,  in  its  neatness,  prettiness, 
and  order.  Close  by  the  church  there  are  the  ruins  of  a 
fine  old  abbey  here,  and  a still  finer  one  a few  miles  on,  at 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK . 


43 


Thomastown,  most  picturesquely  situated  amidst  trees  and 
meadow,  on  the  river  Nore.  The  place  within,  however,  is 
dirty  and  ruinous  — the  same  wretched  suburbs,  the  same 
squalid  congregation  of  beggarly  loungers,  that  are  to  be 
seen  elsewhere.  The  monastic  ruin  is  very  line,  and  the 
road  hence  to  Thomastown  rich  with  varied  cultivation  and 
beautiful  verdure,  pretty  gentlemen’s  mansions  shining 
among  the  trees  on  either  side  of  the  way.  There  was  one 
place  along  this  rich  tract  that  looked  very  strange  and 
ghastly  — a huge  old  pair  of  gate  pillars,  flanked  by  a ruin- 
ous lodge,  and  a wide  road  winding  for  a mile  up  a hill. 
There  had  been  a park  once,  but  all  the  trees  were  gone ; 
thistles  were  growing  in  the  yellow  sickly  land,  and  rank 
thin  grass  on  the  road.  Far  away  you  saw  in  this  desolate 
tract  a ruin  of  a house : many  a butt  of  claret  has  been 
emptied  there,  no  doubt,  and  many  a merry  party  come  out 
with  hound  and  horn.  But  what  strikes  the  Englishman 
with  wonder  is  not  so  much,  perhaps,  that  an  owner  of  the 
place  should  have  been  ruined  and  a spendthrift,  as  that 
the  land  should  lie  there  useless  ever  since.  If  one  is  not 
successful  with  us  another  man  will  be,  or  another  will  try, 
at  least.  Here  lies  useless  a great  capital  of  hundreds  of 
acres  of  land;  barren,  where  the  commonest  effort  might 
make  it  productive,  and  looking  as  if  for  a quarter  of  a cen- 
tury past  no  soul  ever  looked  or  cared  for  it.  You  might 
travel  live  hundred  miles  through  England  and  not  see  such 
a spectacle. 

A short  distance  from  Thomastown  is  another  abbey; 
and  presently,  after  passing  through  the  village  of  Knock- 
topher,  we  came  to  a posting-place  called  Ballyhale, 
of  the  moral  aspect  of  which  the  following  scrap  taken 
in  the  place  will  give  a notion. 

A dirty,  old,  contented,  decrepit  idler  was  lolling  in  the 
sun  at  a shop-door,  and  hundreds  of  the  population  of 
the  dirty,  old,  decrepit,  contented  place  were  employed  in  the 
like  way.  A dozen  of  boys  were  playing  at  pitch-and-toss  ; 
other  male  and  female  beggars  were  sitting  on  a wall  look- 
ing into  a stream ; scores  of  ragamuffins,  of  course,  round 
the  carriage ; and  beggars  galore  at  the  door  of  the  little 
ale-house  or  hotel.  A gentleman’s  carriage  changed  horses 
as  we  were  baiting  here.  It  was  a rich  sight  to  see  the 
cattle,  and  the  way  of  starting  them  : “Halloo!  Yoop  — 
hoop  ! ” a dozen  ragged  hostlers  and  amateurs  running  by 
the  side  of  the  miserable  old  horses,  the  postilion  shrieking, 


44 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


yelling,  and  belaboring  them  with  his  whip.  Down  goes 
one  horse  among  the  new  laid  stones  ; the  postilion  has  him 
up  with  a cut  of  the  whip  and  a curse,  and  takes  advantage 
of  the  start  caused  by  the  stumble  to  get  the  brute  into  a 
gallop,  and  to  go  down  the  hill.  “ I know  it  for  a fact/’  a 
gentleman  of  our  party  says,  “that  no  horses  ever  got  out 
of  Ballyhale  without  an  accident  of  some  kind.” 

“Will  your  honor  like  to  come  and  see  a big  pig  ? ” here 
asked  a man  of  the  above  gentleman,  well  known  as  a great 
farmer  and  breeder.  We  all  went  to  see  the  big  pig,  not 
very  fat  as  yet,  but,  upon  my  word,  it  is  as  big  as  a pony. 


The  country  round  is,  it  appears,  famous  for  the  breeding 
of  such,  especially  a district  called  the  Welsh  mountains, 
through  which  we  had  to  pass  on  our  road  to  Waterford. 

This  is  a curious  country  to  see,  and  has  curious  inhabi- 
tants : for  twenty  miles  there  is  no  gentleman’s  house  : 
gentlemen  dare  not  live  there.  The  place  was  originally 
tenanted  by  a clan  of  Welshes  ; hence  its  name  ; and  they 
maintain  themselves  in  their  occupancy  of  the  farms  in 
Tipperary  fashion,  by  simply  putting  a ball  into  the  body 
of  any  man  who  would  come  to  take  a farm  over  any  one 
of  them.  Some  of  the  crops  in  the  fields  of  the  Welsh 
country  seemed  very  good,  and  the  fields  well  tilled ; but 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


45 


it  is  common  to  see,  by  the  side  of  one  field  that  is  well 
cultivated,  another  that  is  absolutely  barren ; and  the 
whole  tract  is  extremely  wretched.  Appropriate  histories 
and  reminiscences  accompany  the  traveller : at  a chapel 
near  Mullinavat  is  the  spot  where  sixteen  policemen  were 
murdered  in  the  tithe-campaign  ; farther  on  you  come  to  a 
lime-kiln,  where  the  guard  of  a mail-coach  was  seized  and 
roasted  alive.  I saw  here  the  first  hedge-school  I have 
seen : a crowd  of  half-savage-looking  lads  and  girls  looked 
up  from  their  studies  in  the  ditch,  their  college  or  lecture- 
room  being  in  a mud  cabin  hard  by. 

And  likewise,  in  the  midst  of  this  wild  tract,  a fellow  met 
us  who  was  trudging  the  road  with  a fish-basket  over  his 
shoulder,  and  who  stopped  the  coach,  hailing  two  of  the 
gentlemen  in  it  by  name,  both  of  whom  seemed  to  be  much 
amused  by  his  humor.  He  was  a handsome  rogue,  a poach- 
er, or  salmon-taker,  by  profession,  and  presently  poured  out 
such  a flood  of  oaths,  and  made  such  a monstrous  display 
of  grinning  wit  and  blackguardism,  as  I have  never  heard 
equalled  by  the  best  Billingsgate  practitioner,  and  as  it 
would  be  more  than  useless  to  attempt  to  describe.  Bless- 
ings, jokes,  and  curses  trolled  off  the  rascal’s  lips  with  a 
volubility  which  caused  his  Irish  audience  to  shout  with 
laughter,  but  which  were  quite  beyond  a cockney.  It  was 
a humor  so  purely  national  as  to  be  understood  by  none  but 
natives,  I should  think.  I recollect  the  same  feeling  of 
perplexity  while  sitting,  the  only  Englishman,  in  a company 
of  jocular  Scotchmen.  They  bandied  about  puns,  jokes, 
imitations,  and  applauded  with  shrieks  of  laughter  what,  I 
confess,  appeared  to  me  the  most  abominable  dulness  ; nor 
was  the  salmon-taker’s  jocularity  any  better.  I think  it 
rather  served  to  frighten  than  to  amuse ; and  I am  not  sure 
but  that  I looked  out  for  a band  of  jocular  cut-throats  of 
this  sort  to  come  up  at  a given  guffaw,  and  playfully  rob  us 
all  round.  However,  he  went  away  quite  peaceably,  calling 
down  for  the  party  the  benediction  of  a great  number  of 
saints,  who  must  have  been  somewhat  ashamed  to  be  ad- 
dressed by  such  a rascal. 

Presently  we  caught  sight  of  the  valley  through  which 
the  Suir  flows,  and  descended  the  hill  towards  it,  and  went 
over  the  thundering  old  wooden  bridge  to  Waterford. 


CHAPTER  IV. 


FROM  WATERFORD  TO  CORK. 

IE  view  of  the  town 
from  the  bridge  and  the 
heights  above  it  is  very 
imposing  ; as  is  the  river 
both  ways.  Very  large 
vessels  sail  up  almost  to 
the  doors  of  the  houses, 
and  the  quays  are  flanked 
by  tall  red  warehouses, 
that  look  at  a little  dis- 
tance as  if  a world  of 
business  might  be  doing 
within  them.  But  as 
you  get  into  the  place, 
not  a soul  is  there  to 
greet  you,  except  the 
usual  society  of  beggars, 
and  a sailor  or  two,  or  a 
green-coated  policeman  sauntering  down  the  broad  pave- 
ment. We  drove  up  to  the  “ Coach  Inn,”  a huge,  hand- 
some, dirty  building,  of  which  the  discomforts  have  been 
pathetically  described  elsewhere.  The  landlord  is  a gentle- 
man and  considerable  horse-proprietor,  and  though  a per- 
fectly well-bred,  active,  and  intelligent  man,  far  too  much 
of  a gentleman  to  play  the  host  well : at  least  as  an  English- 
man understands  that  character. 

Opposite  the  town  is  a tower  of  questionable  antiquity 
and  undeniable  ugliness ; for  though  the  inscription  says  it 
was  built  in  the  year  one  thousand  and  something,  the  same 
document  adds  that  it  was  rebuilt  in  1819  — to  either  of 
which  dates  the  traveller  is  thus  welcomed.  The  quays 
stretch  for  a considerable  distance  along  the  river,  poor, 
patched-windowed,  mouldy-looking  shops  forming  the  base- 
ment-story of  most  of  the  houses.  We  went  into  one,  a 

46 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


47 


jeweller’s,  to  make  a purchase  — it  might  have  been  of  a 
gold  watch  for  anything  the  owner  knew ; but  he  was  talk- 
ing with  a friend  in  his  back-parlor,  gave  us  a look  as  we 
entered,  allowed  us  to  stand  some  minutes  in  the  empty 
shop,  and  at  length  to  walk 
out  without  being  served.  In 
another  shop  a boy  was  loll- 
ing behind  a counter,  but 
could  not  say  whether  the 
articles  we  wanted  were  to  be 
had;  turned  out  a heap  of 
drawers,  and  could  not  find 
them ; and  finally  went  for 
the  master,  who  could  not 
come.  True  commercial  in- 
dependence, and  an  easy  way 
enough  of  life. 

In  one  of  the  streets  lead- 
ing from  the  quay  is  a large, 
dingy  Catholic  chapel,  of 
some  pretensions  within ; 
but,  as  usual,  there  had  been 
a failure  for  want  of  money, 
and  the  front  of  the  chapel 
was  unfinished,  presenting 
the  butt-end  of  a portico,  and 
walls  on  which  the  stone  coat- 
ing was  to  be  laid.  But  a 
much  finer  ornament  to  the 
church  than  any  of  the  ques- 
tionable gewgaws  which 
adorned  the  ceiling  was  the 
piety,  stern,  simple,  and  un- 
affected, of  the  people  with- 
in. Their  whole  soul  seemed  to  be  in  their  prayers,  as  rich 
and  poor  knelt  indifferently  on  the  flags.  There  is  of  course 
an  episcopal  cathedral,  well  and  neatly  kept,  and  a hand- 
some Bishop’s  palace : near  it  was  a convent  of  nuns,  and  a 
little  chapel-bell  clinking  melodiously.  I was  prepared  to 
fancy  something  romantic  of  the  place ; but  as  we  passed 
the  convent  gate,  a shoeless  slattern  of  a maid  opened  the 
door  — the  most  dirty  and  unpoetical  of  housemaids. 

Assizes  were  held  in  the  town,  and  we  ascended  to  the 
court-house  through  a steep  street,  a sort  of  rag-fair,  but 


48 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK 


more  villanous  and  miserable  than  any  rag-fair  in  St. 
Giles’s : the  houses  and  stock  of  the  Seven  Dials  look  as  if 
they  belonged  to  capitalists  when  compared  with  the  scare- 
crow wretchedness  of  the  goods  here  hung  out  for  sale. 
Who  wanted  to  buy  such  things  ? I wondered.  One  would 
have  thought  that  the  most  part  of  the  articles  had  passed 
the  possibility  of  barter  for  money,  even  out  of  the  reach  of 
the  half-farthings  coined  of  late.  All  the  street  was  lined 
with  wretched  hucksters  and  their  merchandise  of  goose- 
berries, green  apples,  children’s  dirty  cakes,  cheap  crocker- 
ies, brushes,  and  tinware ; among  which  objects  the  people 
were  swarming  about  busily. 

Before  the  court  is  a wide  street,  where  a similar  market 
was  held,  with  a vast  number  of  donkey-carts  urged  hither 
and  thither,  and  great  shrieking,  chattering,  and  bustle. 
It  is  five  hundred  years  ago  since  a poet  who  accompanied 
Richard  II.  in  his  voyage  hither  spoke  of  “ Watreforde  on 
moult  vilaine  et  orde  y sont  la  gente .”  They  don’t  seem  to 
be  much  changed  now,  but  remain  faithful  to  their  ancient 
habits. 

About. the  court-house  swarms  of  beggars  of  course  were 
collected,  varied  by  personages  of  a better  sort : gray-coated 
farmers,  and  women  with  their  picturesque  blue  cloaks,  who 
had  trudged  in  from  the  country  probably.  The  court- 
house is  as  beggarly  and  ruinous  as  the  rest  of  the  neigh- 
borhood ; smart-looking  policemen  kept  order  about  it,  and 
looked  very  hard  at  me  as  I ventured  to  take  a sketch. 

The  figures'  as  I saw  them  were  accurately  disposed  as 
follows : the  man  in  the  dock,  the  policeman  seated  easily 
above  him,  the  woman  looking  down  from  a gallery.  The 
man  was  accused  of  stealing  a sack  of  wool,  and,  having  no 
counsel,  made  for  himself  as  adroit  a defence  as  any  one  of 
the  counsellors  (they  are  without  robes  or  wigs  here,  by  the 
way)  could  have  made  for  him.  He  had  been  seen  examin- 
ing a certain  sack  of  wool  in  a coffee-shop  at  Dungarvan, 
and  next  day  was  caught  sight  of  in  Waterford  Market, 
standing  under  an  archway  from  the  rain,  with  the  sack  by 
his  side. 

“ Wasn’t  there  twenty  other  people  under  the  arch  ? ” 
said  he  to  a witness,  a noble-looking,  beautiful  girl  — the 
girl  was  obliged  to  own  there  were.  “Did  you  see  me 
touch  the  wool,  or  stand  nearer  to  it  than  a dozen  of  the 
dacent  people  there  ? ” and  the  girl  confessed  she  had  not. 
“And  this  it  is,  my  lord,”  says  he  to  the  bench,  “they  at- 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


49 


tack  me  because  I am  poor  and  ragged,  but  they  never 
think  of  charging  the  crime  on  a rich  farmer.” 

But  alas  for  the  defence  ! another  witness  saw  the  prison- 
er with  his  legs  round  the  sack,  and  being  about  to  charge 
him  with  the  theft,  the  prisoner  lied  into  the  arms  of  a po- 
liceman, to  whom  his  first  words  were,  “ I know  nothing  about 
the  sack.”  So,  as  the  sack  had  been  stolen,  as  he  had  been 
seen  handling  it  four  minutes  before  it  was  stolen,  and 
holding  it  for  sale  the  day  after,  it  was  concluded  that 
Patrick  Malony  had  stolen  the  sack,  and 
he  was  accommodated  with  eighteen 
months  accordingly. 

In  another  case  we  had  a woman  and 
her  child  on  the  table ; and  others  fol- 
lowed, in  the  judgment  of  which  it  was 
impossible  not  to  admire  the  extreme 
leniency,  acuteness,  and  sensibility  of  the 
judge  presiding,  Chief  Justice  Penne- 
father : — the  man  against  whom  all  the 
Liberals  in  Ireland,  and  every  one  else 
who  has  read  his  charge  too,  must  be  angry, 
for  the  ferocity  of  his  charge  against  a Bel- 
fast newspaper  editor.  It  seems  as  if  no 
parties  here  will  be  dispassionate  when 
they  get  to  a party  question,  and  that  nat- 
ural kindness  has  no  claim  when  Whig  ' 
and  Tory  come  into  collision. 

The  witness  is  here  placed  on  a table  instead  of  a wit- 
ness-box ; nor  was  there  much  farther  peculiarity  to  remark, 
except  in  the  dirt  of  the  court,  the  absence  of  the  barristerial 
wig  and  gown,  and  the  great  coolness  with  which  a fellow 
who  seemed  a sort  of  clerk,  usher,  and  Irish  interpreter  to 
the  court,  recommended  a prisoner,  who  was  making  rather 
a long  defence,  to  be  quiet.  I asked  him  why  the  man 
might  not  have  his  say.  cc  Sure,”  says  he,  “ he’s  said  all  he 
has  to  say,  and  there’s  no  use  in  any  more.”  But  there  was 
no  use  in  attempting  to  convince  Mr.  Usher  that  the  prison- 
er was  best  judge  on  this  point : in  fact  the  poor  devil  shut 
his  mouth  at  the  admonition,  and  was  found  guilty  with 
perfect  justice. 

A considerable  poor-house  has  been  erected  at  Waterford, 
but  the  beggars  of  the  place  as  yet  prefer  their  liberty,  and 
less  certain  means  of  gaining  support.  We  asked  one  who 
was  calling  down  all  the  blessings  of  all  the  saints  and  an- 

VOL.  II. 4 


50 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK . 


gels  upon  us,  and  telling  a most  piteous  tale  of  poverty, 
why  she  did  not  go  to  the  poor-house!  The  woman’s  look 
at  once  changed  from  a sentimental  whine  to  a grin.  “ Dey 
owe  two  hundred  pounds  at  dat  house,”  said  she,  “and 
faith,  an  honest  woman  can’t  go  dere.”  With  which  won- 
derful reason  ought  not  the  most  squeamish  to  be  content  ? 

After  describing,  as  accurately  as  words  may,  the  features 
of  a landscape,  and  stating  that  such  a mountain  was  to 
the  left,  and  such  a river  or  town  to  the  right,  and  putting 
down  the  situations  and  names  of  the  villages,  and  the 
bearings  of  the  roads,  it  has  no  doubt  struck  the  reader  of 
books  of  travels  that  the  writer  has  not  given  him  the 
slightest  idea  of  the  country,  and  that  he  would  have  been 
just  as  wise  without  perusing  the  letter-press  landscape 
through  which  he  has  toiled.  It  will  be  as  well  then, 
under  such  circumstances,  to  spare  the  public  any  length- 
ened description  of  the  road  from  Waterford  to  Dungarvan; 
which  was  the  road  we  took,  followed  by  benedictions 
delivered  gratis  from  the  beggarhood  of  the  former  city. 
Not  very  far  from  it  you  see  the  dark  plantations  of  the 
magnificent  domain  of  Curraghmore,  and  pass  through  a 
country,  blue,  hilly,  and  bare,  except  where  gentlemen’s 
seats  appear  with  their  ornaments  of  wood.  Presently, 
after  leaving  Waterford,  we  came  to  a certain  town  called 
Kilmacthomas,  of  which  all  the  information  I have  to  give 
is,  that  it  is  situated  upon  a hill  and  river,  and  that  you 
may  change  horses  there.  The  road  was  covered  with 
carts  of  seaweed,  which  the  people  were  bringing  for 
manure  from  the  shore  some  four  miles  distant ; and 
beyond  Kilmacthomas  we  beheld  the  Cummeragh  Moun- 
tains, “ often  named  in  maps  the  Nennavoulagh,”  either  of 
which  names  the  reader  may  select  at  pleasure. 

Thence  we  came  to  “Cushcam,”  at  which  village  be  it 
known  that  the  turnpike-man  kept  the  drag  a very  long 
time  waiting.  “ I think  the  fellow  must  be  writing  a 
book,”  said  the  coachman,  with  a most  severe  look  of 
drollery  at  a cockney  tourist,  who  tried,  under  the  circum- 
stances, to  blush,  and  not  to  laugh.  I wish  I could  relate 
or  remember  half  the  mad  jokes  that  flew  about  among  the 
jolly  Irish  crew  on  the  top  of  the  coach,  and  which  would 
have  made  a journey  through  the  Desert  jovial.  When 
the  ’pike-man  had  finished  his  composition  (that  of  a turn- 
pike-ticket, which  he  had  to  fill),  we  drove  on  to  Dungar- 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


51 


van  ; tlie  two  parts  of  which  town,  separated  by  the  river 
Colligan,  have  been  joined  by  a causeway  three  hundred 
yards  along,  and  a bridge  erected  at  an  enormous  outlay  by 
the  Duke  of  Devonshire.  In  former  times,  before  his 
Grace  spent  his  eighty  thousand  pounds  upon  the  cause- 
way, this  wide  estuary  was  called  u Dungarvan  Prospect,  ' 
because  the  ladies  of  the  country,  walking  over  the  river 
at  low  water,  took  off  their  shoes  and  stockings  (such  as 
had  them),  and  tucking  up  their  clothes,  exhibited  — what 
I have  never  seen,  and  cannot  therefore  be  expected  to 
describe.  A large  and  handsome  Catholic  chapel,  a square 
with  some  pretensions  to  regularity  of  building,  a very 
neat  and  comfortable  inn,  and  beggars  and  idlers  still  more 
numerous  than  at  Waterford,  were  what  we  had  leisure  to 
remark  in  half  an  hour’s  stroll  through  the  town. 

Near  the  prettily  situated  village  of  Cappoquin  is  the 
Trappist  House  of  Mount  Meilleraie,  of  which  we  could  only 
see  the  pinnacles.  The  brethren  were  presented  some  years 
since  with  a barren  mountain,  which  they  have  cultivated 
most  successfully.  They  have  among  themselves  work- 
men to  supply  all  their  frugal  wants : ghostly  tailors  and 
shoemakers,  spiritual  gardeners  and  bakers,  working  m 
silence,  and  serving  heaven  after  their  way.  If  this 
reverend  community,  for  fear  of  the  opportunity  of  sinful 
talk,  choose  to  hold  their  tongues,  the  next  thing  will  be 
to  cut  them  out  together,  and  so  render  the  danger  impossi- 
ble : if  being  men  of  education  and  intelligence,  they 
incline  to  turn  butchers  and  cobblers,  ,and  smother  their 
intellects  by  base  and  hard  menial  labor,  who  knows  but 
one  day  a sect  may  be  more  pious  still,  and,  rejecting  even 
butchery  and  bakery  as  savoring  too  much  of  worldly 
convenience  and  pride,  take  to  a wild-beast  life  at  once  ? 
Let  us  concede  that  suffering,  and  mental  and  bodily  de- 
basement, are  the  things  most  agreeable  to  heaven,  and 
there  is  no  knowing  where  such  piety  may  stop.  I was 
very  glad  we  had  not  time  to  see  the  grovelling  place  ; and 
as  for  seeing  shoes  made  or  fields  tilled  by  reverend 
amateurs,  we  can  find  cobblers  and  ploughboys  to  do  the 
work  better. 

By  the  way,  the  Quakers  have  set  up  in  Ireland  a sort  of 
monkery  of  their  own.  Not  far  from  Carlow  we  met  a 
couple  of  cars  drawn  by  white  horses,  and  holding  white 
Quakers  and  Quakeresses,  in  white  hats,  clothes,  shoes,  with 
wild  maniacal-looking  faces,  bumping  along  the  road.  Let 


52 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK . 


us  hope  that  we  may  soon  get  a community  of  Fakeers 
and  howling  Dervishes  into  the  country.  It  would  be  a 
refreshing  thing  to  see  such  ghostly  men  in  one’s  travels, 
standing  at  the  corners  of  roads  and  praising  the  Lord  by 
standing  on  one  leg,  or  cutting  and  hacking  themselves 
with  knives  like  the  prophets  of  Baal.  Is  it  not  as  pious 
for  a man  to  deprive  himself  of  his  leg  as  of  his  tongue, 
and  to  disfigure  his  body  with  the  gashes  of  a knife,  as 
with  the  hideous  white  raiment  of  the  illuminated  Quakers  ? 

While  these  reflections  were  going  on,  the  beautiful 
Blackwater  river  suddenly  opened  before  us,  and  driving 
along  it  for  three  . miles  through  some  of  the  most  beautiful, 
rich  country  ever  seen,  we  came  to  Lismore.  Nothing  can 
be  certainly  more  magnificent  than  this  drive.  Parks  and 
rocks  covered  with  the  grandest  foliage ; rich,  handsome 
seats  of  gentlemen  in  the  midst  of  fair  lawns  and  beautiful 
bright  plantations  and  shubberies ; and  at  the  end,  the 
graceful  spire  of  Lismore  church,  the  prettiest  I have  seen 
in,  or,  I think,  out  of  Ireland.  Nor  in  any  country  that  I 
have  visited  have  I seen  a view  more  noble  — it  is  too  rich 
and  peaceful  to  be  what  is  called  romantic,  but  lofty,  large, 
and  generous , if  the  term  may  be  used  ; the  river  and  banks 
as  fine  as  the  Rhine ; the  castle  not  as  large,  but  as  noble 
and  picturesque  as  Warwick.  As  you  pass  the  bridge,  the 
banks  stretch  away  on  either  side  in  amazing  verdure,  and 
the  castle-walks  remind  one  somewhat  of  the  dear  old 
terrace  of  St.  Germains,  with  its  groves,  and  long  grave 
avenues  of  trees. 

The  salmon-fishery  of  the  Blackwater  is  let,  as  I hear, 
for  a thousand  a year.  In  the  evening,  however,  we  saw 
some  gentlemen  who  are  likely  to  curtail  the  profits  of  the 
farmer  of  the  fishery  — a company  of  ragged  boys,  to  wit 
— whose  occupation,  it  appears,  is  to  poach.  These  young 
fellows  were  all  lolling  over  the  bridge,  as  the  moon  rose 
rather  mistily,  and  pretended  to  be  deeply  enamoured  of  the 
view  of  the  river.  They  answered  the  questions  of  one  of 
our  party  with  the  utmost  innocence  and  openness,  and 
one  would  have  supposed  the  lads  were  so  many  Arcadians, 
but  for  the  arrival  of  an  old  woman,  who,  suddenly  coming 
up  among  them,  poured  out,  upon  one  and  all,  a volley  of 
curses,  both  deep  and  loud,  saying  that  perdition  would  be 
their  portion,  and  calling  them  u shchamers  ” at  least  a 
hundred  times.  Much  to  my  wonder,  the  young  men  did 
not  reply  to  the  voluble  old  lady  for  some  time,  who  then 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


53 


told  us  the  cause  of  her  anger.  She  had  a son,  — “ Look 
at  him  there,  the  villain.”  The  lad  was  standing,  looking 
very  unhappy.  -“His  father,  that’s  now  dead,  paid  a fistful 
of  money  to  bind  him  ’prentice  at  Dungarvan : but  these 
shchamers  followed  him  there ; made  him  break  his  inden- 
tures, and  go  poaching  and  thieving  and  shchaming  with 
them.”  The  poor  old  woman  shook  her  hands  in  the  air, 
and  shouted  at  the  top  of  her  deep  voice  : there  was  some- 
think  very  touching  in  her  grotesque  sorrow;  nor  did  the 
lads  make  light  of  it  at  all,  contenting  themselves  with  a 
surly  growl,  or  an  oath,  if  directly  appealed  to  by  the 
poor  creature. 

So,  cursing  and  raging,  the  woman  went  away.  The  son, 
a lad  of  fourteen,  evidently  the  fag  of  the  big  bullies  round 
about  him,  stood  dismally  away  from  them,  his  head  sunk 
down.  I went  up  and  asked  him,  “Was  that  his  mother  ? ” 
He  said,  “Yes.”  “Was  she  good  and  kind  to  him  when 
he  was  at  home  ? ” He  said,  “ Oh,  yes.”  “ Why  not  come 
back  to  her  ? ” I asked  him ; but  he  said  “ he  couldn’t.” 
Whereupon  I took  his  arm,  and  tried  to  lead  him  away  by 
main  force ; but  he  said,  “ Thank  you,  sir,  but  I can’t  go 
back,”  and  released  his  arm.  We  stood  on  the  bridge  some 
minutes  longer,  looking  at  the  view  ; but  the  boy,  though 
he  kept  away  from  his  comrades,  would  not  come.  I 
wonder  what  they  have  done  together,  that  the  poor  boy  is 
past  going  home  ? The  place  seemed  to  be  so  quiet  and 
beautiful,  and  far  away  from  London,  that  I thought  crime 
couldn’t  have  reached  it ; and  yet  here  it  lurks  somewhere 
among  six  boys  of  sixteen,  each  with  a stain  in  his  heart, 
and  some^black  history  to  tell.  The  poor  widow’s  yonder 
was  the  only  family  about  which  I had  a chance  of  know- 
ing anything  in  this  remote  place ; nay,  in  all  Ireland : and 
God  help  us,  hers  was  a sad  lot ! — a husband  gone  dead,  — 
an  only  child  gone  to  ruin.  It  is  awful  to  think  that  there 
are  eight  millions  of  stories  to  be  told  in  this  island. 
Seven  million  nine  hundred  and  ninety-nine  thousand 
nine  hundred  and  ninety-eight  more  lives  that  I,  and  all 
brother  cockneys,  know  nothing  about.  Well,  please  God, 
they  are  not  all  like  this. 

That  day  I heard  another  history.  A little  old  disrepu- 
table man  in  tatters,  with  a huge  steeple  of  a hat,  came 
shambling  down  the  street,  one  among  the  five  hundred 
blackguards  there.  A fellow  standing  under  the  “ Sun  ” 
portico  (a  sort  of  swaggering,  chattering,  cringing  touter , 


54 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK . 


and  master  of  ceremonies  to  the  gutter,)  told  us  something 
with  regard  to  the  old  disreputable  man.  His  son  had 
been  hanged  the  day  before  at  Clonmel,  for  one  of  the 
Tipperary  murders.  That  blackguard  in  our  eyes  instantly 
looked  quite  different  from  all  other  blackguards:  I saw 
him  gesticulating  at  the  corner  of  a street,  and  watched 
him  with  wonderful  interest. 

The  church  with  the  handsome  spire  that  looks  so  grace- 
ful among  the  trees,  is  a cathedral  church,  and  one  of  the 
neatest-kept  and  prettiest  edifices  I have  seen  in  Ireland. 
In  the  old  graveyard  Protestants  and  Catholics  lie  together 
— that  is,  not  together ; for  each  has  a side  of  the  ground 
where  they  sleep,  and,  so  occupied,  do  not  quarrel.  The 
sun  was  shining  down  upon  the  brilliant  grass  — and  I 
don’t  think  the  shadows  of  the  Protestant  graves  are  any 
longer  or  shorter  than  those  of  the  Catholics ! Is  it  the 
right  or  the  left  side  of  the  graveyard  which  is  nearest 
heaven  I wonder  ? Look,  the  sun  shines  upon  both  alike, 
“ and  the  blue  sky  bends  over  all.” 

Raleigh’s  house  is  approached  by  a grave  old  avenue, 
and  well-kept  wall,  such  as  is  rare  in  this  country;  and 
the  court  of  the  castle  within  has  the  solid,  comfortable, 
quiet  look,  equally  rare.  It  is  like  one  of  our  colleges  at 
Oxford : there  is  a side  of  the  quadrangle  with  pretty  ivy- 
covered  gables ; another  part  of  the  square  is  more  mod- 
ern ; and  by  the  main  body  of  the  castle  is  a small  chapel 
exceedingly  picturesque.  The  interior  is  neat  and  in 
excellent  order  ; but  it  was  unluckily  done  up  some  thirty 
years  ago  (as  I imagine  from  the  style),  before  our  archi- 
tects had  learned  Gothic,  and  all  the  ornamental  work  is 
consequently  quite  ugly  and  out  of  keeping.  The  church 
has  probably  been  arranged  by  the  same  hand.  In  the  castle 
are  some  plainly-furnished  chambers,  one  or  two  good 
pictures,  and  a couple  of  oriel  windows,  the  views  from 
which  up  and  down  the  river  are  exceedingly  lovely.  You 
hear  praises  of  the  Duke  of  Devonshire  as  a landlord 
wherever  you  go  among  his  vast  estates : it  is  a pity  that, 
with  such  a noble  residence  as  this,  and  with  such  a won- 
derful country  round  about  it,  his  Grace  should  not  inhabit 
it  more. 

Of  the  road  from  Lismore  to  Fermoy  it  does  not  behoove 
me  to  say  much,  for  a pelting  rain  came  on  very  soon  after 
we  quitted  the  former  place,  and  accompanied  us  almost 
without  ceasing  to  Fermoy.  Here  we  had  a glimpse  of  a 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK . 


bridge  across  the  Blackwater,  which  we  had  skirted  in  our 
journey  from  Lismore.  Now  enveloped  in  mist  and  cloud, 
now  spanned  by  a rainbow,  at  another  time  basking  in 
sunshine,  Nature  attired  the  charming  prospect  for  us 
in  a score  of  different  ways  ; and  it  appeared  before  us  like 
a coquettish  beauty  who  was  trying  what  dress  in  her 
wardrobe  might  most  become  her.  At  Fermoy  we  saw  a vast 
barrack,  and  an  overgrown  inn,  where,  however,  good  fare 
was  provided ; and  thence  hastening  came  by  Ratlicormack, 
and  Watergrass  Hill,  famous  for  the  residence  of  Father 
Prout,  whom  my  friend,  the  Rev.  Francis  Sylvester,  has 
made  immortal ; from  which  descending  we  arrived  at  the 
beautiful  wooded  village  of  Glanmire,  with  its  mills,  and 
steeples,  and  streams,  and  neat  school-houses,  and  pleasant 
country  residences.  This  brings  us  down  upon  the  superb 
stream  which  leads  from  the  sea  to  Cork. 

The  view  for  three  miles  on  both  sides  is  magnificently 
beautiful.  Fine  gardens,  and  parks,  and  villas  covered  the 
shore  on  each  bank ; the  river  is  full  of  brisk  craft  moving 
to  the  city  or  out  to  sea ; and  the  city  finely  ends  the 
view,  rising  upon  two  hills  on  either  side  of  the  stream. 
I do  not  know  a town  to  which  there  is  an  entrance  more 
beautiful,  commodious,  and  stately. 

Passing  by  numberless  handsome  lodges,  and,  nearer  the 
city,  many  terraces  in  neat  order,  the  road  conducts  us 
near  a large  tract  of  some  hundred  acres  which  have  been 
reclaimed  from  the  sea,  and  are  destined  to  form  a park  and 
pleasure-ground  for  the  citizens  of  Cork.  In  the  river,  and 
up  to  the  bridge,  some  hundreds  of  ships  were  lying  ; and  a 
fleet  of  steamboats  opposite  the  handsome  house  of  the 
St.  George’s  Steam-Packet  Company.  A church  stands 
prettily  on  the  hill  above  it,  surrounded  by  a number 
of  new  habitations  very  neat  and  white.  On  the  road 
is  a handsome  Roman  Catholic  chapel,  or  a chapel  which 
will  be  handsome  so  soon  as  the  necessary  funds  are 
raised  to  complete  it.  But,  as  at  Waterford,  the  chapel 
has  been  commenced,  and  the  money  has  failed,  and  the 
fine  portico  which  is  to  decorate  it  one  day,  as  yet  only 
exists  on  the  architect’s  paper.  Saint  Patrick’s  bridge, 
over  which  we  pass,  is  a pretty  building;  and  Patrick 
Street,  the  main  street  of  the  town,  has  an  air  of  business 
and  cheerfulness,  and  looks  densely  thronged. 

As  the  carriage  drove  up  to  those  neat,  comfortable,  and 
extensive  lodgings  which  Mrs.  MacQ’Boy  has  to  let,  a 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


56 

magnificent  mob  was  formed  round  the  vehicle,  and  we 
had  an  opportunity  of  at  once  making  acquaintance  with 
some  of  the  dirtiest  rascally  faces  that  all  Ireland  presents. 
Besides  these  professional  rogues  and  beggars,  who  make 
a point  to  attend  on  all  vehicles,  everybody  else  seemed  to 
stop  too,  to  see  that  wonder,  a coach  and  four  horses. 
People  issued  from  their  shops,  heads  appeared  at  win- 
dows. I have  seen  the  Queen  pass  in  state  in  London, 
and  not  bring  together  a crowd  near  so  great  as  that  which 
assembled  in  the  busiest  street  of  the  second  city  of  the 
kingdom  just  to  look  at  a green  coach  and  four  bay  horses. 
Have  they  nothing  else  to  do? — or  is  it  that  they  will 
do  nothing  but  stare,  swagger,  and  be  idle  in  the  streets  ? 


CHAPTER  V. 


CORK  — THE  AGRICULTURAL  SHOW FATHER  MATHEW. 

MAN  has  no  need  to  be  an  agriculturist  in  order  to 


take  a warm  interest  in  the  success  of  the  Irish 


Agricultural  Society,  and  to  see  what  vast  good  may  result 
from  it  to  the  country.  The  National  Education  scheme 


— a noble  and  liberal  one,  at  least  as  far  as  a stranger  can 
see,  which  might  have  united  the  Irish  people,  and  brought 
peace  into  this  most  distracted  of  all  countries  — failed 
unhappily  of  one  of  its  greatest  ends.  The  Protestant 
clergy  have  always  treated  the  plan  with  bitter  hostility  : 
and  T do  believe,  in  withdrawing  from  it,  have  struck  the 
greatest  blow  to  themselves  as  a body,  and  to  their  own 
influence  in  the  country,  which  has  been  dealt  to  them 
for  many  a year.  Rich,  charitable,  pious,  well-educated, 
to  be  found  in  every  parish  in  Ireland,  had  they  chosen 
to  fraternize  with  the  people  and  the  plan,  they  might 


7 


58 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK . 


have  directed  the  educational  movement ; they  might  have 
attained  the  influence  which  is  now  given  over  entirely  to 
the  priest ; and  when  the  present  generation,  educated 
in  the  national  schools,  were  grown  up  to  manhood,  they 
might  have  had  an  interest  in  almost  every  man  in  Ireland. 
Are  they  as  pious,  and  more  polished,  and  better  educated 
than  their  neighbors  the  priests  ? There  is  no  doubt  of 
it;  and  by  constant  communion  with  the  people,  they 
would  have  gained  all  the  benefits  of  the  comparison,  and 
advanced  the  interests  of  their  religion  far  more  than  now 
they  can  hope  to  do.  Look  at  the  national  school : through- 
out the  country  it  is  commonly  by  the  chapel  side  — it  is  a 
Catholic  school,  directed  and  fostered  by  the  priest;  and 
as  no  people  are  more  eager  for  learning,  more  apt  to 
receive  it,  or  more  grateful  for  kindness  than  the  Irish, 
he  gets  all  the  gratitude  of  the  scholars  who  flock  to 
the  school,  and  all  the  future  influence  over  them,  which 
naturally  and  justly  comes  to  him.  The  Protestant  wants 
to  better  the  condition  of  these  people : he  says  that 
the  woes  of  the  country  are  owing  to  its  prevalent  relig- 
ion ; and  in  order  to  carry  his  plans  of  amelioration  into 
effect,  he  obstinately  refuses  to  hold  communion  with 
those  whom  he  is  desirous  to  convert  to  what  he  believes 
are  sounder  principles  and  purer  doctrines.  The  clergy- 
man will  reply,  that  points  of  principle  prevented  him : 
with  this  fatal  doctrinal  objection,  it  is  not,  of  course,  the 
province  of  a layman  to  meddle ; but  this  is  clear,  that  the 
parson  might  have  had  an  influence  over  the  country,  and 
he  would  not ; that  he  might  have  rendered  the  Catholic 
population  friendly  to  him,  and  he  would  not ; but,  instead, 
has  added  one  cause  of  estrangement  and  hostility  more 
to  the  many  which  already  existed  against  him.  This  is 
one  of  the  attempts  at  union  in  Ireland,  and  one  can’t 
but  think  with  the  deepest  regret  and  sorrow  of  its 
failure. 

Mr.  O’Connell  and  his  friends  set  going  another  scheme 
for  advancing  the  prosperity  of  the  country,  — the  notable 
project  of  home  manufactures,  and  of  a coalition  against 
foreign  importation.  This  was  a union  certainly,  but  a 
union  of  a different  sort  to  that  noble  and  peaceful  one 
which  the  National  Education  Board  proposed.  It  was  to 
punish  England,  while  it  pretended  to  secure  the  indepen- 
dence of  Ireland,  by  shutting  out  our  manufacturers  from 
the  Irish  markets ; which  were  one  day  or  other,  it  was 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK 


59 


presumed,  to  be  tilled  by  native  produce.  Large  bodies  of 
tradesmen  and  private  persons  in  Dublin  and  other  towns 
in  Ireland  associated  together,  vowing  to  purchase  no 
articles  of  ordinary  consumption  or  usage  but  what 
were  manufactured  in  the  country.  This  bigoted  old- 
world  scheme  of  restriction  — not  much  more  liberal 
than  Swing’s  crusade  against  the  threshing-machines,  or 
the  coalitions  in  England  against  machinery  — failed,  as 
it  deserved  to  do.  For  the  benefit  of  a few  tradesmen, 
who  might  find  their  account  in  selling  at  dear  rates 
their  clumsy  and  imperfect  manufactures,  it  was  found 
impossible  to  tax  a people  that  are  already  poor  enough  ; 
nor  did  the  party  take  into  account  the  cleverness  of 
the  merchants  across  sea,  wTho  were  by  no  means 
disposed  to  let  go  their  Irish  customers.  The  famous 
Irish  frieze  uniform  which  was  to  distinguish  these  pa- 
triots, and  which  O’Connell  lauded  so  loudly  and  so  simply, 
came  over  made  at  half-price  from  Leeds  and  Glasgow, 
and  was  retailed  as  real  Irish  by  many  worthies  who  had 
been  first  to  join  the  union.  You  may  still  see  shops  here 
and  there  with  their  pompous  announcement  of  “ Irish  Man- 
ufactures 99 ; but  the  scheme  is  long  gone  to  ruin : it  could 
not  stand  against  the  vast  force  of  English  and  Scotch 
capital  and  machinery,  any  more  than  the  Ulster  spinning- 
wheel  against  the  huge  factories  and  steam-engines  which 
one  may  see  about  Belfast. 

The  scheme  of  the  Agricultural  Society  is  a much  more 
feasible  one ; and  if,  please  God,  it  can  be  carried  out, 
likely  to  give  not  only  prosperity  to  the  country,  but  union 
likewise  in  a great  degree.  As  yet  Protestants  and  Catho- 
lics concerned  in  it  have  worked  well  together ; and  it  is 
a blessing  to  see  them  meet  upon  any  ground  without 
heartburning  and  quarrelling.  Last  year  Mr.  Purcell, 
who  is  well  known  in  Ireland  as  the  principal  mail-coach 
contractor  for  the  country,  — who  himself  employs  more 
workmen  in  Dublin  than  perhaps  any  other  person  there, 
and  has  also  more  land  under  cultivation  than  most  of 
the  great  landed  proprietors  in  the  country,  — wrote  a letter 
to  the  newspapers,  giving  his  notions  of  the  fallacy  of  the 
exclusive-dealing  system,  and  pointing  out  at  the  same  time 
how  he  considered  the  country  might  be  benefited  — by  agri- 
cultural improvement,  namely.  He  spoke  of  the  neglected 
state  of  the  country,  and  its  amazing  natural  fertility ; 
and,  for  the  benefit  of  all,  called  upon  the  landlords  and 


60 


THE  HUSH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


landholders  to  use  their  interest  and  develop  its  vast 
agricultural  resources.  Manufactures  are  at  best  but  of 
slow  growth,  and  demand  not  only  time  but  capital ; 
meanwhile,  until  the  habits  of  the  people  should  grow 
to  be  such  as  to  render  manufactures  feasible,  there 
was  a great  neglected  treasure,  lying  under  their  feet, 
which  might  be  the  source  of  prosperity  to  all.  He 
pointed  out  the  superior  methods  of  husbandry  employed 
in  Scotland  and  England,  and  the  great  results  obtained 
upon  soils  naturally  much  poorer;  and,  taking  the  High- 
land Society  for  an  example,  the  establishment  of  which 
had  done  so  much  for  the  prosperity  of  Scotland,  he  pro- 
posed the  formation  in  Ireland  of  a similar  association. 

The  letter  made  an  extraordinary  sensation  throughout 
the  country.  Noblemen  and  gentry  of  all  sides  took  it  up; 
and  numbers  of  these  wrote  to  Mr.  Purcell,  and  gave  him 
their  cordial  adhesion  to  the  plan.  A meeting  was  held, 
and  the  Society  formed : subscriptions  were  set  on  foot, 
headed  by  the  Lord  Lieutenant  (Fortescue)  and  the  Duke 
of  Leinster,  each  with  a donation  of  200/. ; and  the  trustees 
had  soon  5,000/.  at  their  disposal : with,  besides,  an  annual 
revenue  of  1,000/.  The  subscribed  capital  is  funded  ; and 
political  subjects  strictly  excluded.  The  Society  has  a 
show  yearly  in  one  of  the  principal  towns  of  Ireland:  it 
corresponds  with  the  various  local  agricultural  associations 
throughout  the  country ; encourages  the  formation  of  new 
ones ; and  distributes  prizes  and  rewards.  It  has  further 
in  contemplation,  to  establish  a large  Agricultural  school 
for  farmers’  sons ; and  has  formed  in  Dublin  an  Agricul- 
tural Bazaar  and  Museum. 

It  was  the  first  meeting  of  the  Society  which  we  were 
come  to  see  at  Cork.  Will  it  be  able  to  carry  its  excellent 
intentions  into  effect  ? Will  the  present  enthusiasm  of  its 
founders  and  members  continue  ? Will  one  political  party 
or  another  get  the  upper  hand  in  it  ? One  can’t  help 
thinking  of  these  points  with  some  anxiety — of  the  latter 
especially : as  yet,  happily,  the  clergy  of  either  side  have 
kept  aloof,  and  the  union  seems  pretty  cordial  and  sincere. 

There  are  in  Cork,  as  no  doubt  in  every  town  of  Ireland 
sufficiently  considerable  to  support  a plurality  of  hotels, 
some  especially  devoted  to  the  Conservative  and  Liberal 
parties.  Two  dinners  were  to  be  given  apropos  of  the 
Agricultural  meeting ; and  in  order  to  conciliate  all  parties, 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


61 


it  was  determined  that  the  Tory  landlord  should  find  the 
cheap  ten-shilling  dinner  for  one  thousand,  the  Whig  land- 
lord the  genteel  guinea  dinner  for  a few  select  hundreds. 

I wish  Mr.  Cuff,  of  the  “ Freemasons’  Tavern,”  could 
have  been  at  Cork  to  take  a lesson  from  the  latter  gentle- 
man : for  he  would  have  seen  that  there  are  means  of  hav- 
ing not  merely  enough  to  eat,  but  enough  of  the  very  best, 
for  the  sum  of  a guinea ; that  persons  can  have  not  only 
wine,  but  good  wine,  and  if  inclined  (as  some  topers  are  on 
great  occasions)  to  pass  to  another  bottle,  — a second,  a 
third,  or  a fifteenth  bottle,  for  what  I know  is  very  much 
at  their  service.  It  was  a fine  sight  to  see  Mr.  MacDowall 
presiding  over  an  ice-well  and  extracting  the  bottles  of 
champagne.  With  what  calmness  he  did  it ! How  the 
corks  popped,  and  the  liquor  fizzed,  and  the  agriculturalists 
drank  the  bumpers  off ! And  how  good  the  wine  was  too 
— the  greatest  merit  of  all ! Mr.  MacDowall  did  credit  to 
his  liberal  politics  by  his  'liberal  dinner. 

“ Sir,”  says  a waiter  whom  I asked  for  currant-jelly  for 
the  haunch  — (there  were  a dozen  such  smoking  on  various 
parts  of  the  table  — think  of  that,  Mr.  Cuff  !)  — “ Sir,”  says 
the  waiter,  “ there’s  no  jelly,  but  Fve  brought  you  some  very 
fine  lobster-sauce .”  I think  this  was  the  most  remarkable 
speech  of  the  evening;  not  excepting  that  of  my  Lord 
Bernard,  who,  to  three  hundred  gentlemen  more  or  less  con- 
nected with  farming,  had  actually  the  audacity  to  quote  the 
words  of  the  great  agricultural  poet  of  Rome  — 

“ O fortunatos  nimium  sua  sifi&c. 

How  long  are  our  statesmen  in  England  to  continue  to 
back  their  opinions  by  the  Latin  grammar  ? Are  the  Irish 
agriculturalists  so  very  happy,  if  they  did  but  know  it  — at 
least  those  out  of  doors  ? Well,  those  within  were  jolly 
enough.  Champagne  and  claret,  turbot  and  haunch,  are 
gifts  of  the  justissima  tellus , with  which  few  husbandmen 
will  be  disposed  to  quarrel : — no  more  let  us  quarrel  either 
with  eloquence  after  dinner. 

If  the  Liberal  landlord  had  shown  his  principles  in  his 
dinner,  the  Conservative  certainly  showed  his  ; by  conserv- 
ing as  much  profit  as  possible  for  himself.  We  sat  down 
one  thousand  to  some  two  hundred  and  fifty  cold  joints  of 
meat.  Every  man  was  treated  with  a pint  of  wine,  and 
very  bad  too,  so  that  there  was  the  less  cause  to  grumble 
because  more  was  not  served.  Those  agriculturalists  who 


62 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


had  a mind  to  drink  whiskey-and-water  had  to  pay  extra 
for  their  punch.  Nay,  after  shouting  in  vain  for  half  an 
hour  to  a waiter  for  some  cold  water,  the  unhappy  writer 
could  only  get  it  by  promising  a shilling.  The  sum  was 
paid  on  delivery  of  the  article ; but  as  everybody  round 
was  thirsty  too,  1 got  but  a glassful  from  the  decanter, 
which  only  served  to  make  me  long  for  more.  The  waiter 
(the  rascal !)  promised  more,  but  never  came  near  us  after- 
wards : he  had  got  his  shilling,  and  so  he  left  us  in  a hot 
room,  surrounded  by  a thousand  hot  fellow-creatures,  one 
of  them  making  a dry  speech.  The  agriculturalists  were  not 
on  this  occasion  nimium  fortunati. 

To  have  heard  a nobleman,  however,  who  discoursed  to 
the  meeting,  you  would  have  fancied  that  we  were  the 
luckiest  mortals  under  the  broiling  July  sun.  He  said  he 
could  conceive  nothing  more  delightful  than  to  see,  “on 
proper  occasions,”  — (mind,  on  proper  occasions  /)  — “ the 
landlord  mixing  with  his  tenantry  ; and  to  look  around  him 
at  a scene  like  this,  and  see  the  condescension  with  which 
the  gentry  mingled  with  the  farmers  ! ” Prodigious  conde- 
scension, truly  ! This  neat  speech  seemed  to  me  an  oratoric 
slap  on  the  face  to  about  nine  hundred  and  seventy  persons 
present ; and  being  one  of  the  latter,  I began  to  hiss  by 
way  of  acknowledgment  of  the  compliment,  and  hoped  that 
a strong  party  would  have  destroyed  the  harmony  of  the 
evening,  and  done  likewise.  But  not  one  hereditary  bonds- 
man would  join  in  the  compliment  — and  they  were  quite 
right  too.  The  old  lord  who  talked  about  condescension  is 
one  of  the  greatest  and  kindest  landlords  in  Ireland.  If  he 
thinks  he  condescends  by  doing  his  duty  and  mixing  with 
men  as  good  as  himself,  the  fault  lies  with  the  latter. 
Why  are  they  so  ready  to  go  down  on  their  knees  to  my 
lord  ? A man  can’t  help  “ condescending  ” to  another  who 
will  persist  in  kissing  his  shoestrings.  They  respect  rank 
in  England  — the  people  seem  almost  to  adore  it  here. 

As  an  instance  of  the  intense  veneration  for  lords  which 
distinguishes  this  county  of  Cork,  I may  mention  what 
occurred  afterwards.  The  members  of  the  Cork  Society 
gave  a dinner  to  their  guests  of  the  Irish  Agricultural 
Association.  The  founder  of  the  latter,  as  Lord  Downshire 
stated,  was  Mr.  Purcell : and  as  it  was  agreed  on  all  hands 
that  the  Society  so  founded  was  likely  to  prove  of  the 
greatest  benefit  to  the  country,  one  might  have  supposed 
that  any  compliment  paid  to  it  might  have  been  paid  to  it 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


63 


through  its  founder.  Not  so.  The  Society  asked  the  lords 
to  dine,  and  Mr.  Purcell  to  meet  the  lords. 

After  the  grand  dinner  came  a grand  ball,  which  was 
indeed  one  of  the  gayest  and  prettiest  sights  ever  seen;  nor 
was  it  the  less  agreeable  because  the  ladies  of  the  cit}r 
mixed  with  the  ladies  from  the  country,  and  vied  with  them 
in  grace  and  beauty.  The  charming  gayety  and  frankness 
of  the  Irish  ladies  have  been  noted  and  admired  by  every 
foreigner  who  has  had  the  good  fortune  to  mingle  in  their 
society ; and  I hope  it  is  not  detracting  from  the  merit  of 
the  upper  classes  to  say  that  the  lower  are  not  a whit  less 
pleasing.  I never  saw  in  any  country  such  a general  grace 
of  manner  and  ladyhood.  In  the  midst  of  their  gayety,  too,  it 
must  be  remembered  that  they  are  the  chastest  of  women,  and 
that  no  country  in  Europe  can  boast  of  such  a general  purity. 

In  regard  of  the  Munster  ladies,  I had  the  pleasure  to  be 
present  at  two  or  three  evening-parties  at  Cork,  and  must 
say  that  they  seem  to  excel  the  English  ladies  not  only  in 
wit  and  vivacity,  but  in  the  still  more  important  article 
of  the  toilet.  They  are  as  well  dressed  as  Frenchwomen, 
and  incomparably  handsomer ; and  if  ever  this  book  reaches 
a thirtieth  edition,  and  I can  find  out  better  words  to  ex- 
press admiration,  they  shall  be  inserted  here.  Among  the 
ladies’  accomplishments,  I may  mention  that  I have  heard 
in  two  or  three  private  families  such  fine  music  as  is  rarely 
to  be  met  with  out  of  a capital.  In  one  house  we  had  a 
supper  and  songs  afterwards,  in  the  old  honest  fashion. 
Time  was  in  Ireland  when  the  custom  was  a common  one  ; 
but  the  world  grows  languid  as  it  grows  genteel ; and  I 
fancy  it  requires  more  than  ordinary  spirit  and  courage  now 
for  a good  old  gentleman,  at  the  head  of  his  kind  family 
table,  to  strike  up  a good  old  family  song. 

The  delightful  old  gentleman  who  sung  the  song  here 
mentioned  could  not  help  talking  of  the  Temperance  move- 
ment with  a sort  of  regret,  and  said  that  all  the  fun  had 
gone  out  of  Ireland  since  Father  Mathew  banished  the 
whiskey  from  it.  Indeed,  any  stranger  going  amongst  the 
people  can  perceive  that  they  are  now  anything  but  gay.  I 
have  seen  a great  number  of  crowds  and  meetings  of  people 
in  all  parts  of  Ireland,  and  found  them  all  gloomy.  There 
is  nothing  like  the  merry-making  one  reads  of  in  the  Irish 
novels.  Lever  and  Maxwell  must  be  taken  as  chroniclers 
of  the  old  times  — the  pleasant  but  wrong  old  times  — for 
which  one  can’t  help  having  an  antiquarian  fondness. 


04 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK . 


On  the  day  we  arrived  at  Cork,  and  as  the  passengers 
descended  from  6i  the  drag/’  a stout,  handsome,  honest- 
looking  man,  of  some  two-and-forty  years,  was  passing  by, 
and  received  a number  of  bows  from  the  crowd  around.  It 
was  Theobald  Mathew,  with  whose  face  a thousand  little 
print-shop  windows  had  already  rendered  me  familiar.  He 
shook  hands  with  the  master  of*  the  carriage  very  cordially, 
and  just  as  cordially  with  the  master’s  coachman,  a disciple 
of  temperance,  as  at  least  half  Ireland  is  at  present.  The 
day  after  the  famous  dinner  at  MacDowall’s,  some  of  us 
came  down  rather  late,  perhaps  in  consequence  of  the 
events  of  the  night  before — (I  think  it  was  Lord  Bernard’s 
quotation  from  Virgil,  or  else  the  absence  of  the  currant- 


jelly  for  the  venison,  that  occasioned  a slight  headache 
among  some  of  us,  and  an  extreme  longing  for  soda-water), 
— and  there  was  the  Apostle  of  Temperance  seated  at  the 
table  drinking  tea.  Some  of  us  felt  a little  ashamed  of 
ourselves,  and  did  not  like  to  ask  somehow  for  the  soda- 
water  in  such  an  awful  presence  as  that  Besides,  it  would 
have  been  a confession  to  a Catholic  priest,  and,  as  a Pro- 
testant, I am  above  it. 

The  world  likes  to  know  how  a great  man  appears  even 
to  a valet-de-chambre,  and  I suppose  it  is  one’s  vanity  that 
is  flattered  in  such  rare  company  to  find  the  great  man 
quite  as  unassuming  as  the  very  smallest  personage  pres- 
ent ; and  so  like  to  other  mortals,  that  we  would  not  know 
him  to  be  a great  man  at  all,  did  we  not  know  his  name, 
and  what  he  had  done  There  is  nothing  remarkable  in 
Mr.  Mathew’s  manner,  except  that  it  is  exceedingly  simple, 
hearty,  and  manly,  and  that  he  does  not  wear  the  downcast, 
demure  look  which,  I know  not  why,  certainly  characterizes 
the  chief  part  of  the  gentlemen  of  his  profession.  Whence 
comes  that  general  scowl  which  darkens  the  faces  of  the 
Irish  priesthood  ? I have  met  a score  of  these  reverend 
gentlemen  in  the  country,  and  not  one  of  them  seemed  to 
look  or  speak  frankly,  except  Mr.  Mathew,  and  a couple 
more.  He  is  almost  the  only  man,  too,  that  1 have  met  in 
Ireland,  who,  in  speaking  of  public  matters,  did  not  talk  as 
a partisan.  With  the  state  of  the  country,  of  landlord, 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


65 


tenant,  and  peasantry,  he  seemed  to  be  most  curiously  and 
intimately  acquainted  ; speaking  of  their  wants,  differences, 
and  the  means  of  bettering  them,  with  the  minutest  practi- 
cal knowledge.  And  it  was  impossible  in  hearing  him  to 
know,  but  from  previous  acquaintance  with  his  character, 
whether  he  was  Whig  or  Tory,  Catholic  or  Protestant. 
Why  does  not  Government  make  a Privy  Councillor  of  him  ? 
— that  is,  if  he  would  honor  the  Right  Honorable  body  by 
taking  a seat  amongst  them.  His  knowledge  of  the  people 
is  prodigious,  and  their  confidence  in  him  as  great;  and 
what  a touching  attachment  that  is  which  these  poor  fellows 
show  to  any  one  who  has  their  cause  at  heart  — even  to  any 
one  who  says  he  has ! 

Avoiding  all  political  questions,  no  man  seems  more 
eager  than  he  for  the  practical  improvement  of  this  country. 
Leases  and  rents,  farming  improvements,  reading-societies, 
music-societies  — he  was  full  of  these,  and  of  his  schemes 
of  temperance  above  all.  He  never  misses  a chance  of 
making  a convert,  and  has  his  hand  ready  and  a pledge  in 
his  pocket  for  sick  or  poor.  One  of  his  disciples  in  a livery- 
coat  came  into  the  room  with  a tray  — Mr.  Mathew  recog- 
nized him,  and  shook  him  by  the  hand  directly ; so  he  did 
with  the  strangers  who  were  presented  to  him;  and  not 
with  a courtly  popularity-hunting  air,  but,  as  it  seemed, 
from  sheer  hearty  kindness,  and  a desire  to  do  every  one 
good. 

When  breakfast  was  done  — (he  took  but  one  cup  of  tea, 
and  says  that,  from  having  been  a great  consumer  of  tea 
and  refreshing  liquids  before,  a small  cup  of  tea,  and  one 
glass  of  water  at  dinner,  now  serve  him  for  his  day’s  bever- 
age) — he  took  the  ladies  of  our  party  to  see  his  burying- 
ground,  — a new  and  handsome  cemetery,  lying  a little  way 
out  of  the  town,  and  where,  thank  God  ! Protestants  and 
Catholics  may  lie  together,  without  clergymen  quarrelling 
over  their  coffins. 

It  is  a handsome  piece  of  ground,  and  was  formerly  a bo- 
tanic garden ; but  the  funds  failed  for  that  undertaking,  as 
they  have  for  a thousand  other  public  enterprises  in  this 
poor  disunited  country ; and  so  it  has  been  converted  into 
a hortus  siccus  for  us  mortals.  There  is  already  a pretty 
large  collection.  In  the  midst  is  a place  for  Mathew  him- 
self— honor  to  him,  living  or  dead!  Meanwhile,  numerous 
stately  monuments  have  been  built,  flowers  planted  here 
and  there  over  dear  remains,  and  the  garden  in  which  they 
von.  it. — -5 


6G 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


lie  is  rich,  green,  and  beautiful.  Here  is  a fine  statue,  by 
Hogan,  of  a weeping  genius  that  broods  over  the  tomb  of 
an  honest  merchant  and  clothier  of  the  city.  He  took  a 
liking  to  the  artist,  his  fellow-townsman,  and  ordered  his 
own  monument,  and  had  the  gratification  to  see  it  arrive 
from  Rome  a few  weeks  before  his  death.  A prettier  thing 
even  than  the  statue  is  the  tomb  of  a little  boy,  which  has 
been  shut  in  by  a large  and  curious  grille  of  iron-work. 
The  father  worked  it,  a blacksmith,  whose  darling  the  child 
was,  and  he  spent  three  years  in  hammering  out  this 
mausoleum.  It  is  the  beautiful  story  of  the  pot  of  oint- 
ment told  again  at  the  poor  blacksmith’s  anvil ; and  who 
can  but  like  him  for  placing  this  fine  gilded  cage  over  the 
body  of  his  poor  little  one  ? Presently  you  come  to  a 
Frenchwoman’s  tomb,  with  a French  epitaph  by  a French 
husband,  and  a pot  of  artificial  flowers  in  a niche  — a wig, 
and  a pot  of  rouge,  as  it  were,  just  to  make  the  dead  look 
passably  well.  It  is  his  manner  of  showing  his  sympathy 
for  an  immortal  soul  that  has  passed  away.  The  poor  may 
be  buried  here  for  nothing ; and  here,  too,  once  more 
thank  God  ! each  may  rest  without  priests  or  parsons 
scowling  hell-fire  at  his  neighbor  unconscious  under  the 
grass. 


CHAPTER  VI. 


CORK  — THE  UESULTNE  CONVENT. 


HERE  is  a large  Ursuline  convent  at  Blackrock,  near 


Cork,  and  a lady  who  had  been  educated  there  was 
kind  enough  to  invite  me  to  join  a party  to  visit  the  place. 
Was  not  this  a great  privilege  for  a heretic  ? I have 
peeped  into  convent  chapels  abroad,  and  occasionally  caught 
glimpses  of  a white  veil  or  black  gown ; but  to  see  the 


pious  ladies  in  their  own  retreat  was  quite  a novelty  — 
much  more  exciting  than  the  exhibition  of  Long  Horns 
and  Short  Horns  by  which  we  had  to  pass  on  our  road  to 
Blackrock. 

The  three  miles’  ride  is  very  pretty.  As  far  as  Nature 
goes,  she  has  done  her  best  for  the  neighborhood ; and  the 
noble  hills  on  the  opposite  coast  of  the  river,  studded  with 
innumerable  pretty  villas  and  garnished  with  fine  trees  and 
meadows,  the  river  itself  dark  blue  under  a brilliant  cloud- 
less heaven,  and  lively  with  its  multiplicity  of  gay  craft, 
accompany  the  traveller  along  the  road ; except  here  and 
there  where  the  view  is  shut  out  by  fine  avenues  of  trees, 


67 


68 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK . 


a beggarly  row  of  cottages,  or  a villa  wall.  Rows  of  dirty 
cabins,  and  smart  bankers’  country-houses,  meet  one  at 
every  turn ; nor  do  the  latter  want  for  fine  names,  you  may 
be  sure.  The  Irish  grandiloquence  displays  itself  finely  in 
the  invention  of  such ; and,  to  the  great  inconvenience,  I 
should  think,  of  the  postman,  the  names  of  the  houses  ap- 
pear to  change  with  the  tenants ; for  I saw  many  old  houses 
with  new  placards  in  front,  setting  forth  the  last  title  of 
the  house. 

I had  the  box  of  the  carriage  (a  smart  vehicle  that  wouiri 
have  done  credit  to  the  ring),  and  found  the  gentleman  by 
my  side  very  communicative.  He  named  the  owners  of 
the  pretty  mansions  and  lawns  visible  on  the  other  side  of 
the  river  : they  appear  almost  all  to  be  merchants,  who  have 
made  their  fortunes  in  the  city.  In  the  like  manner, 
though  the  air  of  the  town  is  extremely  fresh  and  pure  to 
a pair  of  London  lungs,  the  Cork  shopkeeper  is  not  satisfied 
with  it,  but  contrives  for  himself  a place  (with  an  euphon- 
ious name,  no  doubt)  in  the  suburbs  of  the  city.  These 
stretch  to  a great  extent  along  the  beautiful,  liberal-looking 
banks  of  the  stream. 

I asked  the  man  about  the  Temperance,  and  whether  he 
was  a temperance  man  ? He  replied  by  pulling  a medal  out 
of  his  waistcoat  pocket,  saying  that  he  always  carried  it 
about  with  him  for  fear  of  temptation.  He  said  that  he 
took  the  pledge  two  years  ago,  before  which  time,  as  he 
confessed,  he  had  been  a sad  sinner  in  the  way  of  drink.  “ I 
used  to  take,”  said  he,  “ from  eighteen  to  twenty  glasses  of 
whiskey  a day ; I was  always  at  the  drink ; I’d  be  often  up 
all  night  at  the  public : I was  turned  away  by  my  present 
master  on  account  of  it ; ” and  all  of  a sudden  he  resolved 
to  break  it  off.  I asked  him  whether  he  had  not  at  first 
experienced  ill-health  from  the  suddenness  of  the  change  in 
his  habits  ; but  he  said  — and  let  all  persons  meditating  a 
conversion  from  liquor  remember  the  fact  — that  the  absti- 
nence never  affected  him  in  the  least,  but  that  he  went  on 
growing  better  and  better  in  health  every  day,  stronger  and 
more  able  of  mind  and  body. 

The  man  was  a Catholic,  and  in  speaking  of  the  numer- 
ous places  of  worship  along  the  road  as  we  passed,  I’m 
sorry  to  confess,  dealt  some  rude  cuts  with  his  whip  regard- 
ing the  Protestants.  Coachman  as  he  was,  the  fellow’s 
remarks  seemed  to  be  correct : for  it  appears  that  the  relig- 
ious world  of  Cork  is  of  so  excessively  enlightened  a kind, 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


69 


that  one  church  will  not  content  one  pious  person ; but 
that,  on  the  contrary,  they  will  be  at  Church  of  a morning, 
at  Independent  church  of  an  afternoon,  at  a Darbyite  con- 
gregation of  an  evening,  and  so  on,  gathering  excitement  or 
information  from  all  sources  which  they  could  come  at.  Is 
not  this  the  case  ? are  not  some  of  the  ultra-serious  as  eager 
after  a new  preacher,  as  the  ultra-worldly  for  a new  dancer  ? 
don’t  they  talk  and  gossip  about  him  as  much  ? Though 
theology  from  the  coach-box  is  rather  questionable  (after  all, 
the  man  was  just  as  much  authorized  to  propound  his 
notions  as  many  a fellow  from  an  amateur  pulpit),  yet  he 
certainly  had  the  right  here  as  far  as  his  charge  against 
certain  Protestants  went. 

The  reasoning  from  it  was  quite  obvious,  and  I’m  sure 
was  in  the  man’s  mind,  though  he  did  not  utter  it,  as  we 
drove  by  this  time  into  the  convent  gate.  “ Here,”  says 
coachman,  “is  our  church.  I don’t  drive  my  master  and 
mistress  from  church  to  chapel,  and  from  chapel  to  con- 
venticle, hunting  after  new  preachers  every  Sabbath.  I 
bring  them  every  Sunday  and  set  them  down  at  the  same 
place,  where  they  know  that  everything  they  hear  must 
be  right.  Their  fathers  have  done  the  same  thing  before 
them ; and  the  young  ladies  and  gentlemen  will  come  here 
too ; and  all  the  new-fangled  doctors  and  teachers  may  go 
roaring  through  the  land,  and  still  here  we  come  regularly, 
not  caring  a whit  for  the  vagaries  of  others,  knowing  that 
we  ourselves  are  in  the  real  old  right  and  original  way.” 

I am  sure  this  is  what  the  fellow  meant  by  his  sneer  at 
the  Protestants,  and  their  gadding  from  one  doctrine  to 
another;  but  there  was  no  call  and  no  time  to  have  a 
battle  with  him,  as  by  this  time  we  had  entered  a large 
lawn  covered  with  haycocks,  and  prettily,  as  I think,  orna- 
mented with  a border  of  blossoming  potatoes,  and  drove  up 
to  the  front  door  of  the  convent.  It  is  a huge  old  square 
house,  with  many  windows,  having  probably  been  some 
flaunting  squire’s  residence ; but  the  nuns  have  taken  off 
somewhat  from  the  rakish  look,  by  flinging  out  a couple  of 
wings  with  chapels,  or  buildings  like  chapels,  at  either  end. 

A large,  lofty,  clean,  trim  hall  was  open  to  a flight  of 
steps,  and  we  found  a young  lady  in  the  hall,  playing, 
instead  of  a pious  sonata  — which  I vainly  thought  was 
the  practice  in  such  godly  seminaries  of  learning  — that 
abominable  rattling  piece  of  music  called  la  Violette , which 
it  has  been  my  lot  to  hear  executed  by  other  young  ladies  ; 


70 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK . 


and  which  (with  its  like)  has  always  appeared  to  me  to  be 
constructed  upon  this  simple  fashion  — to  take  a tune,  and 
then,  as  it  were,  to  fling  it  down  and  up  stairs.  As  soon  as 
the  young  lady  playing  “ the  Violet  ” saw  us,  she  quitted 
the  hall  and  retired  to  an  inner  apartment,  where  she 
resumed  that  delectable  piece  at  her  leisure.  Indeed  there 
were  pianos  all  over  the  educational  part  of  the  house. 

We  were  shown  into  a gay  parlor  (where  hangs  a pretty 
drawing  representing  the  melancholy  old  convent  which 
the  sisters  previously  inhabited  in  Cork),  and  presently 
Sister  No.  Two-Eight  made  her  appearance  — a pretty  and 
graceful  lady,  attired  as  on  the  next  page. 

“ ’Tis  the  prettiest  nun  of  the  whole  house/’  whispered 
the  lady  who  had  been  educated  at  the  convent ; and  I 
must  own  that  slim,  gentle,  and  pretty  as  this  young  lady 
was,  and  calculated  with  her  kind  smiling  face  and  little 
figure  to  frighten  no  one  in  the  world,  a great  six-foot 
Protestant  could  not  help  looking  at  her  with  a little 
tremble.  I had  never  been  in  a nun’s  company  before  ; 
I’m  afraid  of  such  — I don’t  care  to  own — in  their  black 
mysterious  robes  and  awful  veils.  As  priests  in  gorgeous 
vestments,  and  little  rosy  incense-boys  in  red,  bob  their 
heads  and  knees  up  and  down  before  altars,  or  clatter 
silver  pots  full  of  smoking  odors,  I feel  I don’t  know  what 
sort  of  thrill  and  secret  creeping  terror.  Here  I was,  in  a 
room  with  a real  live  nun,  pretty  and  pale  — I wonder  has 
she  any  of  her  sisterhood  immured  in  oubliettes  down  be- 
low; is  her  poor  little  weak,  delicate  body  scarred  all  over 
with  scourgings,  iron  collars,  hair  shirts  ? What  has  she 
had  for  dinner  to-day  ? — as  we  passed  the  refectory  there 
was  a faint  sort  of  a vapid  nun-like  vegetable  smell,  speak- 
ing of  fasts  and  wooden  platters ; and  I could  picture  to 
myself  silent  sisters  eating  their  meal  — a grim  old  yellow 
one  in  the  reading-desk,  croaking  out  an  extract  from  a 
sermon  for  their  edification. 

But  is  it  policy,  or  hypocrisy,  or  reality  ? These  nuns 
affect  extreme  happiness  and  content  with  their  condition  : 
a smiling  beatitude,  which  they  insist  belongs  peculiarly 
to  them,  and  about  which  the  only  doubtful  point  is  the 
manner  in  which  it  is  produced  before  strangers.  Young 
ladies  educated  in  convents  have  often  mentioned  this  fact 
— how  the  nuns  persist  in  declaring  and  proving  to  them 
their  own  extreme  enjoyment  of  life. 

Were  all  the  smiles  of  that  kind-looking  Sister  Two- 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK . 


71 


Eight  perfectly  sincere  ? Whenever  she  spoke  her  face 
was  lighted  up  with  one.  She  seemed  perfectly  radiant 
with  happiness,  tripping  lightly  before  us,  and  distributing 
kind  compliments  to  each,  which  made  me  in  a very  few 
minutes  forget  the  introductory  fright  which  her  poor 
little  presence  had  occasioned. 

She  took  us  through  the  hall  (where  was  the  vegetable 
savor  before  mentioned),  and  showed  us  the  contrivance  by 
which  the  name  of  Two-Eight  was  ascertained.  Each  nun 
has  a number,  or  a combination  of  numbers,  prefixed  to  her 
name ; and  a bell  is  pulled  a corresponding  number  of 
times,  by  which  each  sister  knows 
when  she  is  wanted.  Poor  souls  ! 
are  they  always  on  the  lookout 
for  that  bell,  that  the  ringing  of 
it  should  be  supposed  infallibly  to 
awaken  their  attention. 

From  the  hall  the  sister  con- 
ducted us  through  ranges  of  apart- 
ments, and  I had  almost  said 
avenues  of  pianofortes,  whence 
here  and  there  a startled  pensioner 
would  rise  hmnuleo  similis , at  our 
approach,  seeking  a pavidam  ma- 
trem  in  the  person  of  a demure 
old  stout  mother  hard  by.  We 
were  taken  through  a hall  decor- 
ated with  a series  of  pictures 
of  Pope  Pius  VI.,  — wonderful  adventures,  truly,  in  the 
life  of  the  gentle  old  man.  In  one  you  see  him  grace- 
fully receiving  a Prince  and  Princess  of  Russia  (tremendous 
incident !).  The  Prince  has  a pigtail,  the  Princess  powder 
and  a train,  the  Pope  a — but  never  mind,  we  shall  never 
get  through  the  house  at  this  rate. 

Passing  through  Pope  Pius’s  gallery,  we  came  into  a 
long,  clean,  lofty  passage,  with  many  little  doors  on  each 
side;  and  here  I confess  my  heart  began  to  thump  again. 
These  were  the  doors  of  the  cells  of  the  Sisters.  Bon 
Dieu  ! and  is  it  possible  that  I shall  see  a nun’s  cell  ? 
Do  I not  recollect  the  nun’s  cell  in  “ The  Monk,”  or  in 
“ The  Romance  of  the  Forest  ” ? or,  if  not  there,  at  any 
rate,  in  a thousand  noble  romances,  read  in  early  days  of 
half-holiday  perhaps  — romances  at  twopence  a volume. 

Come  in,  in  the  name  of  the  saints ! Here  is  the  cell.  I 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


took  off  my  hat  and  examined  the  little  room  with  much 
curious  wonder  and  reverence.  There  was  an  iron  bed, 
with  comfortable  curtains  of  green  serge.  There  was  a 
little  clothes-chest  of  yellow  wood,  neatly  cleaned,  and 
a wooden  chair  beside  it,  and  a desk  on  the  chest,  and 
about  six  pictures  on  the  wall  — little  religious  pictures  : a 
saint  with  gilt  paper  round  him  ; the  Virgin  showing  on 
her  breast  a bleeding  heart,  with  a sword  run  through  it ; 
and  other  sad  little  subjects,  calculated  to  make  the  inmate 
of  the  cell  think  of  the  sufferings  of  the  saints  and  martyrs 
of  the  Church.  Then  there  was  a little  crucifix,  and  a wax- 
candle  on  the  ledge  ; and  here  was  the  place  where  the 
poor  black-veiled  things  were  to  pass  their  lives  forever ! 

After  having  seen  a couple  of  these  little  cells,  we  left 
the  corridors  in  which  they  were,  and  were  conducted,  with 
a sort  of  pride  on  the  nun’s  part,  I thought,  into  the  grand 
room  of  the  convent  — a parlor  with  pictures  of  saints,  and 
a gay  paper,  and  a series  of  small  fineries,  such  only  as 
women  very  idle  know  how  to  make.  There  were  some 
portraits  in  the  room,  one  an  atrocious  daub  of  an  ugly 
old  woman,  surrounded  by  children  still  more  hideous. 
Somebody  had  told  the  poor  nun  that  this  was  a fine  thing, 
and  she  believed  it  — heaven  bless  her ! — quite  implicitly  : 
nor  is  the  picture  of  the  ugly  old  Canadian  woman  the  first 
reputation  that  has  been  made  this  way. 

Then  from  the  fine  parlor  we  went  to  the  museum.  I 
don’t  know  how  we  should  be  curious  of  such  trifles  ; but 
the  chronicling  of  small-beer  is  the  main  business  of  life  — 
people  only  differing,  as  Tom  Moore  wisely  says  in  one  of 
his  best  poems,  about  their  own  peculiar  tap.  The  poor 
nun’s  little  collection  of  gimcracks  was  displayed  in  great 
state  : there  were  spars  in  one  drawer ; and,  I think,  a 
Chinese  shoe  and  some  Indian  wares  in  another;  and  some 
medals  of  the  Popes,  and  a couple  of  score  of  coins;  and  a 
(dean  glass  case,  full  of  antique  works  of  French  theology 
of  the  distant  period  of  Louis  XV.,  to  judge  by  the  bind- 
ings— and  this  formed  the  main  part  of  the  museum. 
“ The  chief  objects  were  gathered  together  by  a single 
nun,”  said  the  sister,  with  a look  of  wonder,  as  she  went 
prattling  on,  and  leading  us  hither  and  thither,  like  a child 
showing  her  toys. 

What  strange  mixture  of  pity  and  pleasure  is  it  which 
comes  over  you  sometimes  when  a child  takes  you  by  the 
hand,  and  leads  you  up  solemnly  to  some  little  treasure  of 


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73 


its  own  — a feather,  or  a string  of  glass  beads  ? I declare 
I have  often  looked  at  such  with  more  delight  than  at  dia- 
monds ; and  felt  the  same  sort  of  soft  wonder  examining 
the  nun’s  little  treasure-chamber.  There  was  something 
touching  in  the  very  poverty  of  it : — had  it  been  finer,  it 
would  not  have  been  half  so  good. 

And  now  we  had  seen  all  the  wonders  of  the  house  but 
the  chapel,  and  thither  we  were  conducted ; all  the  ladies 
of  our  party  kneeling  down  as  they  entered  the  building, 
and  saying  a short  prayer. 


This,  as  I am  on  sentimental  confessions,  I must  own 
affected  me  too.  It  was  a very  pretty  and  tender  sight.  I 
should  have  liked  to  kneel  down  too,  but  was  ashamed ; 
our  northern  usages  not  encouraging  — among  men  at  least 
— that  sort  of  abandonment  of  dignity.  Do  any  of  us  dare 
to  sing  psalms  in  church  ? and  don’t  we  look  with  rather 
a sneer  at  a man  who  does  ? 

The  chapel  had  nothing  remarkable  in  it  except  a very 
good  organ,  as  I was  told  ; for  we  were  allowed  only  to  see 
the  exterior  of  that  instrument,  our  pious  guide  with  much 
pleasure  removing  an  oil-cloth  which  covered  the  mahogany. 
At  one  side  of  the  altar  is  a long  high  grille , through  which 


74 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


you  see  a hall,  where  the  mins  have  their  stalls,  and  sit  in 
chapel  time ; and  beyond  this  hall  is  another  small  chapel; 
with  a couple  of  altars,  and  one  beautiful  print  in  one  of 
them — a German  Holy  Family — a prim,  mystical,  tender 
piece,  just  befitting  the  place. 

In  the  grille  is  a little  wicket  and  a ledge  before  it.  It 
is  to  this  wicket  that  women  are  brought  to  kneel ; and  a 
bishop  is  in  the  chapel  on  the  other  side,  and  takes  their 
hands  in  his,  and  receives  their  vows.  I had  never  seen 
the  like  before,  and  own  that  I felt  a sort  of  shudder  at 
looking  at  the  place.  There  rest  the  girl’s  knees  as  she 
offers  herself  up,  and  forswears  the  sacred  affections'  which 
God  gave  her ; there  she  kneels  and  denies  forever  the 
beautiful  duties  of  her  being : — no  tender  maternal 
yearnings,  no  gentle  attachments  are  to  be  had  for  her 
or  from  her,  — there  she  kneels  and  commits  suicide  upon 
her  heart.  O honest  Martin  Luther ! thank  God,  you 
came  to  pull  that  infernal,  wicked,  unnatural  altar  down 
- — that  cursed  Paganism  ! Let  people,  solitary,  worn  out 
by  sorrow  or  oppressed  with  extreme  remorse,  retire  to 
such  places ; fly  and  beat  your  breasts  in  caverns  and 
wildernesses,  0 women,  if  you  will,  but  be  Magdalens 
first.  It  is  shameful  that  any  young  girl,  with  any  voca- 
tion however  seemingly  strong,  should  be  allowed  to  bury 
herself  in  this  small  tomb  of  a few  acres.  Look  at  yonder 
nun, — pretty,  smiling,  graceful,  and  young,  — what  has 
God’s  world  done  to  her , that  she  should  run  from  it,  or  she 
done  to  the  world,  that  she  should  avoid  it  ? What  call  has 
she  to  give  up  all  her  duties  and  affections  ? and  would  she 
not  be  best  serving  God  with  a husband  at  her  side,  and  a 
child  on  her  knee  ? 

The  sights  in  the  house  having  been  seen,  the  nun  led  us 
through  the  grounds  and  gardens.  There  was  the  hay  in 
front,  a fine  yellow  cornfield  at  the  back  of  the  house, 
and  a large  melancholy-looking  kitchen-garden;  in  all  of 
which  places  the  nuns,  for  certain  hours  in  the  day,  are 
allowed  to  take  recreation.  “The  nuns  here  are  allowed 
to  amuse  themselves  more  than  ours  at  New  Hall,”  said 
a little  girl  who  is  educated  at  that  English  convent : “ do 
you  know  that  here  the  nuns  may  make  hay  ? ” What  a 
privilege  is  this  ! We  saw  none  of  the  black  sisterhood 
availing  themselves  of  it,  however:  the  hay  was  neatly 
piled  into  cocks  and  ready  for  housing;  so  the  poor  souls 
must  wait  until  next  year  before  they  can  enjoy  this 
blessed  sport  once  more. 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK . 


75 


Turning  into  a narrow  gate  with  the  nun  at  our  head,  we 
found  ourselves  in  a little  green,  quiet  inclosure — it  was 
the  burial-ground  of  the  convent.  The  poor  things  know 
the  places  where  they  are  to  lie : she  who  was  with  us 
talked  smilingly  of  being  stretched  there  one  day,  and 
pointed  out  the  resting-place  of  a favorite  old  sister  who  had 
died  three  months  back,  and  been  buried  in  the  very  midst 
of  the  little  ground.  And  here  they  come  to  live  and  die. 
The  gates  are  open,  but  they  never  go  out.  All  their 
world  lies  in  a dozen  acres  of  ground ; and  they  sacrifice 
their  lives  in  early  youth,  many  of  them  passing  from 
the  grave  upstairs  in  the  house  to  the  one  scarcely  nar- 
rower in  the  churchyard  here ; and  are  seemingly  not 
unhappy. 

I came  out  of  the  place  quite  sick ; and  looking  before 
me,  — there,  thank  God  ! was  the  blue  spire  of  Monks- 
town  church  soaring  up  into  the  free  sky  — a river  in 
front  rolling  away  to  the  sea  — liberty,  sunshine,  all  sorts 
of  glad  life  and  motion  round  about : and  I couldn’t  but 
thank  heaven  for  it,  and  the  Being  whose  service  is  free- 
dom, and  who  has  given  us  affections  that  we  may  use  them 
— not  smother  and  kill  them;  and  a noble  world  to  live 
in,  that  we  may  admire  it  and  Him  who  made  it  — not 
shrink  from  it,  as  though  we  dared  not  live  there,  but  must 
turn  our  backs  upon  it  and  its  bountiful  Provider. 

And  in  conclusion,  if  that  most  cold-blooded  and  precise 
of  all  personages,  the  respectable  and  respected  English 
reader,  may  feel  disposed  to  sneer  at  the  above  sentimental 
homily,  or  to  fancy  that  it  has  been  written  for  effect  — 
let  him  go  and  see  a convent  for  himself.  I declare  I 
think  for  my  part  that  we  have  as  much  right  to  permit 
Sutteeism  in  India  as  to  allow  women  in  the  United  King- 
dom to  take  these  wicked  vows,  or  Catholic  bishops  to 
receive  them ; and  that  Government  has  as  good  a right 
to  interpose  in  such  cases  as  the  police  have  to  prevent  a 
man  from  hanging  himself,  or  the  doctor  to  refuse  a glass 
of  prussic-acid  to  any  one  who  may  have  a wish  to  go  out 
of  the  world. 


CHAPTER  YII. 


CORK. 


MIDST  the  bustle  and  gayeties  of  the  Agricultural 


meeting,  the  working-day  aspect  of  the  city  was  not 
to  be  judged  of : but  I passed  a fortnight  in  the  place 
afterwards,  during  which  time  it  settled  down  to  its  calm 
and  usual  condition.  The  flashy  French  and  plated  goods’ 
shops,  which  made  a show  for  the  occasion  of  the  meeting, 
disappeared;  you  were  no  longer  crowded  and  jostled  by 
smart  male  and  female  dandies  in  walking  down  Patrick 
Street  or  the  Mall ; the  poor  little  theatre  had  scarcely  a 
soul  on  its  bare  benches : I went  once,  but  the  dreadful 
brass-band  of  a dragoon  regiment  blew  me  out  of  doors. 
This  music  could  be  heard  much  more  pleasantly  at  some 
distance  off  in  the  street. 

One  sees  in  this  country  many  a grand  and  tall  iron  gate 
leading  into  a very  shabby  field  covered  with  thistles  ; and 
the  simile  to  the  gate  will  in  some  degree  apply  to  this  fa- 
mous city  of  Cork, — which  is  certainly  not  a city  of  pal- 
aces, but  of  which  the  outlets  are  magnificent.  That  to- 
wards Killarney  leads  by  the  Lee,  the  old  avenue  of  Mar- 
dyke,  and  the  rich  green  pastures  stretching  down  to  the 
river ; and  as  you  pass  by  the  portico  of  the  county  jail, 
as  fine  and  as  glancing  as  a palace,  you  see  the  wooded 
heights  on  the  other  side  of  the  fair  stream,  crowded  with 
a thousand  pretty  villas  and  terraces,  presenting  every  im- 
age of  comfort  and  prosperity.  The  entrance  from  Cove 
has  been  mentioned  before  ; nor  is  it  easy  to  find  anywhere 
a nobler,  grander,  and  more  cheerful  scene. 

Along  the  quays  up  to  St.  Patrick’s  Bridge  there  is  a cer- 
tain bustle.  Some  forty  ships  may  be  lying  at  anchor  along 
the  walls  of  the  quay,  and  its  pavements  are  covered  with 
goods  of  various  merchandise  : here  a cargo  of  hides  ; yon- 
der a company  of  soldiers,  their  kits,  and  their  Dollies, 
who  are  taking  leave  of  the  red-coats  at  the  steamer’s  side. 
Then  you  shall  see  a fine,  squeaking,  shrieking  drove  of 


76 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK . 


77 


pigs  embarking  by  the  same  conveyance,  and  insinuated  in- 
to the  steamer  by  all  sorts  of  coaxing,  threatening,  and 
wheedling.  Seamen  are  singing  and  yeehoing  on  board ; 
grimy  colliers  smoking  at  the  liquor-shops  along  the  quay; 
and  as  for  the  bridge  — there  is  a crowd  of  idlers  on  that , 
you  may  be  sure,  sprawling  over  the  balustrade  forever  and 
ever,  with  long  ragged  coats,  steeple  hats,  and  stumpy  doo- 
deens. 

Then  along  the  Coal  Quay  you  may  see  a clump  of  jin- 
gle-drivers, who  have  all  a word  for  your  honor;  and  in 
Patrick  Street,  at  three  o’clock,  when  “ The  Rakes  of  Mal- 
low ” gets  under  weigh  (a  cracked  old  coach  with  the  paint 
rubbed  off,  some  smart  horses,  and  an  exceedingly  dingy 
harness)  — at  three  o’clock,  you  will  be  sure  to  see  at  least 
forty  persons  waiting  to  witness  the  departure  of  the  said 
coach : so  that  the  neighborhood  of  the  inn  has  an  air  of 
some  bustle. 

At  the  other  extremity  of  the  town,  if  it  be  assize  time, 
you  will  see  some  five  hundred  persons  squatting  by  the 
court-house,  or  buzzing  and  talking  within.  The  rest  of 
the  respectable  quarter  of  the  city  is  pretty  free  from 
anything  like  bustle : there  is  no  more  life  in  Patrick 
Street  than  in  Russell  Square  of  a sunshiny  day : and  as 
for  the  Mall,  it  is  as  lonely  as  the  chief  street  of  a German 
Residenz. 

I have  mentioned  the  respectable  quarter  of  the  city  — 
for  there  are  quarters  in  it  swarming  with  life,  but  of  such 
a frightful  kind  as  no  pen  need  care  to  describe : alleys 
where  the  odors  and  rags  and  darkness  are  so  hideous,  that 
one  runs  frightened  away  from  them.  In  some  of  them, 
they  say,  not  the  policeman,  only  the  priest  can  penetrate. 
I asked  a Roman  Catholic  clergyman  of  the  city  to  take  me 
into  some  of  these  haunts,  but  he  refused  very  justly  ; and 
indeed  a man  may  be  quite  satisfied  with  what  he  can 
see  in  the  mere  outskirts  of  the  districts,  without  caring  to 
penetrate  further.  Not  far  from  the  quays  is  an  open 
space  where  the  poor  hold  a market  or  bazaar.  Here  is  live- 
liness and  business  enough  : ragged  women  chattering  and 
crying  their  beggarly  wares  ! ragged  boys  gloating  over 
dirty  apple  and  pie  stalls ; fish  frying,  and  raw,  and  stink- 
ing ; clothes-booths,  where  you  might  buy  a wardrobe  for 
scarecrows ; old  nails,  hoops,  bottles,  and  marine-wares ; 
old  battered  furniture,  that  has  been  sold  against  starvation. 
In  the  streets  round  about  this  place,  on  a sunshiny  day, 


78 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK 


all  the  black  gaping  windows  and  mouldy  steps  are  covered 
with  squatting  lazy  figures  — women,  with  bare  breasts, 
nursing  babies,  and  leering  a joke  as  you  pass  by  — ragged 
children  paddling  everywhere.  It  is  but  two  minutes’  walk 
out  of  Patrick  Street,  where  you  come  upon  a fine  flashy 
shop  of  plated-goods,  or  a grand  French  emporium  of  dolls, 
walking-sticks,  carpet-bags,  and  perfumery.  The  markets 
hard  by  have  a rough,  old-fashioned,  cheerful  look ; it’s  a 
comfort  after  the  misery  to  hear  a red  butcher’s  wife  cry- 
ing after  you  to  buy  an  honest  piece  of  meat. 

The  poor-house,  newly  established,  cannot  hold  a fifth 
part  of  the  poverty  of  this  great  town  : the  richer  inhabi- 
tants are  untiring  in  their  charities,  and  the  Catholic  cler- 
gyman before  mentioned  took  me  to  see  a delivery  of  rice, 
at  which  he  presides  every  day  until  the  potatoes  shall 
come  in.  This  market,  over  which  he  presides  so  kindly, 
is  held  in  an  old  bankrupt  warehouse,  and  the  rice  is  sold 
considerably  under  the  prime  cost  to  hundreds  of  struggling 
applicants  who  come  when  lucky  enough  to  have  where- 
withal to  pay. 

That  the  city  contains  much  wealth  is  evidenced  by  the 
number  of  handsome  villas  round  about  it,  where  the  rich 
merchants  dwell ; but  the  warehouses  of  the  wealthy  pro- 
vision-merchants make  no  show  to  the  stranger  walking  the 
streets ; and  of  the  retail-shops,  if  some  are  spacious  and 
handsome,  most  look  as  if  too  big  for  the  business  carried 
on  within.  The  want  of  ready  money  was  quite  curious. 
In  three  of  the  principal  shops  I purchased  articles,  and 
tendered  a pound  in  exchange  — not  one  of  them  had  silver 
enough ; and  as  for  a five-pound  note,  which  I presented  at 
one  of  the  topping  book-seller’s,  his  boy  went  round  to  vari- 
ous places  in  vain,  and  finally  set  forth  to  the  Bank,  where 
change  was  got.  In  another  small  shop  I offered  half  a 
crown  to  pay  for  a sixpenny  article  — it  was  all  the  same. 
66  Tim,”  says  the  good  woman,  “ run  out  in  a hurry  and 
fetch  the  gentleman  change.”  Two  of  the  shopmen,  seeing 
an  Englishman,  were  very  particular  to  tell  me  in  what 
years  they  themselves  had  been  in  London.  It  seemed  a 
merit  in  these  gentlemen’s  eyes  to  have  once  dwelt  in  that 
city : and  I see  in  the  papers  continually  ladies  advertising 
as  governesses,  and  specifying  particularly  that  they  are 
“ English  ladies.” 

I received  six  51  post-office  orders  ; I called  four  times 
on  as  many  different  days  at  the  Post  Office  before  the  capi- 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


79 


tal  could  be  forthcoming,  getting  on  the  third  application 
20 1.  (after  making  a great  clamor,  and  vowing  that  such 
things  were  unheard-of  in  England),  and  on  the  fourth  call 
the  remaining  10/.  I saw  poor  people,  who  may  have  come 
from  the  country  with  their  orders,  refused  payment  of  an 
order  of  some  406-. ; and  a gentleman  who  tendered  a pound- 
note  in  payment  of  a foreign  letter,  was  told  to  “ leave  his 
letter  and  pay  some  other  time.”  Such  things  could  not 
take  place  in  the  hundred-and-second  city  in  England ; and 
as  I do  not  pretend  to  doctrinize  at  all,  I leave  the  reader 
to  draw  his  own  deductions  with  regard  to  the  commercial 
condition  and  prosperity  of  the  second  city  in  Ireland. 

Half  a dozen  of  the  public  buildings  I saw  were  spacious 
and  shabby  beyond  all  cockney  belief.  Adjoining  the  “ Im- 
perial Hotel  ” is  a great,  large,  handsome,  desolate  reading- 
room,  which  was  founded  by  a body  of  Cork  merchants  and 
tradesmen,  and  is  the  very  picture  of  decay.  Not  Palmyra 
— not  the  Russell  Institution  in  Greet  Coram  Street  — 
presents  a more  melancholy  appearance  of  faded  greatness. 
Opposite  this  is  another  institution  called  the  Cork  Library, 
where  there  are  plenty  of  books  and  plenty  of  kindness  to 
the  stranger ; but  the  shabbiness  and  faded  splendor  of  the 
place  are  quite  painful.  There  are  three  handsome  Catholic 
churches  commenced  of  late  years  ; not  one  of  them  is  com- 
plete : two  want  their  porticos  ; the  other  is  not  more  than 
thirty  feet  from  the  ground,  and  according  to  the  architec- 
tural plan  was  to  rise  as  high  as  a cathedral.  There  is  an 
Institution,  with  a fair  library  of  scientific  works,  a museum, 
and  a drawing-school  with  a supply  of  casts.  The  place 
is  in  yet  more  dismal  condition  than  the  Library  : the 
plasters  are  spoiled  incurably  for  want  of  a sixpenny  feather- 
brush  ; the  dust  lies  on  the  walls,  and  nobody  seems  to  heed 
it.  Two  shillings  a year  would  have  repaired  much  of  the 
evil  which  has  happened  to  this  institution  ; and  it  is  folly 
to  talk  of  inward  dissensions  and  political  differences  as 
causing  the  ruin  of  such  institutions  : kings  or  law  don’t 
cause  or  cure  dust  and  cobwebs,  but  indolence  leaves  them 
to  accumulate,  and  imprudence  will  not  calculate  its  income, 
and  vanity  exaggerates  its  own  powers,  and  the  fault  is  laid 
upon  that  tyrant  of  a sister  kingdom.  The  whole  country 
is  filled  with  failures  ; swaggering  beginnings  that  could 
not  be  carried  through  ; grand  enterprises  begun  dashingly, 
and  ending  in  shabby  compromises  or  downright  ruin. 

I have  said  something  in  praise  of  the  manners  of  the 


80 


THE  HUSH  SKETCH  BOOK . 


Cork  ladies  : in  regard  of  the  gentlemen,  a stranger  too 
must  remark  the  extraordinary  degree  of  literary  taste  and 
talent  amongst  them,  and  the  wit  and  vivacity  of  their  con- 
versation. The  love  for  literature  seems  to  ah  Englishman 
doubly  curious.  What,  generally  speaking,  do  a company 
of  grave  gentlemen  and  ladies  in  Baker  Street  know  about 
it  ? Who  ever  reads  books  in  the  City,  or  how  often  does 
one  hear  them  talked  about  at  a Club  ? The  Cork  citizens 
are  the  most  book-loving  men  I ever  met.  The  town  has 
sent  to  England  a number  of  literary  men,  of  reputation  too, 
and  is  not  a little  proud  of  their  fame.  Everybody  seemed 
to  know  what  Maginn  was  doing,  and  that  Father  Trout  had 
a third  volume  ready,  and  what  was  Mr.  Croker’s  last  arti- 
cle in  the  Quarterly . The  young  clerks  and  shopmen 
seemed  as  much  an  fait  as  their  employers,  and  many  is 
the  conversation  I heard  about  the  merits  of  this  writer  or 
that  — Dickens,  Ainsworth,  Lover,  Lever. 

I think,  in  walking  the  streets,  and  looking  at  the  ragged 
urchins  crowding  there,  every  Englishman  must  remark  that 
the  superiority  of  intelligence  is  here,  and  not  with  us.  I 
never  saw  such  a collection  of  bright-eyed,  wild,  clever, 
eager  faces.  Mr.  Maclise  has  carried  away  a number  of 
them  in  his  memory  ; and  the  lovers  of  his  admirable  pic- 
tures will  find  more  than  one  Munster  countenance  under  a 
helmet  in  company  of  Macbeth,  or  in  a slashed  doublet 
alongside  of  Prince  Hamlet,  or  in  the  very  midst  of  Spain 
in  company  with  Senor  Gil  Bias.  Gil  Bias  himself  came 
from  Cork,  and  not  from  Oviedo. 

I listened  to  two  boys  almost  in  rags  : they  were  lolling 
over  the  quay  balustrade,  and  talking  about  one  of  the 
Ptolemys ! and  talking  very  well  too.  One  of  them  had 
been  reading  in  “ Rollin,”  and  was  detailing  his  information 
with  a great  deal  of  eloquence  and  fire.  Another  day,  walk- 
ing in  the  Mardyke,  I followed  three  boys,  not  half  so  well 
dressed  as  London  errand-boys : one  was  telling  the  other 
about  Captain  Ross’s  voyages,  and  spoke  with  as  much 
brightness  and  intelligence  as  the  best-read  gentleman’s  son 
in  England  could  do.  He  was  as  much  of  a gentleman  too, 
the  ragged  young  student ; his  manner  as  good,  though  per- 
haps more  eager  and  emphatic ; his  language  was  extreme- 
ly rich,  too,  and  eloquent.  Does  the  reader  remember  his 
school-days,  when  half  a dozen  lads  in  the  bedrooms  took  it 
by  turns  to  tell  stories  ? how  poor  the  language  generally 
was,,  and  how  exceedingly  poor  the  imagination ! Both 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK . 


81 


of  those  ragged  Irish  lads  had  the  making  of  gentlemen, 
scholars,  orators,  in  them.  Apropos  of  love  of  reading,  let 
me  mention  here  a Dublin  story.  Dr.  Lever,  the  celebrated 
author  of  “ Harry  Lorrequer,”  went  into  Dycer’s  stables  to 
buy  a horse.  The  groom  who  brought  the  animal  out,  di- 
rectly he  heard  who  the  gentleman  was,  came  out  and 
touched  his  cap,  and  pointed  to  a little  book  in  his  pocket 
in  a pink  cover.  “ I can’t  do  without  it,  sir  ” says  the  man. 
It  was  “ Harry  Lorrequer.”  I wonder  does  any  one  of  Mr. 
RymelFs  grooms  take  in  “Pickwick,”  or  would  they  have 
any  curiosity  to  see  Mr.  Dickens,  should  he  pass  that 
way  ? 

The  Corkagians  are  eager  for  a Munster  University ; ask- 
ing for,  and  having  a very  good  right  to,  the  same  privilege 
which  has  been  granted  to  the  chief  city  of  the  North  of 
Ireland.  It  would  not  fail  of  being  a great  benefit  to  the 
city  and  to  the  country  too,  which  would  have  no  need  to 
go  so  far  as  Dublin  for  a school  of  letters  and  medicine ; 
nor,  Whig  and  Catholic  for  the  most  part,  to  attend  a Tory 
and  Protestant  University.  The  establishing  of  an  open 
college  in  Munster  would  bring  much  popularity  to  any 
Ministry  that  should  accord  such  a boon.  People  would  cry 
out,  “Popery  and  Infidelity,”  doubtless,  as  they  did  when 
the  London  University  was  established;  as  the  same  party 
in  Spain  would  cry  out,  “ Atheism  and  Heresy.”  But  the 
time,  thank  God ! is  gone  by  in  England  when  it  was 
necessary  to  legislate  for  them;  and  Sir  Robert  Peel,  in 
giving  his  adherence  to  the  National  Education  scheme,  has 
sanctioned  the  principle  of  which  this  so  much  longed-for 
college  would  only  be  a consequence. 

The  medical  charities  and  hospitals  are  said  to  be  very 
well  arranged,  and  the  medical  men  of  far  more  than  ordi- 
nary skill.  Other  public  institutions  are  no  less  excellent. 
I was  taken  over  the  Lunatic  Asylum,  where  everything 
was  conducted  with  admirable  comfort,  cleanliness,  and 
kindness;  and  as  for  the  county  jail,  it  is  so  neat,  spacious, 
and  comfortable,  that  we  can  only  pray  to  see  every  cot- 
tager in  the  country  as  cleanly,  well  lodged,  and  well  fed  as 
the  convicts  are.  They  get  a pound  of  bread  and  a pint  of 
milk  twice  a day : there  must  be  millions  of  people  in  this 
wretched  country,  to  whom  such  food  would  be  a luxury 
that  their  utmost  labors  can  never  by  possibility  procure 
for  them;  and  in  going  over  this  admirable  institution, 
where  everybody  is  cleanly,  healthy,  and  well  clad,  I could 

VOL.  II. 0 


82 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK 


not  but  think  of  the  rags  and  filth  of  the  horrid  starvation 
market  before  mentioned;  so  that  the  prison  seemed  al- 
most a sort  of  premium  for  vice.  But  the  people  like  their 
freedom,  such  as  it  is,  and  prefer  to  starve  and  be  ragged  as 
they  list.  They  will  not  go  to  the  poor-houses,  except  at 
the  greatest  extremity,  and  leave  them  on  the  slightest 
chance  of  existence  elsewhere. 

Walking  away  from  this  palace  of  a prison,  you  pass 
amidst  all  sorts  of  delightful  verdure,  cheerful  gardens,  and 
broad  green  luscious  pastures,  down  to  the  beautiful  River 
Lee.  On  one  side,  the  river  shines  away  towards  the  city 
with  its  towers  and  purple  steeples ; on  the  other  it  is  bro- 
ken by  little  water-falls  and  bound  in  by  blue  hills,  an  old 
castle  towering  in  the  distance,  and  innumerable  parks  and 
villas  lying  along  the  pleasant  wooded  banks.  How  beau- 
tiful the  scene  is,  how  rich  and  how  happy!  Yonder,  in 
the  old  Mardyke  Avenue,  you  hear  the  voices  of  a score  of 
children,  and  along  the  bright  green  meadows,  where  the 
cows  are  feeding,  the  gentle  shadows  of  the  clouds  go  pla}^ 
ing  over  the  grass.  Who  can  look  at  such  a charming 
scene  but  with  a thankful  swelling  heart  ? 

In  the  midst  of  your  pleasure,  three  beggars  have  hobbled 
up,  and  are  howling  supplications  to  the  Lord.  One  is  old 
and  blind,  and  so  diseased  and  hideous  that  straightway  all 
the  pleasure  of  the  sight  round  about  vanishes  from  you  — 
that  livid  ghastly  face  interposing  between  you  and  it. 
And  so  it  is  throughout  the  south  and  west  of  Ireland ; the 
traveller  is  haunted  by  the  face  of  the  popular  starvation. 
It  is  not  the  exception,  it  is  the  condition  of  the  people. 
In  this  fairest  and  richest  of  countries,  men  are  suffering 
and  starving  by  millions.  There  are  thousands  of  them  at 
this  minute  stretched  in  the  sunshine  at  their  cabin  doors 
with  no  work,  scarcely  any  food,  no  hope  seemingly. 
Strong  countrymen  are  lying  in  bed  “ for  the  hunger  ” — be- 
cause a man  lying  on  his  back  does  not  need  so  much  food 
as  a person  afoot.  Many  of  them  have  torn  up  the  unripe 
potatoes  from  their  little  gardens,  to  exist  now,  and  must 
look  to  winter,  when  they  shall  have  to  suffer  starvation 
and  cold  too.  The  epicurean,  and  traveller  for  pleasure, 
had  better  travel  anywhere  than  here : where  there  are 
miseries  that  one  does  not  dare  to  think  of ; where  one 
is  always  feeling  how  helpless  pity  is,  and  how  hope- 
less relief,  and  is  perpetually  made  ashamed  of  being 
happy.  . . , 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


83 


I have  just  been  strolling  up  a pretty  little  height  called 
Grattan’s  Hill,  that  overlooks  the  town  and  the  river,  and 
where  the  artist  that  conies  Cork-wards  may  find  many 
subjects  for  his  pencil.  There  is  a kind  of  pleasure-ground 
at  the  top  of  this  eminence  — a broad  walk  that  draggles 
up  to  a ruined  wall,  with  a ruined  niche  in  it,  and  a bat- 
tered stone  bench.  On  the  side  that  shelves  down  to  the 
water  are  some  beeches,  and  opposite  them  a row  of  houses 
from  which  you  see  one  of  the  prettiest  prospects  possible 
— the  shining  river  with  the  craft  along  the  quays,  and  the 
busy  city  in  the  distance,  the  active  little  steamers  puffing 
away  towards  Cove,  the  farther  bank  crowned  with  rich 
woods,  and  pleasant-looking  country-houses : perhaps  they 
are  tumbling,  rickety  and  ruinous,  as  those  houses  close  by 
us,  but  you  can’t  see  the  ruin  from  here. 

What  a strange  air  of  forlorn  gayety  there  is  about  the 
place  ! — the  sky  itself  seems  as  if  it  did  not  know  whether 
to  laugh  or  cry,  so  full  is  it  of  clouds  and  sunshine.  Little 
fat,  ragged,  smiling  children  are  clambering  about  the 
rocks,  and  sitting  on  mossy  door-steps,  tending  other 
children  yet  smaller,  fatter,  and  more  dirty.  “ Stop  till  I 
get  you  a posy”  (pronounced  pawawawsee ),  cries  one 
urchin  to  another.  “Tell  me  who  is  it  ye  love,  Jooly?” 
exclaims  another,  cuddling  a red-faced  infant  with  a very 
dirty  nose.  More  of  the  same  race  are  perched  about  the 
summer-house,  and  two  wenches  with  large  purple  feet 
are  flapping  some  carpets  in  the  air.  It  is  a wonder  the 
carpets  will  bear  this  kind  of  treatment  at  all,  and  do  not 
be  off  at  once  to  mingle  with  the  elements : I never  saw 
things  that  hung  to  life  by  such  a frail  thread. 

This  dismal  pleasant  place  is  a suburb  of  the  second  city 
in  Ireland,  and  one  of  the  most  beautiful  spots  about  the 
town.  What  a prim,  bustling,  active,  green-railinged, 
tea-gardened,  gravel-walked  place  would  it  have  been  in 
the  five-hundredth  town  in  England ! — but  you  see  the 
people  can  be  quite  as  happy  in  the  rags  and  without  the 
paint,  and  I hear  a great  deal  more  heartiness  and  affection 
from  these  children  than  from  their  fat  little  brethren 
across  the  Channel. 

If  a man  wanted  to  study  ruins,  here  is  a house  close  at 
hand,  not  forty  years  old  no  doubt,  but  yet  as  completely 
gone  to  wreck  as  Netley  Abbey.  It  is  quite  curious  to 
study  that  house ; and  a pretty  ruinous  fabric  of  improvi- 
dence, extravagance,  happiness,  and  disaster  may  the  imag- 


84 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


ination  build  out  of  it ! In  the  first  place,  the  owners  did 
not  wait  to  finish  it  before  they  went  to  inhabit  it ! This 
is  written  in  just  such  another  place;  — a handsome  draw- 
ing-room with  a good  carpet,  a lofty  marble  mantle-piece, 
and  no  paper  on  the  walls.  The  door  is  prettily  painted 
white  and  blue,  and  though  not  six  weeks  old,  a great 
piece  of  the  wood-work  is  off  already  (Peggy  uses  it 
to  prevent  the  door  from  banging  to) ; and  there  are  some 
fine  chinks  in  every  one  of  the  panels,  by  which  my  neigh- 
bor may  see  all  my  doings. 

A couple  of  score  of  years,  and  this  house  will  be  just 
like  yonder  place  on  Grattan’s  Hill. 

Like  a young  prodigal,  the  house  begins  to  use  its  con- 
stitution too  early  ; and  when  it  should  yet  (in  the  shape 
of  carpenters  and  painters)  have  all  its  masters  and  guar- 
dians to  watch  and  educate  it,  my  house  on  Grattan’s  Hill 
must  be  a man  at  once,  and  enjoy  all  the  privileges  of 
strong  health ! I would  lay  a guinea  they  were  making 
punch  in  that  house  before  they  could  keep  the  rain  out  of 
it ! that  they  had  a dinner-party  and  ball  before  the  floors 
were  firm  or  the  wainscots  painted,  and  a fine  tester-bed  in 
the  best  room,  where  my  lady  might  catch  cold  in  state,  in 
the  midst  of  yawning  chimneys,  creaking  window-sashes, 
and  smoking  plaster. 

How  look  at  the  door  of  the  coach-house,  with  its  first 
coat  of  paint  seen  yet,  and  a variety  of  patches  to  keep  the 
feeble  barrier  together.  The  loft  was  arched  once,  but  a 
great  corner  has  tumbled  at  one  end,  leaving  a gash  that 
unites  the  windows  with  the  coach-house  door.  Several  of 
the  arch-stones  are  removed,  and  the  whole  edifice  is  about 
as  rambling  and  disorderly  as  — as  the  arrangement  of 
this  book,  say.  Very  tall  tufts  of  mouldy  moss  are  on  the 
drawing-room  windows,  with  long  white  heads  of  grass. 
As  I am  sketching  this  — honk!  — a great  lean  sow  comes 
trampling  through  the  slush  within  the  court-yard,  breaks 
down  the  flimsy  apparatus  of  rattling  boards  and  stones 
which  had  passed  for  the  gate,  and  walks  with  her  seven 
scpieaking  little  ones  to  disport  on  the  grass  on  the  hill. 

The  drawing-room  of  the  tenement  mentioned  just  now, 
with  its  pictures,  and  pulleyless  windows,  and  lockless 
doors,  was  tenanted  by  a friend  who  lodged  there  with 
a sick  wife  and  a couple  of  little  children-;  one  of 
whom  was  an  infant  in  .arms.  It  is  not,  however,  the 
lodger  — who  is  an  Englishman  — but  the  kind  landlady 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


85 


and  her  family  who  may  well  be  described  here  — for  their 
like  are  hardly  to  be  found  on  the  other  side  of  the  Chan- 
nel. Mrs.  Fagan  is  a young  widow  who  has  seen  better 
days,  and  that  portrait  over  the  grand  mantle-piece  is  the 
picture  of  her  husband  that  is  gone,  a handsome  young 
man,  and  well  to  do  at  one  time  as  a merchant.  But 
the  widow  (she  is  as  pretty,  as  lady-like,  as  kind,  and  as 
neat  as  ever  widow  could  be)  has  little  left  to  live  upon 
but  the  rent  of  her  lodgings  and  her  furniture ; of  which 
we  have  seen  the  best  in  the  drawing-room. 

She  has  three  fine  children  of  her  own : there  is  Minny, 
and  Katey,  and  Patsey,  and  they  occupy  indifferently  the 
dining-room  on  the  ground-floor  or  the  kitchen  opposite ; 
where  in  the  midst  of  a great  smoke  sits  an  old  nurse,  by  a 
copper  of  potatoes  which  is  always  bubbling  and  full. 
Patsey  swallows  quantities  of  them,  that's  clear : his 
cheeks  are  as  red  and  shining  as  apples,  and  when  he  roars, 
you  are  sure  that  his  lungs  are  in  the  finest  condition. 
Next  door  to  the  kitchen  is  the  pantry,  and  there  is  a 
bucketful  of  the  before-mentioned  fruit  and  a grand  service 
of  china  for  dinner  and  dessert.  The  kind  young  widow 
shows  them  with  no  little  pride,  and  says  with  reason  that 
there  are  few  lodging-houses  in  Cork  that  can  match  such 
china  as  that.  They  are  relics  of  the  happy  old  times 
when  Fagan  kept  his  gig  and  horse,  doubtless,  and  had  his 
friends  to  dine  — the  happy  prosperous  days  which  she  has 
exchanged  for  poverty  and  the  sad  black  gown. 

Patsey,  Minny,  and  Katey  have  made  friends  with  the 
little  English  people  upstairs ; the  elder  of  whom,  in  the 
course  of  a month,  has  as  fine  a Munster  brogue  as  ever 
trolled  over  the  lips  of  any  born  Corkagian.  The  old 
nurse  carries  out  the  whole  united  party  to  walk,  with  the 
exception  of  the  English  baby,  that  jumps  about  in  the 
arms  of  a countrywoman  of  her  own.  That  is,  unless  one 
of  the  four  Miss  Fagans  takes  her;  for  four  of  them  there 
are,  four  other  Miss  Fagans,  from  eighteen  downwards  to 
fourteen : — handsome,  fresh,  lively,  dancing,  bouncing 
girls.  You  may  always  see  two  or  three  of  them  smil- 
ing at  the  parlor-window,  and  they  laugh  and  turn  away 
their  heads  when  any  young  fellow  looks  and  admires 
them. 

Now  it  stands  to  reason  that  a young  widow  of  five-and- 
twenty  can’t  be  the  mother  of  four  young  ladies  of  eigh- 
teen downwards : and,  if  anybody  wants  to  know  how  they 


8(3 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


came  to  be  living  with  the  poor  widow  their  cousin,  the 
answer  is,  they  are  on  a visit.  Peggy  the  maid  says  their 
papa  is  a gentleman  of  property,  and  can  “ spend  his  eight 
hundred  a year.” 

Why  don’t  they  remain  with  the  old  gentleman  then, 
instead  of  quartering  on  the  poor  widow,  who  has  her  own 
little  mouths  to  feed  ? The  reason  is,  the  old  gentleman 
has  gone  and  married  his  cook ; and  the  daughters  have 
quitted  him  in  a body,  refusing  to  sit  down  to  dinner  with 
a person  who  ought  by  rights  to  be  in  the  kitchen.  The 
whole  family  (the  Fagans  are  of  good  family)  take  the 
quarrel  up,  and  here  are  the  young  people  under  shelter  of 
the  widow. 

Four  merrier  tender-hearted  girls  are  not  to  be  found  in 
all  Ireland ; and  the  only  subject  of  contention  amongst 
them  is,  which  shall  have  the  English  baby : they  are 
nursing  it,  and  singing  to  it,  and  dandling  it  by  turns  all 
day  long.  When  they  are  not  singing  to  the  baby,  they  are 
singing  to  an  old  piano : such  an  old  wiry,  jingling,  wheezy 
piano!  It  has  plenty  of  work,  playing  jigs  and  song 
accompaniments  between  meals,  and  acting  as  a sideboard 
at  dinner.  I am  not  sure  that  it  is  at  rest  at  night  either; 
but  have  a shrewd  suspicion  that  it  is  turned  into  a four- 
post  bed.  And  for  the  following  reason  : — 

Every  afternoon,  at  four  o’clock,  you  see  a tall  old 
gentleman  walking  leisurely  to  the  house.  He  is  dressed 
in  a long  great-coat  with  huge  pockets,  and  in  the  huge 
pockets  are  sure  to  be  some  big  apples  for  all  the  children 
— the  English  child  amongst  the  rest,  and  she  generally  has 
the  biggest  one.  At  seven  o’clock,  you  are  sure  to  hear  a 
deep  voice  shouting  “ Paggy  ! ” in  an  awful  tone  — it  is  the 
old  gentleman  calling  for  his  “ materials  ” ; which  Peggy 
brings  without  any  farther  ado ; and  a glass  of  punch  is 
made,  no  doubt,  for  everybody.  Then  the  party  separates : 
the  children  and  the  old  nurse  have  long  since  trampled 
upstairs ; Peggy  has  the  kitchen  for  her  sleeping  apart- 
ment, and  the  four  young  ladies  make  it  out  somehow 
in  the  back  drawing-room.  As  for  the  old  gentleman, 
he  reposes  in  the  parlor ; and  it  must  be  somewhere  about 
the  piano,  for  there  is  no  furniture  in  the  room  except  that, 
a table,  a few  old  chairs,  a work-box,  and  a couple  of 
albums. 

The  English  girl’s  father  met  her  in  the  street  one  day, 
talking  confidentially  with  a tall  old  gentleman  in  a great- 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


87 


coat.  “ Who’s  your  friend  ? ” says  the  Englishman  after- 
wards to  the  little  girl.  “ Don’t  you  know  him,  papa  ? ” said 
the  child  in  the  purest  brogue.  “ Don’t  you  know  him  ? — 
That’s  Uncle  James  ! ” And  so  it  was : in  this  kind, 
poor,  generous,  barebacked  house,  the  English  child  found 
a set  of  new  relations ; little  rosy  brothers  and  sisters  to 
play  with,  kind  women  to  take  the  place  of  the  almost 
dying  mother,  a good  old  Uncle  James  to  bring  her  home 
apples  and  care  for  her  — one  and  all  ready  to  share 
their  little  pittance  with  her,  and  to  give  her  a place  in 
their  simple  friendly  hearts.  God  almighty  bless  the 
widow  and  her  mite,  and  all  the  kind  souls  under  her 
roof ! 

How  much  goodness  and  generosity  — how  much  purity, 
fine  feeling  — nay,  happiness  — may  dwell  amongst  the 
poor  whom  we  have  been  just  looking  at ! Here,  thank 
God,  is  an  instance  of  this  happy  and  cheerful  poverty : 
and  it  is  good  to  look,  when  one  can,  at  the  heart  that 
beats  under  the  threadbare  coat  as  well  as  the  tattered  old 
garment  itself.  Well,  please  heaven,  some  of  those  people 
whom  we  have  been  looking  at,  are  as  good,  and  not 
much  less  happy : but  though  they  are  accustomed  to 
their  want,  the  stranger  does  not  reconcile  himself  to  it 
quickly ; and  I hope  no  Irish  reader  will  be  offended  at 
my  speaking  of  this  poverty,  not  with  scorn  or  ill-feeling, 
but  with  hearty  sympathy  and  good-will. 

One  word  more  regarding  the  Widow  Eagan’s  house. 
When  Peggy  brought  in  coals  for  the  drawing-room  fire, 
she  carried  them  — in  what  do  you  think  ? “In  a coal- 
scuttle, to  be  sure,”  says  the  English  reader,  down  on  you 
as  sharp  as  a needle. 

No,  you  clever  Englishman,  it  wasn’t  a coal-scuttle. 

“ Well,  then,  it  was  in  a fire-shovel,”  says  that  brightest 
of  wits,  guessing  again. 

No,  it  wasn't  a fire-shovel,  you  heaven-born  genius ; 
and  you  might  guess  from  this  until  Mrs.  Snooks  called 
you  up  to  coffee,  and  you  would  never  find  out.  It  was  in 
something  which  I have  already  described  in  Mrs.  Fagan’s 
pantry. 

“ Oh,  I have  you  now,  it  was  the  bucket  where  the 
potatoes  were ; the  thlatterny  wetch ! ” says  Snooks. 

Wrong  again  ! Peggy  brought  up  the  coals  — in  a china 

PLATE. 


88 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


Snooks  turns  quite  white  with  surprise  and  almost 
chokes  himself  with  his  port.  “Well,”  says  he,  “of  all 
the  wum,  countwith  that  I ever  wead  of,  hang  me  if  Ireland 
ithn’t  the  wummetht.  Coalth  in  a plate ! Mawyann,  do 
you  hear  that  ? In  Ireland  they  alwayth  thend  up  their 
coalth  in  a plate  ! ” 


/ 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


FROM  CORK  TO  BANTRY  ; WITH  AN  ACCOUNT  OF  THE  CITY 
OF  SKIBBEREEN. 


HAT  light  four-inside, 
four-horse  coach,  the 
“ Skibbereen  Persever- 
ance,” brought  me  fifty- 
two  miles  to-day,  for  the 
sum  of  three-and-six- 
pence,  through  a coun- 
try which  is,  as  usual, 
somewhat  difficult  to 
describe.  We  issued 
out  of  Cork  by  the 
western  road,  in  which, 
as  the  Guide-book  says, 
there  is  something  very 
imposing.  “ The  mag- 
nificence of  the  county 
court-house,  the  extent, 
solidity  and  character- 
istic sternness  of  the  county  jail,”  were  visible  to  us  for 
a few  minutes ; when,  turning  away  southward  from  the 
pleasant  banks  of  the  stream,  the  road  took  us  towards 
Bandon,  through  a country  that  is  bare  and  ragged-look- 
ing, but  yet  green  and  pretty ; and  it  always  seems  to  me, 
like  the  people,  to  look  cheerful  in  spite  of  its  wretched- 
ness, or  more  correctly,  to  look  tearful  and  cheerful  at  the 
same  time. 

The  coach,  like  almost  every  other  public  vehicle  I have 
seen  in  Ireland,  was  full  to  the  brim  and  over  it.  What 
can  send  these  restless  people  travelling  and  hurrying 
about  from  place  to  place  as  they  do  ? I have  heard  one 
or  two  gentlemen  hint  that  they  had  “ business  ” at  this 
place  or  that ; and  found  afterwards  that  one  was  going  a 
couple  of  score  of  miles  to  look  at  a mare,  another  to 

89 


90 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  HOOK. 


examine  a setter-dog,  and  so  on.  I did  not  make  it  my 
business  to  ask  on  what  errand  the  gentlemen  on  the 
coach  were  bound ; though  two  of  them,  seeing  an  English- 
man, very  good-naturedly  began  chalking  out  a route  for  him 
to  take,  and  showing  a sort  of  interest  in  his  affairs  which 
is  not  with  us  generally  exhibited.  The  coach,  too,  seemed 
to  have  the  elastic  hospitality  of  some  Irish  houses; 
it  accommodated  an  almost  impossible  number.  For  the 
greater  part  of  the  journey  the  little  guard  sat  on  the 
roof  among  the  carpet-bags,  holding  in  one  hand  a huge 
tambour-frame,  in  the  other  a band-box  marked  “ Foggarty, 
Hatter. ” (What  is  there  more  ridiculous  in  the  name  of 
Foggarty  than  in  that  of  Smith?  and  yet,  had  Smith 
been  the  name,  I never  should  have  laughed  at  or  remarked 
it).  Presently  by  his  side  clambered  a green-coated  police- 
man with  his  carbine,  and  we  had  a talk  about  the  vitriol- 
throwers  at  Cork,  and  the  sentence  just  passed  upon  them. 
The  populace  has  decidedly  taken  part  with  the  vitriol- 
throwers  : parties  of  dragoons  were  obliged  to  surround 
the  avenues  of  the  court ; and  the  judge  who  sentenced 
them  was  abused  as  he  entered  his  carriage,  and  called  an 
old  villain,  and  many  other  opprobrious  names. 

This  case  the  reader  very  likely  remembers.  A saw-mill 
was  established  at  Cork,  by  which  some  four  hundred 
sawyers  were  thrown  out  of  employ.  In  order  to  deter 
the  proprietors  of  this  and  all  other  mills  from  using 
such  instruments  further,  the  sawyers  determined  to 
execute  a terrible  vengeance,  and  cast  lots  among  them- 
selves which  of  their  body  should  fling  vitriol  into  the 
faces  of  the  mill-owners.  The  men  who  were  chosen 
by  the  lot  were  to  execute  this  horrible  oflice  on  pain 
of  death,  and  did  so,  — frightfully  burning  and  blinding 
one  of  the  gentlemen  owning  the  mill.  Great  rewards 
were  offered  for  the  apprehension  of  the  criminals,  and 
at  last  one  of  their  own  body  came  forward  as  an 
approver,  and  the  four  principal  actors  in  this  dreadful 
outrage  were  sentenced  to  be  transported  for  life.  Crowds 
of  the  ragged  admirers  of  these  men  were  standing  round 
“ the  magnificent  county  court-house  ” as  we  passed  the 
building.  Ours  is  a strange  life  indeed.  What  a history 
of  poverty  and  barbarity,  and  crime,  and  even  kindness, 
was  that  by  which  we  passed  before  the  magnificent 
county  court-house  at  eight  miles  an  hour ! What  a 
chapter  might  a philosopher  write  on  them  ! Look  yon- 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


91 


cler  at  those  two  hundred  ragged  fellow-subjects  of  yours : 
they  are  kind,  good,  pious,  brutal,  starving.  If  a priest 
tells  them,  there  is  scarce  any  penance  they  will  not 
perform ; there  is  scarcely  any  pitch  of  misery  which 
they  have  not  been  known  to  endure,  nor  any  degree  of 
generosity  of  which  they  are  not  capable : but  if  a man 
comes  among  these  people,  and  can  afford  to  take  land 
over  their  heads,  or  if  he  invents  a machine  which  can 
work  more  economically  than  their  labor,  they  will  shoot 
the  man  down  without  mercy,  murder  him,  or  put  him 
to  horrible  tortures,  and  glory  almost  in  what  they  do. 
There  stand  the  men ; they  are  only  separated  from  us 
by  a few  paces : they  are  as  fond  of  their  mothers  and 
children  as  we  are ; their  gratitude  for  small  kindnesses 
shown  to  them  is  extraordinary  ; they  are  Christians  as 
we  are ; but  interfere  with  their  interests,  and  they  will 
murder  you  without  pity. 

It  is  not  revenge  so  much  which  these  poor  fellows  take, 
as  a brutal  justice  of  their  own.  Now,  will  it  seem  a para- 
dox to  say,  in  regard  to  them  and  their  murderous  system, 
that  the  way  to  put  an  end  to  the  latter  is  to  kill  them  no  more  ! 
Let  the  priest  be  able  to  go  amongst  them  and  say,  The  law 
holds  a man’s  life  so  sacred  that  it  will  on  no  account  take 
it  away.  No  man,  nor  body  of  men,  has  a right  to  meddle 
with  human  life  : not  the  Commons  of  England  any  more 
than  the  Commons  of  Tipperary.  This  may  cost  two  or 
three  lives,  probably,  until  such  a time  as  the  system  may 
come  to  be  known  and  understood ; but  which  will  be  the 
greatest  economy  of  blood  in  the  end? 

By  this  time  the  vitriol-men  were  long  passed  away,  and 
we  began  next  to  talk  about  the  Cork  and  London  steam- 
boats ; which  are  made  to  pay,  on  account  of  the  number 
of  paupers  whom  the  boats  bring  over  from  London  at 
the  charge  of  that  city.  The  passengers  found  here,  as  in 
everything  else  almost  which  I have  seen  as  yet,  another 
instance  of  the  injury  which  England  inflicts  on  them. 
“As  long  as  these  men  are  strong  and  can  work,”  says 
one,  “you  keep  them;  when  they  are  in  bad  health  you 
fling  them  upon  us.”  Nor  could  I convince  him  that  the 
agricultural  gentlemen  were  perfectly  free  to  stay  at  home 
if  they  liked : that  we  did  for  them  what  was  done  for 
English  paupers  — sent  them,  namely,  as  far  as  possible 
on  the  way  to  their  parishes  ; nay,  that  some  of  them  (as  T 
have  seen  with  my  own  eyes)  actually  saved  a bit  of  money 


92 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


during  tlie  harvest,  and  took  this  cheap  way  of  conveying 
it  and  themselves  to  their  homes  again.  But  nothing 
would  convince  the  gentleman  that  there  was  not  some 
wicked  scheming  on  the  part  of  the  English  in  the  busi- 
ness ; and,  indeed,  I find  upon  almost  every  other  subject  a 
peevish  and  puerile  suspiciousness  which  is  worthy  of 
France  itself. 

By  this  time  we  came  to  a pretty  village  called  I nni shan- 
non upon  the  noble  banks  of  the  Bandon  river ; leading  for 
three  miles  by  a great  number  of  pleasant  gentlemen’s 
seats  to  Bandon  town.  A good  number  of  large  mills 
were  on  the  banks  of  the  stream;  and  the  chief  part  of 
them,  as  in  Carlow,  useless.  One  mill  we  saw  was  too 
small  for  the  owner’s  great  speculations  ; and  so  he  built 
another  and  larger  one : the  big  mill  cost  him  10.000Z., 
for  which  his  brothers  went  security ; and,  a lawsuit  being 
given  against  the  mill-owner,  the  two  mills  stopped, 
the  two  brothers  went  off,  and  yon  fine  old  house,  in  the 
style  of  Anne,  with  terraces  and  tall  chimneys  — one  of 
the  oldest  country-houses  I have  seen  in  Ireland  — is  now 
inhabited  by  the  natural  son  of  the  mill-owner,  who  has 
more  such  interesting  progeny.  Then  we  came  to  a tall, 
comfortable  house  in  a plantation ; opposite  to  which 
was  a stone  castle,  in  its  shrubberies  on  the  other  side  of 
the  road.  The  tall  house  in  the  plantation  shot  the 
opposite  side  of  the  road  in  a duel,  and  nearly  killed 
him ; on  which  the  opposite  side  of  the  road  built  this 
castle,  in  order  to  plague  the  tall  house.  They  are  good 
friends  now;  but  the  opposite  side  of  the  road  ruined 
himself  in  building  his  house.  I asked,  66  Is  the  house 
finished?”  — “A  good  deal  of  it  is,”  was  the  answer. — 
And  then  we  came  to  a brewery,  about  which  was  a similar 
story  of  extravagance  and  ruin ; but  whether  before  or 
after  entering  Bandon,  does  not  matter. 

We  did  not,  it  appears,  pass  through  the  best  part  of 
Bandon : I looked  along  one  side  of  the  houses  in  the  long 
street  through  which  we  went,  to  see  if  there  was  a window 
without  a broken  pane  of  glass,  and  can  declare  on  my  con- 
science that  every  single  window  had  three  broken  panes. 
There  we  changed  horses,  in  a market-place,  surrounded,  as 
usual,  by  beggars ; then  we  passed  through  a suburb  still 
more  wretched  and  ruinous  than  the  first  street,  and  which, 
in  very  large  letters,  is  called  doyle  street  : and  the  next 
stage  was  at  a place  called  Punmanway. 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


93 


Here  it  was  market-day,  too,  and,  as  usual,  no  lack  of  at- 
tendants : swarms  of  peasants  in  their  blue  cloaks,  squatting 
by  their  stalls  here  and  there.  There  is  a little  miserable 
old  market-house,  where  a few  women  were  selling  butter- 
milk ; another,  bullocks’  hearts,  liver,  and  such  like  scraps 
of  meat ; another  had  dried  mackerel  on  a board ; and 
plenty  of  people  huckstering  of  course.  Bound  the  coach 
came  crowds  of  raggery,  and  blackguards  fawning  for 
money.  I wonder  who  gives  them  any  ! I have  never 
seen  any  one  give  yet ; and  were  they  not  even  so  numer- 


ous that  it  would  be  impossible  to  gratify  them  all,  there  is 
something  in  their  cant  and  supplications  to  the  Lord  so 
disgusting  to  me  that  I could  not  give  a half-penny. 

In  regard  of  pretty  faces,  male  or  female,  this  road  is 
very  unfavorable.  I have  not  seen  one  for  fifty  miles  : 
though,  as  it  was  market-day  all  along  the  road,  we  have 
had  the  opportunity  to  examine  vast  numbers  of  counte- 
nances. The  women  are,  for  the  most  part,  stunted,  short, 
with  flat  Tartar  faces  ; and  the  men  no  handsomer.  Every 
woman  has  bare  legs,  of  course  ; and  as  the  weather  is  fine, 
they  are  sitting  outside  their  cabins,  with  the  pig,  and  the 
geese,  and  the  children  sporting  around. 

Before  many  doors  we  saw  a little  flock  of  these  useful 
animals,  and  the  family  pig  almost  everywhere  : you  might 
see  him  browsing  and  poking  along  the  hedges,  his  fore 


94 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


and  hind  leg  attached  with  a wisp  of  hay  to  check  his  pro- 
pensity to  roaming.  Here  and  there  were  a small  brood  of 
turkeys  ; now  and  then  a couple  of  sheep  or  a single  one 
grazing  upon  a scanty  field,  of  which  the  chief  crop  seemed 
to  be  thistles  and  stone ; and  by  the  side  of  the  cottage, 
the  potato-field  always. 

The  character  of  the  landscape  for  the  most  part  is  bare 
and  sad  ; except  here  and  there  in  the  neighborhood  of  the 
towns,  where  people  have  taken  a fancy  to  plant,  and  where 
nature  has  helped  them,  as  it  almost  always  will  in  this 
country.  If  we  saw  a field  with  a good  hedge  to  it,  we 
were  sure  to  see  a good  crop  inside.  Many  a field  was  there 
that  had  neither  crop  nor  hedge.  We  passed  by  and  over 
many  pretty  streams,  running  bright  through  brilliant 
emerald  meadows  : and  I saw  a thousand  charming  pictures 
which  want  as  yet  an  Irish  Berghem.  A bright  road  wind- 
ing up  a hill ; on  it  a country  cart,  with  its  load,  stretching 
a huge  shadow ; the  before-mentioned  emerald  pastures 
and  silver  rivers  in  the  foreground ; a noble  sweep  of  hills 
rising  up  from  them,  and  contrasting  their  magnificent 
purple  with  the  green ; in  the  extreme  distance  the  clear 
cold  outline  of  some  far-off  mountains,  and  the  white  clouds 
tumbled  about  in  the  blue  sky  overhead.  It  has  no  doubt 
struck  all  persons  who  love  to  look  at  nature,  how  different 
the  skies  are  in  different  countries.  I fancy  Irish  or  French 
clouds  are  as  characteristic  as  Irish  or  French  landscapes. 
It  would  be  well  to  have  a daguerreotype  and  get  a series  of 
each.  Some  way  beyond  Dunmanway  the  road  takes  us 
through  a noble  savage  country  of  rocks  and  heath.  Nor 
must  the  painter  forget  long  black  tracts  of  bog  here  and 
there,  and  the  water  glistening  brightly  at  the  places  where 
the  turf  has  been  cut  away.  Add  to  this,  and  chieity  by 
the  banks  of  rivers,  a ruined  old  castle  or  two : some  were 
built  by  the  Danes,  it  is  said.  The  O’Connors,  the 
O’Mahony’s,  the  O’Driscolls  were  lords  of  many  others, 
and  their  ruined  towers  may  be  seen  here  and  along  the 
sea. 

Near  Dunmanway  that  great  coach,  “The  Skibbereen  In- 
dustry,” dashed  by  us  at  seven  miles  an  hour ; a wondrous 
vehicle  : there  were  gaps  between  every  one  of  the  panels ; 
you  could  see  daylight  through-and-through  it.  Like  our 
machine,  it  was  full,  with  three  complementary  sailors  on 
the  roof,  as  little  harness  as  possible  to  the  horses,  and  as 
long  stages  as  horses  can  well  endure ; ours  were  each 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


95 


eighteen-mile  stages.  About  eight  miles  from  Skibbereen 
a one-horse  car  met  us,  and  carried  away  an  offshoot  of 
passengers  to  Bantry.  Five  passengers  and  their  luggage, 
and  a very  wild,  steep  road;  all  this  had  one  poor  little 
pony  to  overcome  ! About  the  towns  there  were  some 
show  of  gentlemen’s  carts,  smart  and  well  appointed,  and  on 
the  road  great  numbers  of  country  carts  : an  army  of  them 
met  us  coming  from  Skibbereen,  and  laden  with  gray  sand 
for  manure. 

Before  you  enter  the  city  of  Skibbereen,  the  tall  new 
poor-house  presents  itself  to  the  eye  of  the  traveller ; 
of  the  common  model,  being  a bastard-Gothic  edifice, 
with  a profusion  of  cottage-ornee  (is  cottage  masculine  or 
feminine  in  French  ?)  — of  cottage-ornee  roofs,  and  pinna- 
cles, and  insolent-looldng  stacks  of  chimneys.  It  is  built 
for  900  people,  but  as  yet  not  more  than  400  have  been 
induced  to  live  in  it ; the  beggars  preferring  the  freedom 
of  their  precarious  trade  to  the  dismal  certainty  within  its 
walls.  Next  we  come  to  the  chapel,  a very  large,  respecta- 
ble-looking building  of  dark-gray  stone;  and  presently, 
behold,  by  the  crowd  of  blackguards  in  waiting,  “ The 
Skibbereen  Perseverance  ” has  found  its  goal,  and  you  are 
inducted  to  the  “ hotel  ” opposite. 

Some  gentlemen  were  at  the  coach,  besides  those  of 
lower  degree.  Here  was  a fat  fellow  with  large  whiskers, 
a geranium,  and  a cigar ; yonder  a tall  handsome  old  man 
that  I would  swear  was  a dragoon  on  half-pay.  He  had  a 
little  cap,  a Taglioni  coat,  a pair  of  beautiful  spaniels,  and 
a pair  of  knee-breeches  which  showed  a very  handsome  old 
leg ; and  his  object  seemed  to  be  to  invite  everybody  to 
dinner  as  they  got  off  the  coach.  No  doubt  he  has  seen  the 
“ Skibbereen  Perseverance  ” come  in  ever  since  it  was  a 
“ Perseverance.”  It  is  wonderful  to  think  what  will  inter- 
est men  in  prisons  or  country  towns  ! 

There  is  a dirty  coffee-room,  with  a strong  smell  of  whis- 
key : indeed  three  young  “ materialists  ” are  employed  at 
the  moment : and  I hereby  beg  to  offer  an  apology  to  three 
other  gentlemen  — the  captain,  another,  and  the  gentleman 
of  the  geranium,  who  had  caught  hold  of  a sketching-stool 
which  is  my  property,  and  were  stretching  it,  and  sitting 
upon  it,  and  wondering  and  talking  of  it,  when  the  owner 
came  in,  and  they  bounced  off  to  their  seats  like  so  many 
school-boys.  Dirty  as  the  place  was,  this  was  no  reason  why 
it  should  not  produce  an  exuberant  dinner  of  trout  and 


9(J 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


Kerry  mutton  ; after  which  Dan  the  waiter,  holding  up  a 
dingy  decanter,  asks  how  much  whiskey  I’d  have. 

That  calculation  need  not  be  made  here  ; and  if  a man 
sleeps  well,  has  he  any  need  to  quarrel  with  the  appoint- 
ments of  his  bedroom,  and  spy  out  the  deficiencies  of 
the  land  ? As  it  was  Sunday,  it  was  impossible  for  me  to 
say  what  sort  of  shops  “ the  active  and  flourishing  town  ” 
of  Skibbereen  contains.  There  were  some  of  the  architect- 
ural sort,  viz.,  with  gilt  letters  and  cracked  mouldings,  and 
others  into  which  I thought  I saw  the  cows  walking ; but  it 
was  only  into  their  little  cribs  and  paddocks  at  the  back  of 
the  shops.  There  is  a trim  Wesleyan  chapel,  without  any 
broken  windows ; a neat  church  standing  modestly  on  one 
side.  The  Lower  Street  crawls  along  the  river  to  a consid- 
erable extent,  having  by-streets  and  boulevards  of  cabins 
here  and  there. 

The  people  came  flocking  into  the  place  by  hundreds,  and 
you  saw  their  blue  cloaks  dotting  the  road  and  the  bare 
open  plains  beyond.  The  men  came  with  shoes  and  stock- 
ings to-day,  the  women  all  barelegged,  and  many  of  them 
might  be  seen  washing  their  feet  in  the  stream  before  they 
went  up  to  the  chapel.  The  street  seemed  to  be  lined  on 
either  side  with  blue  cloaks,  squatting  along  doorways  as  is 
their  wont.  Among  these,  numberless  cows  were  walking 
to  and  fro,  and  pails  of  milk  passing,  and  here  and  there  a 
hound  or  two  went  stalking  about.  Dan  the  waiter  says 
they  are  hunted  by  the  handsome  old  captain  who  was 
yesterday  inviting  everybody  to  dinner. 

Anybody  at  eight  o’clock  of  a Sunday  morning  in  summer 
may  behold  the  above  scene  from  a bridge  just  outside 
the  town.  He  may  add  to  it  the  river,  with  one  or  two 
barges  lying  idle  upon  it ; a flag  flying  at  what  looks  like 
a custom-house ; bare  country  all  around ; and  the  chapel 
before  him,  with  a swarm  of  the  dark  figures  round 
about  it. 

I.  went  into  it,  not  without  awe  (for,  as  I confessed  before, 
I always  feel  a sort  of  tremor  on  going  into  a Catholic 
place  of  worship : the  candles,  and  altars,  and  mysteries, 
the  priest  and  his  robes,  and  nasal  chanting,  and  wonderful 
genuflexions,  will  frighten  me  as  long  as  I live).  The 
Chapel-yard  was  filled  with  men  and  women  ; a couple  of 
shabby  old  beadles  were  at  the  gate  with  copper  shovels  to 
collect  money ; and  inside  the  chapel  four  or  five  hundred 
people  were  on  their  knees,  and  scores  more  of  the  blue- 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK 


97 


mantles  came  in,  dropping  their  courtesies  as  they  entered, 
and  then  taking  their  places  on  the  flags. 

And  now  the  pangs  of  hunger  beginning  to  make  them- 
selves felt,  it  became  necessary  for  your  humble  servant 
(after  making  several  useless  applications  to  a bell,  which 
properly  declined  to  work  on  Sundays)  to  make  a personal 
descent  to  the  inn-kitchen,  where  was  not  a bad  study  for 
a painter.  It  was  a huge  room,  with  a peat  Are  burning, 
and  a staircase  walking  up  one  side  of  it,  on  which  stair 
was  a damsel  in  a partial  though  by  no  means  picturesque 
dishabille.  The  cook  had  just  come  in  with  a great  froth- 
ing pail  of  milk,  and  sat  with  her  arms  folded  ; the  hostler’s 
boy  sat  dangling  his  legs  from  the  table ; the  hostler  was 
dandling  a noble  little  boy  of  a year  old,  at  whom  Mrs. 
Cook  likewise  grinned  delighted.  Here,  too,  sat  Mr.  Dan 
the  waiter ; and  no  wonder  the  breakfast  was  delayed,  for 
all  three  of  these  worthy  domestics  seemed  delighted  with 
the  infant. 

He  was  handed  over  to  the  gentleman’s  arms  for  the 
space  of  thirty  seconds ; the  gentleman  being  the  father  of 
a family,  and  of  course  an  amateur. 

“ Say  Dan  for  the  gentleman,”  says  the  delighted  cook. 

“ Dada,”  says  the  baby ; at  which  the  assembly  grinned 
with  joy : and  Dan  promised  I should  have  my  breakfast 
“ in  a hurry.” 

But  of  all  the  wonderful  things  to  be  seen  in  Skibbereen, 
Dan’s  pantry  is  the  most  wonderful : every  article  within 
is  a makeshift,  and  has  been  ingeniously  perverted  from  its 
original  destination.  Here  lie  bread,  blacking,  fresh  but- 
ter, tallow-candles,  dirty  knives  — all  in  the  same  cigar- 
box  with  snuff,  milk,  cold  bacon,  brown  sugar,  broken 
teacups,  and  bits  of  soap.  Ho  pen  can  describe  that  estab- 
lishment, as  no  English  imagination  could  have  conceived 
it.  But  lo  ! the  sky  has  cleared  after  a furious  fall  of  rain 
— (in  compliance  with  Dan’s  statement  to  that  effect, 
“ that  the  weather  would  be  fine  ”)  — and  a car  is  waiting 
to  carry  us  to  Loughine. 

Although  the  description  of  Loughine  can  make  but  a 
poor  figure  in  a book,  the  ride  thither  is  well  worth  the 
traveller’s  short  labor.  You  pass  by  one  of  the  cabin- 
streets  out  of  the  town  into  a country  which  for  a mile  is 
rich  with  grain,  though  bare  of  trees  ; then  through  a boggy 
bleak  district,  from  which  you  enter  into  a sort  of  sea  of 
rocks,  with  patches  of  herbage  here  and  there.  Before  the 
VOL.  ii.  — 7 


98 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


traveller,  almost  all  tlie  way,  is  a huge  pile  of  purple  moun- 
tain, on  which,  as  one  comes  nearer,  one  perceives  number- 
less waves  and  breaks,  as  you  see  small  waves  on  a billow 
in  the  sea ; then  clambering  up  a hill,  we  look  down  upon 
a bright  green  flat  of  land,  with  the  lake  beyond  it,  girt 
round  by  gray  melancholy  hills.  The  water  may  be  a mile 
in  extent ; a cabin  tops  the  mountain  here  and  there ; gen- 
tlemen have  erected  one  or  two  anchorite  pleasure-houses  on 
the  banks,  as  cheerful  as  a summer-house  would  be  on  Sal- 
isbury Plain.  I felt  not  sorry  to  have  seen  this  lonely  lake, 
and  still  happier  to  leave  it.  There  it  lies  with  crags  all 
round  it,  in  the  midst  of  desolate  plains  : it  escapes  some- 
where to  the  sea ; its  waters  are  salt : half  a dozen  boats  lie 
here  and  there  upon  its  banks,  and  we  saw  a small  crew  of 
boys  plashing  about  and  swimming  in  it,  laughing  and 
yelling.  It  seemed  a shame  to  disturb  the  silence  so. 

The  crowd  of  swaggering  “ gents  ” (I  don’t  know  the 
corresponding  phrase  in  the  Anglo-Irish  vocabulary  to 
express  a shabby  dandy)  awaiting  the  Cork  mail,  which 
kindly  goes  twenty  miles  out  of  its  way  to  accommodate 
the  town  of  Skibbereen,  was  quite  extraordinary.  The  little 
street  was  quite  blocked  up  with  shabby  gentlemen,  and 
shabby  beggars,  awaiting  this  daily  phenomenon.  The 
man  who  had  driven  us  to  Loughine  did  not  fail  to  ask  for 
his  fee  as  driver ; and  then,  having  received  it,  came  for- 
ward in  his  capacity  of  boots  and  received  another  remu- 
neration. The  ride  is  desolate,  bare,  and  yet  beautiful. 
There  are  a set  of  hills  that  keep  one  company  the  whole 
way ; they  were  partially  hidden  in  a gray  sky,  which 
flung  a general  hue  of  melancholy  too  over  the  green  coun- 
try through  which  we  passed.  There  was  only  one 
wretched  village  along  the  road,  but  no  lack  of  population : 
ragged  people  who  issued  from  their  cabins  as  the  coach 
passed,  or  were  sitting  by  the  wayside.  Everybody  seems 
sitting  by  the  wayside  here : one  never  sees  this  general 
repose  in  England  — a sort  of  ragged  lazy  contentment. 
All  the  children  seem  to  be  on  the  watch  for  the  coach ; 
waited  very  knowingly  and  carefully  their  opportunity, 
and  then  hung  on  by  scores  behind.  What  a pleasure  to 
run  over  flinty  roads  with  bare  feet,  to  be  whipped  off,  and 
to  walk  back  to  the  cabin  again ! These  were  very  differ- 
ent cottages  to  those  neat  ones  I had  seen  in  Kildare.  The 
wretchedness  of  them  is  quite  painful  to  look  at ; many  of 
the  potato-gardens  were  half  dug  up,  and  it  is  only  the  first 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


99 


week  in  August,  near  three  months  before  the  potato  is 
ripe  and  at  full  growth ; and  the  winter  still  six  months 
away.  There  were  chapels  occasionally,  and  smart  new- 
built  churches  — one  of  them  has  a congregation  of  ten 
souls,  the  coachman  told  me.  Would  it  not  be  better  that 
the  clergyman  should  receive  them  in  his  room,  and  that 
the  church-building  money  should  -be  bestowed  other- 
wise ? 

At  length,  after  winding  up  all  sorts  of  dismal  hills 
speckled  with  wretched  hovels,  a ruinous  mill  every  now 
and  then,  black  bog-lands,  and  small  winding  streams, 
breaking  here  and  there  into  little  falls,  we  come  upon 
some  ground  well  tilled  and  planted,  and  descending  (at  no 
small  risk  from  stumbling  horses)  a bleak  long  hill,  we  see 
the  water  before  us,  and  turning  to  the  right  by  the  hand 
some  little  park  of  Lord  Bearhaven,  enter  Bantry.  The 
harbor  is  beautiful.  Small  mountains  in  green  undulations 
rising  on  the  opposite  side ; great  gray  ones  farther  back  ; 
a pretty  island  in  the  midst  of  the  water,  which  is  wonder- 
fully bright  and  calm.  A handsome  yacht,  and  two  or 
three  vessels  with  their  Sunday  colors  out,  were  lying  in 
the  bay.  It  looked  like  a seaport  scene  at  a theatre,  gay, 
cheerful,  neat,  and  picturesque.  At  a little  distance  the 
town,  too,  is  very  pretty.  There  are  some  smart  houses  on 
the  quays,  a handsome  court-house  as  usual,  a line  large 
hotel,  and  plenty  of  people  flocking  round  the  wonderful 
coach. 

The  town  is  most  picturesquely  situated,  climbing  up  a 
wooded  hill,  with  numbers  of  neat  cottages  here  and  there, 
an  ugly  church  with  an  air  of  pretension,  and  a large  grave 
Boman  Catholic  chapel  the  highest  point  of  the  place.  The 
Mam  Street  was  as  usual  thronged  with  the  squatting  blue 
cloaks,  carrying  on  their  eager  trade  of  buttermilk,  and 
green  apples,  and  such  cheap  wares.  With  the  exception 
of  this  street  and  the  quay,  with  their  whitewashed  and 
slated  houses,  it  is  a town  of  cabins.  The  wretchedness  of 
some  of  them  is  quite  curious : I tried  to  make  a sketch  of 
a row  which  lean  against  an  old  wall,  and  are  built  upon  a 
rock  that  tumbles  about  in  the  oddest  and  most  fantastic 
shapes,  with  a brawling  waterfall  dashing  down  a channel 
in  the  midst.  These  are,  it  appears,  the  beggars’  houses : 
any  one  may  build  a lodge  against  that  wall,  rent-free  ; and 
such  places  were  never  seen ! As  for  drawing  them,  it  was 
in  vain  to  try;  one  might  as  well  make  a sketch  of  a bun- 


100 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


die  of  rags.  An  ordinary  pigsty  in  England  is  really  more 
comfortable.  Most  of  them  were  not  six  feet  long  or  five 
feet  high,  built  of  stones  huddled  together,  a hole  being 
left  for  the  people  to  creep  in  at,  a ruined  thatch  to  keep 
out  some  little  portion  of  the  rain.  The  occupiers  of  these 
places  sat  at  their  doors  in  tolerable  contentment,  or  the 
children  came  down  and  washed  their  feet  in  the  water.  I 
declare  I believe  a Hottentot  kraal  has  more  comforts  in  it : 
even  to  write  of  the  place  makes  one  unhappy,  and  the 
words  move  slow.  But  in  the  midst  of  all  this  misery  there 
is  an  air  of  actual  cheerfulness ; and  go  but  a few  score 
yards  off,  and  these  wretched  hovels  lying  together  look 
really  picturesque  and  pleasing. 


CHAPTER  IX. 


RAINY  DAYS  AT  GLEN  Or  A RIFF. 


A SMART  two-horse  car  takes 
the  traveller  thrice  a week 
from  Bantry  to  Killarney, 
by  way  of  Glengariff  and 
Kenmare.  Unluckily,  the 
rain  was  pouring  down 
furiously  as  we  passed  to 
the  first-named  places,  and 
we  had  only  opportunity  to 
see  a part  of  the  astonish- 
ing beauty  of  the  country. 
What  sends  picturesque 
tourists  to  the  Rhine  and 
Saxon  Switzerland  ? within 
five  miles  round  the  pretty 
inn  of  Glengariff  there  is  a 
country  of  the  magnificence 
of  which  no  pen  can  give 
an  idea.  I would  like  to  be  a great  prince,  and  bring  a 
train  of  painters  over  to  make,  if  they  could,  and  according 
to  their  several  capabilities,  a set  of  pictures  of  the  place. 
Mr.  Creswick  would  find  such  rivulets  and  waterfalls,  sur- 
rounded by  a luxuriance  of  foliage  and  verdure  that  only 
his  pencil  can  imitate.  As  for  Mr.  Cattermole,  a red- 
shanked  Irishman  should  carry  his  sketching-books  to  all 
sorts  of  wild  noble  heights,  and  vast  rocky  valleys,  where 
he  might  please  himself  by  piling  crag  upon  crag,  and  by 
introducing,  if  he  had  a mind,  some  of  the  wild  figures 
which  peopled  this  country  in  old  days.  There  is  the 
Eagle’s  Nest,  for  instance,  regarding  which  the  Guide-book 
gives  a pretty  legend.  The  Prince  of  Bantry  being  con- 
quered by  the  English  soldiers,  fled  away,  leaving  his 
Princess  and  children  to  the  care  of  a certain  faithful  fol- 
lower of  his,  who  was  to  provide  them  with  refuge  and 

101 


102 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  HOOK. 


food.  But  the  whole  country  was  overrun  by  the  conquer- 
ers ; all  the  flocks  driven  away  by  them,  all  the  houses  ran- 
sacked, and  the  crops  burnt  oft  the  ground,  and  the  faithful 
servitor  did  not  know  where  he  should  find  a meal  or  a 
resting-place  for  the  unhappy  Princess  O’Donovan. 

He  made,  however,  a sort  of  shed  by  the  side  of  a moun- 
tain, composing  it  of  sods  and  stones  so  artfully  that  no  one 
could  tell  but  that  it  was  a part  of  the  hill  itself ; and  here, 
having  speared  or  otherwise  obtained  a salmon,  he  fed  their 
Highnesses  for  the  first  day  ; trusting  to  heaven  for  a meal 
when  the  salmon  should  be  ended. 


The  Princess  O’Donovan  and  her  princely  family  soon 
came  to  an  end  of  the  fish  ; and  cried  out  for  something 
more. 

So  the  faithful  servitor,  taking  with  him  a rope  and  his 
little  son  Shamus,  mounted  up  to  the  peak' where  the  eagles 
rested ; and,  from  the  spot  to  which  he  climbed,  saw  their 
nest,  and  the  young  eaglets  in  it,  in  a cleft  below  the 
precipice. 

“Now,”  said  he,  “ Shamus  my  son,  you  must  take  these 
thongs  with  you,  and  I will  let  you  down  by  the  rope  ” (it 
was  a straw-rope,  which  he  had  made  himself,  and  though 
it  might  be  considered  a dangerous  thread  to  hang  by  in 
other  countries,  you’ll  see  plenty  of  such  contrivances  in 
Ireland  to  the  present  day). 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK . 


103 


“ I will  let  you  down  by  the  rope,  and  you  must  tie  the 
thongs  round  the  necks  of  the  eaglets,  not  so  as  to  choke 
them,  but  to  prevent  them  from  swallowing  much.”  So 
Shamus  went  down  and  did  as  his  father  bade  him,  and 
came  up  again  when  the  eaglets  were  doctored. 

Presently  the  eagles  came  home  : one  bringing  a rabbit  and 
the  other  a grouse.  These  they  dropped  into  the  nest  for 
the  young  ones ; and  soon  after  went  away  in  quest  of  other 
adventures. 

Then  Shamus  went  down  into  the  eagle’s  nest  again,  gutted 
the  grouse  and  rabbit,  and  left  the  garbage  to  the  eaglets  (as 
was  their  right),  and  brought  away  the  rest.  And  so  the 
Princess  and  Prince  had  game  that  night  for  their  supper. 
How  long  they  lived  in  this  way,  the  Guide-book  does  not  say : 
but  let  us  trust  that  the  Prince,  if  he  did  not  come  to  his 
own  again,  was  at  least  restored  to  his  family  and  decently 
mediatized  : and,  for  my  part,  I have  very  little  doubt  but 
that  Shamus,  the  gallant  young  eagle-robber,  created  a fav- 
orable impression  upon  one  of  the  young  Princesses,  and 
(after  many  adventures  in  which  he  distinguished  himself) 
was  accepted  by  her  Highness  for  a husband,  and  her  princely 
parents  for  a gallant  son-in-law. 

And  here,  while  we  are  travelling  to  Glengariff , and  order- 
ing painters  about  with  such  princely  liberality  (by  the 
way,  Mr.  Stanfield  should  have  a boat  in  the  bay,  and  paint 
both  rock  and  sea  at  his  ease),  let  me  mention  a wonderful, 
awful  incident  of  real  life  which  occurred  on  the  road.  About 
four  miles  from  Bantry,  at  a beautiful  wooded  place,  hard 
by  a mill  and  waterfall,  up  rides  a gentleman  to  the  car 
with  his  luggage,  going  to  Killarney  races.  The  luggage 
consisted  of  a small  carpet-bag  and  a pistol-case.  About 
two  miles  farther  on,  a fellow  stops  the  car:  “ Joe,”  says 
he,  “ my  master  is  going  to  ride  to  Killarney,  so  you  please 
to  take  his  luggage.”  The  luggage  consisted  of  a small  car- 
pet-bag, and  — a pistol-case  as  before.  Is  this  a gentleman’s 
usual  travelling  baggage  in  Ireland  ? 

As  there  is  more  rain  in  this  country  than  in  any  other, 
and  as,  therefore,  naturally  the  inhabitants  should  be  inured 
to  the  weather,  and  made  to  despise  an  inconvenience  which 
they  cannot  avoid,  the  travelling-conveyances  are  arranged 
so  that  you  may  get  as  much  practice  in  being  wet  as  possi- 
ble. The  traveller’s  baggage  is  stowed  in  a place  between 
the  two  rows  of  seats,  and  which  is  not  inaptly  called  the 
well,  as  in  a rainy  season  you  might  possibly  get  a bucket- 


104 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK . 


ful  of  water  out  of  that  orifice.  And  I confess  I saw,  with 
a horrid  satisfaction,  the  pair  of  pistol-cases  lying  in  this 
moist  aperture,  with  water  pouring  above  them  and  lying 
below  them;  nay,  prayed  that  all  such  weapons  might  one 
day  be  consigned  to  the  same  fate.  But  as  the  waiter  at 
Bantry,  in  his  excessive  zeal  to  serve  me,  had  sent  my  port- 
manteau back  to  Cork  by  the  coach,  instead  of  allowing  me 
to  carry  it  with  me  to  Killarney,  and  as  the  rain  had  long 
since  begun  to  insinuate  itself  under  the  seat-cushion  and 
through  the  waterproof  apron  of  the  car,  I dropped  off  at 
Glengariff,  and  dried  the  only  suit  of  clothes  I had  by  the 
kitchen-fire.  The  inn  is  very  pretty  : some  thorn-trees  stand 
before  it,  where  many  barelegged  people  were  lolling,  in 
spite  of  the  weather.  A beautiful  bay  stretches  out  before 
the  house,  the  full  tide  washing  the  thorn-trees;  mountains 
rise  on  either  side  of  the  little  bay,  and  there  is  an  island, 
with  a castle  in  it,  in  the  midst,  near  which  a yacht  was 
moored.  But  the  mountains  were  hardly  visible  for  the 
mist,  and  the  yach*t,  island,  and  castle  looked  as  if  it  had 
been  washed  against  the  flat  gray  sky  in  Indian-ink. 

The  day  did  not  clear  up  sufficiently  to  allow  me  to  make 
any  long  excursion  about  the  place,  or  indeed  to  see  a very 
wide  prospect  round  about  it : at  a few  hundred  yards,  most 
of  the  objects  were  enveloped  in  mist ; but  even  this,  for  a 
lover  of  the  picturesque,  had  its  beautiful  effect,  for  you  saw 
the  hills  in  the  foreground  pretty  clear,  and  covered  with 
their  wonderful  green,  while  immediately  behind  them  rose 
an  immense  blue  mass  of  mist  and  mountain  that  served  to 
relieve  (to  use  the  painter’s  phrase)  the  nearer  objects.  An- 
nexed to  the  hotel  is  a flourishing  garden,  where  the  vege- 
tation is  so  great  that  the  landlord  told  me  it  was  all  he 
could  do  to  check  the  trees  from  growing : round  about  the 
bay,  in  several  places,  they  come  clustering  down  to 
the  water’s  edge,  nor  does  the  salt-water  interfere  with 
them. 

Winding  up  a hill  to  the  right,  as  you  quit  the  inn,  is  the 
beautiful  road  to  the  cottage  and  park  of  Lord  Bantry. 
One  or  two  parties  on  pleasure  bent  went  so  far  as  the  house, 
and  were  partially  consoled  for  the  dreadful  rain  which  pres- 
ently poured  down  upon  them,  by  wine,  whiskey,  and  refresh- 
ments which  the  liberal  owner  of  the  house  sent  out  to 
them.  I myself  had  only  got  a few  hundred  yards  when 
the  rain  overtook  me,  and  sent  me  for  refuge  into  a shed, 
where  a blacksmith  had  arranged  a rude  furnace  and  bel- 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK  105 

lows,  and  where  he  was  at  work,  with  a rough  gilly  to  help 
him,  and  of  course  a lounger  or  two  to  look  on. 

The  scene  was  exceedingly  wild  and  picturesque,  and  I 
took  out  a sketch-book  and  began  to  draw.  The  blacksmith 
was  at  first  very  suspicious  of  the  operation  which  I had 
commenced,  nor  did  the  poor  fellow’s  sternness  at  all  yield 
until  I made  him  a present  of  a shilling  to  buy  tobacco  — 
when  he,  his  friend,  and  his  son  became  good-humored,  and 
said  their  little  say.  This  was  the  first  shilling  he  had 
earned  these  three  years  : he  was  a small  farmer,  but  was 
starved  out,  and  had  set  up  a forge  here,  and  was  trying  to 
get  a few  pence.  What  struck  me  was  the  great  number  of 
people  about  the  place.  We  had  at  least  twenty  visits  while 
the  sketch  was  being  made  ; cars,  and  single  and  double 
horsemen,  were  continually  passing ; between  the  intervals 
of  the  shower  a couple  of  ragged  old  women  would  creep 
out  from  some  hole  and  display  baskets  of  green  apples  for 
sale  : wet  or  not,  men  and  women  were  lounging  up  and 
down  the  road.  You  would  have  thought  it  was  a fair,  and 
yet  there  was  not  even  a village  at  this  place,  only  the  inn 
and  post-house,  by  which  the  cars  to  Tralee  pass  thrice  a 
week. 

The  weather,  instead  of  mending,  on  the  second  day  was 
worse  than  ever.  All  the  view  had  disappeared  now  under 
a rushing  rain,  of  which  I never  saw  anything  like  the  vio- 
lence. We  were  visited  by  five  maritime  — nay,  buccaneer- 
ing-looking gentlemen  in  moustaches,  with  fierce  caps  and 
jackets,  just  landed  from  a yacht : and  then  the  car  brought 
us  three  Englishmen  wet  to  the  skin  and  thirsting  for 
whi  skey-and-water. 

And  with  these  three  Englishmen  a great  scene  occurred, 
such  as  we  read  of  in  Smollett’s  and  Fielding’s  inns.  One 
was  a fat  old  gentleman  from  Cambridge  — who,  I was 
informed,  was  a Fellow  of  a college  in  that  university,  but 
whom  I shrewdly  suspect  * to  be  butler  or  steward  of  the 
same.  The  younger  men,  burly,  manly,  good-humored  fel- 
lows of  seventeen  stone,  were  the  nephews  of  the  elder 
— who,  says  one,  “ could  draw  a check  for  his  thousand 
pounds.” 

Two-and-twenty  years  before,  on  landing  at  the  Pigeon- 

* The  suspicion  turned  out  to  be  very  correct.  The  gentleman  is 
the  respected  cook  of  C — , as  I learned  afterwards  from  a casual  Cam- 
bridge man. 


106 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


House  at  Dublin,  the  old  gentleman  had  been  cheated  by  a 
carman,  and  his  firm  opinion  seemed  to  be  that  all  carmen 
— nay,  all  Irishmen  — were  cheats. 

And  a sad  proof  of  this  depravity  speedily  showed  itself ; 
for  having  hired  a three-horse  car  at  Killarney,  which  was 
to  carry  them  to  Bantry,  the  Englishmen  saw,  with  immense 
indignation,  after  they  had  drunk  a series  of  glasses  of 
whiskey,  that  the  three-horse  car  had  been  removed,  a one- 
horse  vehicle  standing  in  its  stead. 

Their  wrath  no  pen  can  describe.  “ I tell  you  they  are 
all  so  ! ” shouted  the  elder.  “When  I landed  at  the  Pigeon- 
House  . . . ” “ Bring  me  a post-chaise  ! ” roars  the  sec- 

ond. “ Waiter,  get  some  more  whiskey  !”  exclaims  the 
third.  “ If  they  don’t  send  us  on  with  three  horses,  I’ll  stop 
here  for  a week.”  Then  issuing,  with  his  two  young 
friends,  into  the  passage,  to  harangue  the  populace  assem- 
bled there,  the  elder  Englishman  began  a speech  about  dis- 
honesty, “ d — d rogues  and  thieves,  Pigeon-House  : he  was 
a gentleman,  and  wouldn’t  be  done,  d — n his  eyes  and  every- 
body’s eyes.”  Upon  the  affrighted  landlord,  who  came  to 
interpose,  they  all  fell  with  great  ferocity  : the  elder  man 
swearing,  especially,  that  he  “would  write  to  Lord  Lans- 
downe  regarding  his  conduct,  likewise  to  Lord  Bandon,  also 
to  Lord  Bantry : he  was  a gentleman  ; he’d  been  cheated  in 
the  year  1815,  on  his  first  landing  at  the  Pigeon-House  : 
and,  d — n the  Irish,  they  were  all  alike.”  After  roaring 
and  cursing  for  half  an  hour,  a gentleman  at  the  door,  see- 
ing the  meek  bearing  of  the  landlord  — who  stood  quite 
lost  and  powerless  in  the  whirlwind  of  rage  that  had  been 
excited  about  his  luckless  ears  — said,  “If  men 'cursed  and 
swore  in  that  way  in  his  house,  he  would  know  how  to  put 
them  out.” 

“ Put  me  out ! ” says  one  of  the  young  men,  placing  him- 
self before  the  fat  old  blasphemer  his  relative.  “ Put  me 
out,  my  fine  fellow  ! ” But  it  was  evident  the  Irishman  did 
not  like  his  customer.  “ Put  me  out ! ” roars  the  old  gen- 
tleman, from  behind  his  young  protector.  “ my  eyes, 

who  are  you,  sir  ? who  are  you,  sir  ? I insist  on  knowing 
who  you  are.” 

“And  who  are  you  ? ” asks  the  Irishman. 

“ Sir,  I’m  a gentleman,  and  pay  my  way  ! and  as  soon  as 
I get  into  Bantry,  I swear  I’ll  write  a letter  to  Lord  Ban- 
don Bantry,  and  complain  of  the  treatment  I have  received 
here.” 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


107 


Now,  as  the  unhappy  landlord  had  not  said  one  single 
word,  and  as,  on  the  contrary,  to  the  annoyance  of  the 
whole  house,  the  stout  old  gentleman  from  Cambridge  had 
been  shouting,  raging,  and  cursing  for  two  hours,  I could 
not  help,  like  a great  ass  as  I was,  coming  forward  and 
(thinking  the  landlord  might  be  a tenant  of  Lord  Bantry’s) 
saying,  “ Well,  sir,  if  you  write  and  say  the  landlord  has 
behaved  ill,  I will  write  to  say  that  he  has  acted  with 
extraordinary  forbearance  and  civility.” 

0 fool ! to  interfere  in  disputes  where  one  set  of  the  dis- 
putants have  drunk  half  a dozen  glasses  of  whiskey  in  the 
middle  of  the  day ! No  sooner  had  I said  this  than  the 
other  young  man  came  and  fell  upon  me,  and  in  the  course 
of  a few  minutes  found  leisure  to  tell  me  “ that  I was  no 
gentleman ; that  I was  ashamed  to  give  my  name,  or  say 
where  I lived  ; that  I was  a liar,  and  didn’t  live  in  London, 
and  couldn’t  mention  the  name  of  a single  respectable  per- 
son there  ; that  he  was  a merchant  and  tradesman,  and  hid 
his  quality  from  no  one  ” ; and,  finally,  “ that  though  big- 
ger than  himself,  there  was  nothing  he  would  like  better 
than  that  I should  come  out  on  the  greon  and  stand  to  him 
like  a man.” 

This  invitation,  although  repeated  several  times,  I re- 
fused with  as  much  dignity  as  I could  assume ; partly 
because  I was  sober  and  cool,  while  the  other  was  furious 
and  drunk ; also  because  I felt  a strong  suspicion  that  in 
about  ten  minutes  the  man  would  manage  to  give  me  a 
tremendous  beating,  which  I did  not  merit  in  the  least ; 
thirdly,  because  a victory  over  him  would  not  have  been 
productive  of  the  least  pleasure  to  me  ; and  lastly,  because 
there  was  something  really  honest  and  gallant  in  the  fel- 
low coming  out  to  defend  his  old  relative.  Both  of  the 
younger  men  would  have  fought  like  tigers  for  this  dis- 
reputable old  gentleman,  and  desired  no  better  sport.  The 
last  I heard  of  the  three  was  that  they  and  the  driver 
made  their  appearance  before  a magistrate  in  Bantry ; and 
a pretty  story  will  the  old  man  have  to  tell  to  his  club  at 
the  “ Hoop,”  or  the  “ Bed  Lion,”  of  those  swindling  Irish, 
and  the  ill-treatment  he  met  with  in  their  country. 

As  for  the  landlord,  the  incident  will  be  a blessed  theme 
of  conversation  to  him  for  a long  time  to  come.  I heard 
him  discoursing  of  it  in  the  passage  during  the  rest  of  the 
day  ; and  next  morning  when  I opened  my  window  and 
saw  with  much  delight  the  bay  clear  and  bright  as  silver  — 


108 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK . 


except  where  the  green  hills  were  reflected  in  it,  the  blue 
sky  above,  and  the  purple  mountains  round  about  with 
only  a few  clouds  veiling  their  peaks  — the  first  thing  I 
heard  was  the  voice  of  Mr.  Eccles  repeating  the  story  to  a 
new  customer. 

“ I thought  thim  couldn’t  be  gintlemin,”  was  the  appro- 
priate remark  of  Mr.  Tom  the  waiter,  “ from  the  way  in 
which  they  took  their  whiskey  — raw  with  cold  wather, 
widout  mixing  or  inything”  Could  an  Irish  waiter  give  a 
more  excellent  definition  of  the  ungenteel  ? 

At  nine  o’clock  in  the  morning  of  the  next  day,  the 
unlucky  car  which  had  carried  the  Englishmen  to  Bantry 
came  back  to  Glen  gar  iff,  and  as  the  morning  was  very  fine, 
I was  glad  to  take  advantage  of  it,  and  travel  some  five- 
and-thirty  English  miles  to  Killarney. 


CHAPTER  X. 


FROM  GLENGARIFF  TO  KILLARNEY. 

HE  Irish  car  seems 
accommodated  for  any 
number  of  persons : it 
appeared  to  be  full 
when  we  left  Glen- 
gariff, for  a traveller 
from  Bearhaven,  and 
the  five  gentlemen  from 
the  yacht,  took  seats 
upon  it  with  myself, 
and  we  fancied  it  was 
impossible  more  than 
seven  should  travel  by 
such  a conveyance  ; but 
the  driver  showed  the 
capabilities  of  his  vehi- 
cle presently.  The 
j ourney  from  G- 1 e n- 
gariff  to  Kenmare  is  one  of  astonishing  beauty ; and  I have 
seen  Killarney  since,  and  am  sure  that  Glengariff  loses 
nothing  by  comparison  with  this  most  famous  of  lakes. 
Rock,  wood,  and  sea  stretch  around  the  traveller  — a 
thousand  delightful  pictures : the  landscape  is  at  first 
wild  without  being  fierce,  immense  woods  and  plantations 
enriching  the  valleys  — beautiful  streams  to  be  seen  every- 
where. 

Here  again  I was  surprised  at  the  great  population  along 
the  road;  for  one  saw  but  few  cabins,  and  there  is  no  vil- 
lage between  Glengariff  and  Kenmare.  But  men  and 
w6men  were  on  banks  and  in  fields ; children,  as  usual, 
came  trooping  up  to  the  car;  and  the  jovial  men  of  the 
yacht  had  great  conversations  with  most  of  the  persons 
whom  we  met  on  the  road.  A merrier  set  of  fellows  it 
were  hard  to  meet.  “ Should  you  like  anything  to  drink, 

109 


110 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK 


sir?”  says  one,  commencing  the  acquaintance.  “We  have 
the  best  whiskey  in  the  world,  and  plenty  of  porter  in  the 
basket.”  Therewith  the  jolly  seamen  produced  a long 
bottle  of  grog,  which  was  passed  round  from  one  to 
another ; and  then  began  singing,  shouting,  laughing, 
roaring  for  the  whole  journey.  “British  sailors  have  a 
knack,  pull  away  — ho,  boys  ! ” “ Hurroo,  my  line  fellow  ! 

does  your  mother  know  you’re  out  ? ” “ Hurroo,  Tim 

Herlihy ! you’re  a fluke , Tim  Herlihy.”  One  man  sang 
on  the  roof,  one  hurroo’d  to  the  echo,  another  apostro- 
phized the  aforesaid  Herlihy  as  he  passed  grinning  on  a 
car;  a third  had  a pocket-handkerchief  flaunting  from  a 
pole,  with  which  he  performed  exercises  in  the  face  of  any 
horseman  whom  we  met ; and  great  were  their  yells  as  the 
ponies  shied  off  at  the  salutation  and  the  riders  swerved  in 
their  saddles.  In  the  midst  of  this  rattling  chorus  we  went 
along : gradually  the  country  grew  wilder  and  more  deso- 
late, and  we  passed  through  a grim  mountain  region,  bleak 
and  bare,  the  road  winding  round  some  of  the  innumer- 
able hills,  and  once  or  twice  by  means  of  a tunnel  rushing 
boldly  through  them.  One  of  these  tunnels,  they  say,  is  a 
couple  of  hundred  yards  long ; and  a pretty  howling,  I 
need  not  say,  was  made  through  that  pipe  of  rock  by 
the  jolly  yacht’s  crew.  “We  saw  you  sketching  in  the 
blacksmith’s  shed  at  Glengariff,”  says  one,  “ and  we  wished 
we  had  you  on  board.  Such  a jolly  life  we  led  of  it !”  — 
They  roved  about  the  coast,  they  said,  in  their  vessel ; 
they  feasted  off  the  best  of  fish,  mutton,  and  whiskey; 
they  had  Gamble’s  turtle-soup  on  board,  and  fun  from 
morning  till  night,  and  vice  versa.  Gradually  it  came  out 
that  there  wras  not,  owing  to  the  tremendous  rains,  a dry 
corner  in  their  ship : that  they  slung  two  in  a large  ham- 
mock in  the  cabin,  and  that  one  of  their  crew  had  been  ill, 
and  shirked  off.  What  a wonderful  thing  pleasure  is ! 
To  be  wet  all  day  and  night ; to  be  scorched  and  blistered 
by  the  sun  and  rain ; to  beat  in  and  out  of  little  harbors, 
and  to  exceed  diurnally  upon  whiskey-punch  — ’faith, 
London,  and  an  arm-chair  at  the  club,  are  more  to  the 
tastes  of  some  men. 

After  much  mountain-work  of  ascending  and  descending, 
(in  which  latter  operation,  and  by  the  side  of  precipices 
that  make  passing  cockneys  rather  squeamish,  the  carman 
drove  like  mad  to  the  whooping  and  screeching  of  the  red- 
rovers), we  at  length  came  to  Kenmare,  of  which  all  that  I 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK . 


Ill 


know  is  that  it  lies  prettily  in  a bay  or  arm  of  the  sea  ; 
that  it  is  approached  by  a little  hanging-bridge,  which 
seems  to  be  a wonder  in  these  parts ; that  it  is  a miser- 


able little  place  when  you  enter  it ; and  that,  finally,  a 
splendid  luncheon  of  all  sorts  of  meat  and  excellent  cold 
salmon  may  sometimes  be  had  for  a shilling  at  the  hotel 


112 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


of  the  place.  It  is  a great  vacant  house,  like  the  rest  of 
them,  and  would  frighten  people  in  England ; but  after  a 
few  days  one  grows  used  to  the  Castle  Rackrent  style.  I 
am  not  sure  that  there  is  not  a certain  sort  of  comfort  to 
be  had  in  these  rambling  rooms,  and  among  these  bustling, 
blundering  waiters,  which  one  does  not  always  meet  with  in 
an  orderly  English  house  of  entertainment. 

After  discussing  the  luncheon,  we  found  the  car  with 
fresh  horses,  beggars,  idlers,  policemen,  &c.,  standing  round 
of  course ; and  now  the  miraculous  vehicle,  which  had 
held  hitherto  seven  with  some  difficulty  was  called  upon 
to  accommodate  thirteen. 

A pretty  noise  would  our  three  Englishmen  of  yesterday 
— nay,  any  other  Englishmen  for  the  matter  of  that  — 
have  made,  if  coolly  called  upon  to  admit  an  extra  party  of 
four  into  a mail-coach  ! The  yacht’s  crew  did  not  make  a 
single  objection;  a couple  clambered  up  on  the  roof,  where 
they  managed  to  locate  themselves  with  wonderful  in- 
genuity, perched  upon  hard  wooden  chests,  or  agreeably 
reposing  upon  the  knotted  ropes  which  held  them  to- 
gether ; one  of  the  new  passengers  scrambled  between  the 
driver’s  legs,  where  he  held  on  somehow,  and  the  rest  were 
pushed  and  squeezed  astonishingly  in  the  car. 

Now  the  fact  must  be  told,  that  five  of  the  new  passen- 
gers (I  don’t  count  a little  boy  besides)  were  women,  and 
very  pretty,  gay,  frolicksome,  lively,  kind-hearted,  innocent 
women  too ; and  for  the  rest  of  the  journey,  there  was  no 
end  of  laughing,  and  shouting,  and  singing,  and  hugging, 
so  that  the  caravan  presented  the  appearance  which  is 
depicted  in  the  frontispiece  of  this  work. 

Now  it  may  be  a wonder  to  some  persons,  that  with 
such  a cargo  the  carriage  did  not  upset,  or  some  of  us  did 
not  fall  off ; to  which  the  answer  is  that  we  did  fall  off. 
A very  pretty  woman  fell  off,  and  showed  a pair  of  never- 
mind-what  colored  garters,  and  an  interesting  English 
traveller  fell  off  too:  but  heaven  bless  you!  these  cars 
are  made  to  fall  off  from  ; and  considering  the  circum- 
stances of  the  case,  and  in  the  same  company,  I would 
rather  fall  off  than  not.  A great  number  of  polite  allu- 
sions and  genteel  inquiries  were,  as  may  be  imagined,  made 
by  the  jolly  boat’s  crew.  But  though  the  lady  affected  to 
be  a little  angry  at  first,  she  was  far  too  good-natured  to  be 
angry  long,  and  at  last  fairly  burst  out  laughing  with  the 
passengers.  We  did  not  fall  off  again,  but  held  on  very 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


113 


tight,  and  just  as  we  were  reaching  Killarney,  saw  some- 
body else  fall  off  from  another  car.  But  in  this  instance 
the  gentleman  had  no  lady  to  tumble  with. 

For  almost  half  the  way  from  Ken  mare,-  this  wild,  beauti- 
ful road  commands  views  of  the  famous  lake  and  vast  blue 
mountains  about  Killarney.  Turk,  Tomies,  and  Mangerton 
were  clothed  in  purple,  like  kings  in  mourning ; great  heavy 
clouds  were  gathered  round  their  heads,  parting  away  every 
now  and  then,  and  leaving  their  noble  features  bare.  The 
lake  lay  for  some  time  underneath  us,  dark  and  blue,  with 
dark  misty  islands  in  the  midst.  On  the  right-hand  side  of 
the  road  would  be  a precipice  covered  with  a thousand  trees, 
or  a green  rocky  flat,  with  a reedy  mere  in  the  midst,  and 
other  mountains  rising  as  far  as  we  could  see.  I think  of 
that  diabolical  tune  in  “ Der  Freischutz  ” while  passing 
through  this  sort  of  country.  Every  now  and  then,  in  the 
midst  of  some  fresh  country  or  inclosed  trees,  or  at  a turn 
of  the  road,  you  lose  the  sight  of  the  great  big  awful  moun- 
tain ; but,  like  the  aforesaid  tune  in  “ Der  Freischutz,”  it 
is  always  there  close  at  hand.  You  feel  that  it  keeps  you 
company.  And  so  it  was  that  we  rode  by  dark  old  Manger- 
ton, then  presently  past  Muckross,  and  then  through  two 
miles  of  avenues  of  lime-trees,  by  numerous  lodges  and 
gentlemen’s  seats,  across  an  old  bridge  where  you  see  the 
mountains  again  and  the  lake,  until,  by  Lord  Kenmare’s 
house,  a hideous  row  of  houses  informed  us  that  we  were 
at  Killarney. 

Here  my  companion  suddenly  let  go  my  hand,  and  by  a 
certain  uneasy  motion  of  the  waist,  gave  me  notice  to  with- 
draw the  other  too ; and  so  we  rattled  up  to  the  “ Kenmare 
Arms  ” : and  so  ended,  not  without  a sigh  on  my  part,  one 
of  the  merriest  six-hour  rides  that  five  yachtmen,  one  cock- 
ney, five  women  and  a child,  the  carman,  and  a countryman 
with  an  alpeen,  ever  took  in  their  lives. 

As  for  my  fellow-companion,  she  would  hardly  speak  the 
next  day ; but  all  the  five  maritime  men  made  me  vow  and 
promise  that  I would  go  and  see  them  at  Cork,  where  I 
should  have  horses  to  ride,  the  fastest  yacht  out  of  the 
harbor  to  sail  in,  and  the  best  of  wrhiskey,  claret,  and 
welcome.  Amen,  and  may  every  single  person  who 
buys  a copy  of  this  book  meet  with  the  same  deserved 
fate. 

The  town  of  Killarney  was  in  a violent  state  of  excite- 
ment with  a series  of  horse-races,  hurdle-races,  boat-races, 

VOL.  II. — 8 


114 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK 


and  stag-hunts,  by  land  and  water,  which  were  taking  place, 
and  attracted  a vast  crowd  from  all  parts  of  the  kingdom. 
All  the  inns  were  full,  and  lodgings  cost  five  shillings  a 
day  — nay,  more  in  some  places;  for  though  my  landlady, 
Mrs.  Macgillicuddy,  charges  but  that  sum,  a leisurely  old 
gentleman,  whom  I never  saw  in  my  life  before,  made  my 
acquaintance  by  stopping  me  in  the  street  yesterday,  and 
said  he  paid  a pound  a day  for  his  two  bedrooms.  The  old 
gentleman  is  eager  for  company ; and  indeed,  when  a man 
travels  alone,  it  is  wonderful  how  little  he  cares  to  select 
his  society;  how  indifferent  company  pleases  him;  how  a 
good  fellow  delights  him : how  sorry  he  is  when  the  time 
for  parting  comes,  and  he  has  to  walk  off  alone,  and  begin 
the  friendship-hunt  over  again. 

The  first  sight  I witnessed  at  Killarney  was  a race- 
ordinary,  where,  for  a sum  of  twelve  shillings,  any  man 
could  take  his  share  of  turbot,  salmon,  venison,  and  beef, 
with  port,  and  sherry,  and  whiskey-punch  at  discretion. 
Here  were  the  squires  of  Cork  and  Kerry,  one  or  two 
Englishmen,  whose  voices  amidst  the  rich  humming  brogue 
round  about  sounded  quite  affected  (not  that  they  were  so, 
but  there  seems  a sort  of  impertinence  in  the  shrill,  high- 
pitched  tone  of  the  English  voice  here).  At  the  head  of 
the  table,  near  the  chairman,  sat  some  brilliant  young 
dragoons,  neat,  solemn,  dull,  with  huge  moustaches,  and 
boots  polished  to  a nicety. 

And  here  of  course  the  conversation  was  of  the  horse, 
horsey  : how  Mr.  This  had  refused  fifteen  hundred  guineas 
for  a horse  which  he  bought  for  a hundred;  how  Bacchus 
was  the  best  horse  in  Ireland ; which  horses  were  to  run  at 
Something  races;  and  how  the  Marquis  of  Waterford  gave 
a plate  or  a purse.  We  drank  “ the  Queen,”  with  hip!  hip  ! 
hurrah  ! the  “ winner  of  the  Kinmare  stakes  ” — hurrah  ! 
Presently  the  gentleman  next  me  rose  and  made  a speech  : 
he  had  brought  a mare  down  and  won  the  stakes  — a 
hundred  and  seventy  guineas  — and  I looked  at  him  with  a 
great  deal  of  respect.  Other  toasts  ensued,  and  more  talk 
about  horses.  Nor  am  I in  the  least  disposed  to  sneer  at 
gentlemen  who  like  sporting,  and  talk  about  it : for  I do 
believe  that  the  conversation  of  a dozen  fox-hunters  is  just 
as  clever  as  that  of  a similar  number  of  merchants, 
barristers,  or  literary  men.  But  to  this  trade,  as  to  all 
others,  a man  must  be  bred ; if  he  has  not  learnt  it 
thoroughly  or  in  early  life,  he  will  not  readily  become  a 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK.  il5 

proficient  afterwards,  and  when  therefore  the  subject  is 
broached,  had  best  maintain  a profound  silence. 

A young  Edinburgh  cockney,  with  an  easy  self-confidence 
that  the  reader  may  have  perhaps  remarked  in  others  of  his 
calling  and  nation,  and  who  evidently  knew  as  much  of 
sporting  matters  as  the  individual  who  writes  this,  pro- 
ceeded nevertheless  to  give  the  company  his  opinions,  and 
greatly  astonished  them  all ; for  these  simple  people  are  at 
first  willing  to  believe  that  a stranger  is  sure  to  be  a know- 
ing fellow,  and  did  not  seem  inclined  to  be  undeceived 
even  by  this  little  pert,  grinning  Scotchman.  It  was  good 
to  hear  him  talk  of  Haddington,  Musselburgh  — and 
heaven  knows  what  strange  outlandish  places,  as  if  they 
were  known  to  all  the  world.  And  here  would  be  a good 
opportunity  to  enter  into  a dissertation  upon  natural  char- 
acteristics : to  show  that  the  bold,  swaggering  Irishman  is 
really  a modest  fellow,  while  the  canny  Scot  is  a most 
brazen  one ; to  wonder  why  the  inhabitant  of  one  country 
is  ashamed  of  it  — which  is  in  itself  so  fertile  and  beautiful, 
and  has  produced  more  than  its  fair  proportion  of  men  of 
genius,  valor,  and  wit;  whereas  it  never  enters  into  the 
head  of  a Scotchman  to  question  his  own  quality  (and 
something  more)  at  all : but  that  such  discussions  are  quite 
unprofitable  ; nay,  that  exactly  the  contrary  propositions 
may  be  argued  to  just  as  much  length.  Has  the  reader 
ever  tried  with  a dozen  of  De  Tocqueville’s  short  crisp 
philosophic  apophthegms  and  taken  the  converse  of 
them  ? The  one  or  other  set  of  propositions  will  answer 
equally  well ; and  it  is  the  best  way  to  avoid  all  such. 
Let  the  above  passage,  then,  simply  be  understood  to  say, 
that  on  a certain  day  the  writer  met  a vulgar  little  Scotch- 
man — not  that  all  Scotchmen  are  vulgar ; — that  this  little 
pert  creature  prattled  about  his  country  as  if  he  and  it 
were  ornaments  to  the  world  — which  the  latter  is,  no 
doubt;  and  that  one  could  not  but  contrast  his  behavior 
with  that  of  great  big  stalwart  simple  Irishmen,  who  asked 
your  opinion  of  their  country  with  as  much  modesty  as  if 
you  — because  an  Englishman —must  be  somebody,  and 
they  the  dust  of  the  earth. 

Indeed,  this  want  of  self-confidence  at  times  becomes 
quite  painful  to  the  stranger.  If  in  reply  to  their  queries, 
you  say  you  like  the  country,  people  seem  really  quite 
delighted.  Why  should  they  ? Why  should  a stranger’s 
opinion  who  doesn’t  know  the  country  be  more  valued  than 


116 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


a native’s  who  does  ? — Suppose  an  Irishman  in  England 
were  to  speak  in  praise  or  abuse  of  the  country,  would  one 
be  particularly  pleased  or  annoyed  ? One  would  be  glad 
that  the  man  liked  his  trip ; but  as  for  his  good  or  bad 
opinion  of  the  country,  the  country  stands  on  its  own 
bottom,  superior  to  any  opinion  of  any  man  or  men, 

I must  beg  pardon  of  the  little  Scotchman  for  reverting 
to  him  (let  it  be  remembered  that  there  were  two  Scotch- 
men at  Killarney,  and  that  I speak  of  the  other  one) ; but 
I have  seen  no  specimen  of  that  sort  of  manners  in  any 
Irishman  since  I have  been  in  the  country.  I have  met 
more  gentlemen  here  than  in  any  place  I ever  saw : gentle- 
men of  high  and  low  ranks,  that  is  to  say : men  shrewd  and 
delicate  of  preception,  observant  of  society,  entering  into 
the  feelings  of  others,  and  anxious  to  set  them  at  ease  or 
to  gratify  them ; of  course  exaggerating  their  professions 
of  kindness  and  in  so  far  insincere ; but  the  very  exaggera- 
tion seems  to  be  a proof  of  a kindly  nature,  and  I wish  in 
England  we  were  a little  more  complimentary.  In  Dublin, 
a lawyer  left  his  chambers,  and  a literary  man  his  books,  to 
walk  the  town  with  me  — the  town,  which  they  must  know 
a great  deal  too  well : for,  pretty  as  it  is,  it  is  but  a small 
place  after  all,  not  like  that  great  bustling,  changing,  strug- 
gling world,  the  Englishman’s  capital.  Would  a London 
man  leave  his  business  to  trudge  to  the  Tower  or  the  Park 
with  a stranger  ? We  would  ask  him  to  dine  at  the  club, 
or  to  eat  whitebait  at  Lovegrove’s,  and  think  our  duty  done, 
neither  caring  for  him,  nor  professing  to  care  for  him  ; and 
we  pride  ourselves  on  our  honesty  accordingly.  Never 
was  honesty  more  selfish.  And  so  a vulgar  man  in  Eng- 
land disdains  to  flatter  his  equals,  and  chiefly  displays  his 
character  of  snob  by  assuming  as  much  as  he  can  for  him- 
self, swaggering  and  showing  off  in  his  coarse,  dull,  stupid 
way. 

“ I am  a gentleman,  and  pay  my  way,”  as  the  old  fellow 
said  at  Glengariff.  I have  not  heard  a sentence  near  so 
vulgar  from  any  man  in  Ireland.  Yes,  by  the  way,  there 
was  another  Englishman  at  Cork : a man  in  a middling, 
not  to  say  humble,  situation  of  life.  When  introduced  to 
an  Irish  gentleman,  his  formula  seemed  to  be,  “I  think, 
sir,  I have  met  you  somewhere  before.”  “ I am  sure,  sir,  I 
have  met  you  before,”  he  said  for  the  second  time  in  my 
hearing,  to  a gentleman  of  great  note  in  Ireland.  “Yes,  I 
have  met  you  at  Lord  X -’s.”  “ 1 don’t  know  my  Lord 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


117 


X ,”  replied  the  Irishman.  “Sir/’  says  the  other,  “ I 

shall  have  great  pleasure  in  introducing  you  to  him”  Well, 
the  good-natured  simple  Irishman  thought  this  gentleman 
a very  fine  fellow.  There  was  only  one,  of  some  dozen  who 
spoke  about  him,  that  found  out  snob.  I suppose  the 
Spaniards  lorded  it  over  the  Mexicans  in  this  way  : their 
drummers  passing  for  generals  among  the  simple  red  men, 
their  glass  beads  for  jewels,  and  their  insolent  bearing  for 
heroic  superiority. 

Leaving,  then,  the  race-ordinary  (that  little  Scotchman 
with  his  airs  has  carried  us  the  deuce  knows  how  far  out  of 
the  w.ay),  I came  home  just  as  the  gentlemen  of  the  race 
were  beginning  to  “mix,”  that  is,  to  forsake  the  wine  for 
the  punch.  At  the  lodgings  I found  my  five  companions  of 
the  morning  with  a bottle  of  that  wonderful  whiskey  of 
which  they  spoke ; and  which  they  had  agreed  to  exchange 
against  a bundle  of  Liverpool  cigars  : so  we  discussed  them, 
the  whiskey,  and  other  topics  in  common.  Now  there  is  no 
need  to  violate  the  sanctity  of  private  life,  and  report  the 
conversation  which  took  place,  the  songs  which  were  sung, 
the  speeches  which  were  made,  and  the  other  remarkable 
events  of  the  evening.  Suffice  it  to  say,  that  the  English 
traveller  gradually  becomes  accustomed  to  whiskey-punch 
(in  moderation  of  course),  and  finds  the  beverage  very 
agreeable  at  Killarney ; against  which  I recollect  a protest 
was  entered  at  Dublin. 

But  after  we  had  talked  of  hunting,  racing,  regatting, 
and  all  other  sports,  I came  to  a discovery  which  aston- 
ished me,  and  for  which  these  honest,  kind  fellows  are 
mentioned  publicly  here.  The  portraits,  or  a sort  of  resem- 
blance of  four  of  them,  may  be  seen  in  the  foregoing  draw- 
ing of  the  car.  The  man  with  the  straw-hat  and  handker- 
chief tied  over  it  is  the  captain  of  an  Indiaman  ; three  oth- 
ers, with  each  a pair  of  moustaches,  sported  yacht-costumes, 
jackets,  club  anchor-buttons,  and  so  forth;  and,  finally,  one 
on  the  other  side  of  the  car  (who  cannot  be  seen  on  account 
of  the  portmanteaus,  otherwise  the  likeness  would  be  per- 
fect) was  dressed  with  a coat  and  a hat  in  the  ordinary 
way.  One  with  the  gold  band  and  moustaches  is  a gentle- 
man of  property  ; the  other  three  are  attorneys,  every  man 
of  them  ; two  in  large  practice  in  Cork  and  Dublin,  the  oth- 
er, and  owner  of  the  yacht,  under  articles  to  the  attorney  of 
Cork.  Now  did  any  Englishman  ever  live  with  three  attor- 
neys for  a whole  day  without  hearing  a single  syllable  of 


118 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK 


law  spoken  ? Did  we  ever  see  in  our  country  attorneys 
with  moustaches ; or,  above  all,  an  attorney’s  clerk  the 
owner  of  a yacht  of  thirty  tons  ? He  is  a gentleman  of 
property  too  — the  heir,  that  is,  to  a good  estate ; and  has 
had  a yacht  of  his  own*  he  says,  ever  since  he  was  fourteen 
years  old.  Is  there  any  English  boy  of  fourteen  who  com- 
mands a ship  with  a crew  of  live  men  under  him  ? We  all 
agreed  to  have  a boat  for  the  stag-hunt  on  the  lake  next 
day ; and  I went  to  bed  wondering  at  this  strange  coun- 
try more  than  ever.  An  attorney  with  moustaches ! What 
would  they  say  of  him  in  Chancery  Lane  ? 


CHAPTER  XI. 


KILLARNEY STAG-HUNTING  ON  THE  LAKE. 

RS.  MACGILLICUDDY’S 
house  is  at  the  corner  of 
the  two  principal  streets 
of  Killarney  town,  and 
the  drawing-room  w i n - 
dows  command  each  a 
street.  Before  one  win- 
dow is  a dismal,  rickety 
building,  with  a slated 
face,  that  looks  like  an  ex- 
town-hall. There  is  a row 
of  arches  to  the  ground- 
floor,  the  angles  at  the 
base  of  which  seem  to 
have  mouldered  or  to  have 
been  kicked  away.  Over 
the  centre  arch  is  a pic- 
ture with  a flourishing  yellow  inscription  above,  importing 
that  it  is  the  meeting-place  of  the  Total  Abstinence  Socie- 
ty. Total  abstinence  is  represented  by  the  figures  of  a 
gentleman  in  a blue  coat  and  drab  tights,  with  gilt  garters, 
who  is  giving  his  hand  to  a lady ; between  them  is  an  es- 
cutcheon surmounted  with  a cross  and  charged  with  relig- 
ious emblems.  Cupids  float  above  the  heads  and  between 
the  legs  of  this  happy  pair,  while  an  exceedingly  small  tea- 
table  with  the  requisite  crockery  reposes  against  the  lady’s 
knee  ; a still,  with  death’s-head  and  bloody  bones,  filling  up 
the  naked  corner  near  the  gentleman.  A sort  of  market  is 
held  here,  and  the  place  is  swarming  with  blue-cloaks  and 
groups  of  men  talking;  here  and  there  is  a stall  with 
coarse  linens,  crockery,  a cheese ; and  crowds  of  egg-and 
milk-women  are  squatted  on  the  pavement,  with  their  rag- 
ged customers  or  gossips  ; and  the  yellow-haired  girl,  on 
the  next  page,  with  a barrel  containing  nothing  at  all,  has 
been  sitting  as  if  for  her  portrait,  this  hour  past. 

119 


120 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


Carts,  cars,  jingles,  barouches,  horses,  and  vehicles  of  all 
descriptions  rattle  presently  through  the  streets  : for  the 
town  is  crowded  with  company  for  the  races  and  other 
sports,  and  all  the  world  is  bent  to  see  the  stag-hunt  on 
the  lake.  Where  the  ladies  of  the  Macgillicuddy  family 
have  slept,  heaven  knows,  for  their  house  is  full  of  lodgers. 


What  voices  you  hear!  “Bring  me  some  hot  wa tah”  say,c- 
a genteel,  high-piped  English  voice.  “Hwhere’s  me  hot 
wather  ? ” roars  a deep-toned  Hibernian.  See,  over  the 
way,  three  ladies  in  ringlets  and  green  tabbinet  taking 
their  “ tay  ” preparatory  to  setting  out.  I wonder  whether 
they  heard  the  sentimental  songs  of  the  law-marines  last 
night  ? They  must  have  been  edilied  if  they  did. 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


121 


My  companions  came  true  to  their  appointment,  and  we 
walked  down  to  the  boats,  lying  at  a couple  of  miles  from 
the  town,  near  the  “ Victoria  Inn,”  a handsome  mansion,  in 
pretty  grounds,  close  to  the  lake,  and  owned  by  the  patri- 
otic Mr.  Finn.  A nobleman  offered  Finn  eight  hundred 
pounds  for  the  use  of  his  house  during  the  races,  and,  to 
Finn's  eternal  honor  be  it  said,  he  refused  the  money,  and 
said  he  would  keep  his  house  for  his  friends  and  patrons, 
the  public.  Let  the  Cork  Steam  Packet  Company  think  of 
this  generosity  on  the  part  of  Mr.  Finn,  and  blush  for 
shame : at  the  Cork  Agricultural  Show  they  raised  their 
fares,  and  were  disappointed  in  their  speculation,  as  they  de- 
served to  be,  by  indignant  Englishmen  refusing  to  go  at  all. 

The  morning  had  been  bright  enough ; but  for  fear  of  ac- 
cident we  took  our  mackintoshes, 
and  at  about  a mile  from  the  town 
found  it  necessary  to  assume 
those  garments  and  wear  them  for 
the  greater  part  of  the  day.  Pass- 
ing by  the  “ Victoria,”  with  its  r 
beautiful  walks,  park,  and  lodge,  ; 
we  came  to  a little  creek  where 
the  boats  were  moored ; and  there 
was  the  wonderful  lake  before  us, 
with  its  mountains,  and  islands,  and  trees.  Unluckily,  how- 
ever, the  mountains  happened  to  be  invisible  ; the  islands 
looked  like  gray  masses  in  the  fog,  and  all  that  we  could  see 
for  some  time  was  the  gray  silhouette  of  the  boat  ahead  of  us, 
in  which  a passenger  was  engaged  in  a witty  conversation 
with  some  boat  still  further  in  the  mist. 

Drumming  and  trumpeting  was  heard  at  a little  distance, 
and  presently  we  found  ourselves  in  the  midst  of  a fleet  of 
boats  upon  the  rocky  shores  of  the  beautiful  little  Innis- 
fallen. 

Here  we  landed  for  a while,  and  the  weather  clearing  up 
allowed  us  to  see  this  charming  spot : rocks,  shrubs,  and  * 
little  abrupt  rises  and  falls  of  ground,  covered  with  the 
brightest  emerald  grass ; a beautiful  little  ruin  of  a Saxon 
chapel,  lying  gentle,  delicate,  and  plaintive  on  the  shore  ; 
some  noble  trees  round  about  it,  and  beyond,  presently,  the 
tower  of  Ross  Castle  : island  after  island  appearing  in  the 
clearing  sunshine,  and  the  huge  hills  throwing  their  misty 
veils  off,  and  wearing  their  noble  robes  of  purple.  The 
boats’  crews  were  grouped  about  the  place,  and  one  large 


122 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


barge  especially  had  landed  some  sixty  people,  being  the 
Temperance  band,  with  its  drums,  trumpets,  and  wives. 
They  were  marshalled  by  a grave  old  gentleman  with  a 
white  waistcoat  and  queue,  a silver  medal  decorating  one 
side  of  his  coat,  and  a brass  heart  reposing  on  the  other 
flap.  The  horns  performed  some  Irish  airs  prettily ; and 
at  length,  at  the  instigation  of  a fellow  who  went  swagger- 
ing about  with  a pair  of  whirling  drumsticks,  all  formed  to- 
gether and  played  Garryowen  — the  active  drum  of  course 
most  dreadfully  out  of  time. 

Having  strolled  about  the  island  for  a quarter  of  an 
hour,  it  became  time  to  take  to  the  boats  again,  and  we 
were  rowed  over  to  the  wood  opposite  Sullivan’s  cascade, 
where  the  hounds  had  been  laid  in  in  the  morning,  and  the 
stag  was  expected  to  take  water.  Fifty  or  sixty  men  are 
employed  on  the  mountain  to  drive  the  stag  lake  wards, 
should  he  be  inclined  to  break  away  : and  the  sport  gener- 
ally ends  by  the  stag  — a wild  one  — making  for  the  water 
with  the  pack  swimming  afterwards ; and  here  he  is  taken 
and  disposed  of : how  I know  not.  It  is  rather  a parade 
than  a stag  hunt ; but,  with  all  the  boats  around  and  the 
noble  view,  must  be  a fine  thing  to  see. 

Presently,  steering  his  barge,  the  “ Erin,”  with  twelve 
oars  and  a green  flag  sweeping  the  water,  came  by  the  pres- 
ident of  the  sports,  Mr.  John  O’Connell,  a gentleman  who 
appears  to  be  liked  by  rich  and  poor  here,  and  by  the  latter 
especially  is  adored.  “ Sure,  we’d  dhrown  ourselves  for 
him,”  one  man  told  me ; and  proceeded  to  speak  eagerly  in 
his  praise,  and  to  tell  numberless  acts  of  his  generosity 
and  justice.  The  justice  is  rather  rude  in  this  wild  coun- 
try sometimes,  and  occasionally  the  judges  not  only  deliver 
the  sentence  but  execute  it ; nor  does  any  one  think  of  ap- 
pealing to  any  more  regular  jurisdiction.  The  likeness  of 
Mr.  O’Connell  to  his  brother  is  very  striking : one  might 
have  declared  it  was  the  Liberator  sitting  at  the  stern  of 
the  boat. 

Some  scores  more  boats  were  there,  darting  up  and  down 
in  the  pretty,  busy  waters.  Here  came  a Cambridge  boat ; 
and  where,  indeed,  will  not  the  gentlemen  of  that  renown- 
ed university  be  found  ? Yonder  were  the  dandy  dragoons, 
stiff,  silent,  slim,  faultlessly  appointed,  solemnly  puffing  ci- 
gars. Every  now  and  then  a hound  would  be  heard  in  the 
wood,  whereon  numbers  of  voices,  right  and  left,  would  be- 
gin to  yell  in  chorus  — “ Hurroo  ! Hoop!  Yow  — vow  — 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


123 


yow  ! ” in  accents  the  most  shrill  or  the  most  melancholious. 
Meanwhile  the  sun  had  had  enough  of  the  sport,  the  moun- 
tains put  on  their  veils  again,  the  islands  retreated  into  the 
mist,  the  word  went  through  the  fleet  to  spread  all  umbrel- 
las, and  ladies  took  shares  of  mackintoshes  and  disappeared 
under  the  flaps  of  silk  cloaks. 

The  wood  comes  down  to  the  very  edge  of  the  water,  and 
many  of  the  crews  thought  fit  to  land  and  seek  this  green 
shelter.  There  you  might  see  how  the  dandium  summd  ge- 
nus heesit  ulmo , clambering  up  thither  to  hide  from  the  rain, 
and  many  “ membra  ” in  dabbled  russia-ducks  cowering  vir- 
idi  sub  arbuto  ad  aguce  lene  caput . To  behold  these  moist 
dandies  the  natives  of  the  country  come  eagerly.  Strange, 
savage  faces  might  be  seen  peering  from  out  of  the  trees  : 
long-haired,  bare-legged  girls  came  down  the  hill,  some 
with  green  apples  and  very  sickly  looking  plums  ; some 
with  whiskey  and  goat’s  milk  : a ragged  boy  had  a pair  of 
stag’s-horn s to  sell : the  place  swarmed  with  people.  We 
went  .up  the  hill  to  see  the  noble  cascade,  and  when  you  say 
that  it  comes  rushing  down  over  rock  and  through  tangled 
woods,  alas  ! one  has  said  all  the  dictionary  can  help  you  to, 
and  not  enough  to  distinguish  this  particular  cataract  from 
any  other.  This  seen  and  admired,  we  came  back  to  the 
harbor  where  the  boats  lay,  and  from  which  spot  the  reader 
might  have  seen  the  foregoing  view  of  the  lake  — that  is, 
you  would  see  the  lake,  if  the  mist  would  only  clear 
away. 

But  this  for  hours  it  did  not  seem  inclined  to  do.  We 
rowed  up  and  down  industriously  for  a period  of  time 
which  seemed  to  me  atrociously  long.  The  bugles  of  the 
“Erin”  had  long  since  sounded  “Home,  sweet  home  ! ” and 
the  greater  part  of  the  fleet  had  dispersed.  As  for  the  stag- 
hunt,  all  I saw  of  it  was  four  dogs  that  appeared  on  the 
shore  at  different  intervals,  and  a huntsman  in  a scarlet 
coat,  who  similarly  came  and  went : once  or  twice  we  were 
gratified  by  hearing  the  hounds  ; but  at  last  it  was  agreed 
that  there  was  no  chance  for  the  day,  and  we  rowed  off  to 
Kenmare  Cottage — where,  on  the  lovely  lawn,  or  in  a cot- 
tage adjoining,  the  gentry  picnic,  and  where,  with  a hand- 
kerchiefful of  potatoes,  we  made  as  pleasant  a meal  as  ever 
I recollect.  Here  a good  number  of  the  boats  were  assem- 
bled; here  you  might  see  cloths  spread  and  dinner  going 
on;  here  were  those  wonderful  officers,  looking  as  if  they 
had  just  stepped  from  band-boxes,  with  — by  heavens!  — 


124 


THE  JRISJI  SKETCH  BOOK. 


not  a shirt-collar  disarranged  nor  a boot  dimmed  by  the 
wet.  An  old  piper  was  making  a very  feeble  music,  with  a 
handkerchief  spread  over  his  face;  and,  farther  on,  a little 
smiling  German  boy  was  playing  an  accordion  and  singing 
a ballad  of  Hauff’s.  I had  a silver  medal  in  my  pocket, 
with  Victoria  on  one  side  and  Britannia  on  the  other,  and 
gave  it  him,  for  the  sake  of  old  times  and  his  round  friendly 
face.  Oh,  little  German  boy,  many  a night,  as  you  trudge 
lonely  through  this  wild  land,  must  you  yearn  after  Bruder- 
lein  and  Schwesterlein  at  home — yonder  in  stately  Frank- 
furt city  that  lies  by  silver  Mayn.  I thought  of  vineyards 
and  sunshine,  and  the  greasy  clock  in  the  theatre,  and  the 
railroad  all  the  way  to  Weisbaden,  and  the  handsome  Jew 
country-houses  by  the  Bockenheimer-Thor  . . . “ Come 
along,”  says  the  boatman.  “ All  the  gintlemin  are  waiting 
for  your  honor.”  And  I found  them  finishing  the  potatoes, 
and  we  all  had  a draught  of  water  from  the  lake,  and  so 
pulled  to  the  Middle  or  Turk  Lake  through  the  picturesque 
green  rapid  that  floats  under  Brickeen  Bridge. 

What  is  to  be  said  about  Turk  Lake  ? When  there,  we 
agreed  that  it  was  more  beautiful  than  the  large  lake,  of 
which  it  is  not  one  fourth  the  size  ; then,  when  we  came 
back,  we  said,  “No,  the  large  lake  is  the  most  beautiful.1” 
And  so,  at  every  point  we  stopped  at,  we  determined  that 
that  particular  spot  was  the  prettiest  in  the  whole  lake. 
The  fact  is — and  I don’t  care  to  own  it  — they  are  too 
handsome.  As  for  a man  coming  from  his  desk  in  London 
or  Dublin  and  seeing  “ the  whole  lakes  in  a day,”  he  is  an 
ass  for  his  pains  ; a child  doing  sums  in  addition  might  as 
well  read  the  whole  multiplication-table,  and  fancy  he  had 
it  by  heart.  We  should  look  at  these  wonderful  things 
leisurely  and  thoughtfully ; and  even  then,  blessed  is  he 
who  understands  them.  I wonder  what  impression  the 
sight  made  upon  the  three  tipsy  Englishmen  at  Glengariff? 
What  idea  of  natural  beauty  belongs  to  an  old  fellow  who 
says  he  is  “ a gentleman  and  pays  his  way  ” ? What  to  a 
jolly  fox-hunter,  who  had  rather  see  a good  “ screeching  ” 
run  with  the  hounds  than  the  best  landscape  ever  painted  ? 
And  yet  they  all  come  hither,  and  go  through  the  business 
regularly,  and  would  not  miss  seeing  every  one  of  the  lakes 
and  going  up  every  one  of  the  hills.  By  which  circumlocu- 
tion the  writer  wishes  ingenuously  to  announce  that  he 
will  not  see  any  more  lakes,  ascend  any  mountains  or  tow- 
ers, visit  any  gaps  of  Dunloe,  or  any  prospects  whatever, 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


125 


except  such  as  nature  Shall  fling  in  his  way  in  the  course 
of  a quiet  reasonable  walk. 

In  the  Middle  Lake  we  were  carried  to  an  island  where 
a ceremony  of  goat’s-milk  and  whiskey  is  performed  by 
some  travellers,  and  where  you  are  carefully  conducted  to 
a spot  that  “Sir  Walter  Scott  admired  more  than  all.” 
Whether  he  did  or  not,  we  can  only  say  on  the  authority 
of  the  boatman ; but  the  place  itself  was  a quiet  nook, 
where  three  waters  meet,  and  indeed  no  great  picturesque- 
ness when  compared  with  the  beauties  around.  But  it  is  of 
a gentle,  homely  beauty  — not  like  the  lake,  which  is  as  a 
princess  dressed  out  in  diamonds  and  velvet  for  a drawing- 
room, and  knowing  herself  to  be  faultless  too.  As  for  In- 


nisfallen,  it  was  just  as  if  she  gave  one  smiling  peep  into 
the  nursery  before  she  went  away,  so  quiet,  innocent,  and 
tender  is  that  lovely  spot ; but,  depend  on  it,  if  there  is  a 
lake  fairy  or  princess,  as  Crofton  Croker  and  other  histor- 
ians assert,  she  is  of  her  nature  a vain  creature,  proud  of 
her  person,  and  fond  of  the  finest  dresses  to  adorn  it.  May 
I confess  that  I would  rather,  for  a continuance,  have  a 
house  facing  a paddock,  with  a cow  in  it,  than  be  always 
looking  at  its  immense,  overpowering  splendor.  You 
would  not,  my  dear  brother  cockney  from  Tooley  Street  ? 
No,  those  brilliant  eyes  of  thine  were  never  meant  to  gaze 
at  anything  less  bright  than  the  sun.  Your  mighty  spirit 
finds  nothing  too  vast  for  its  comprehension,  spurns  what  is 
humble  as  unworthy,  and  only,  like  Foote’s  bear,  dances  to 
“ the  genteelest  of  tunes.” 

The  long  and  short  of  the  matter  is,  that  on  getting  off 


1 26 


THE  HUSH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


the  lake,  after  seven  hours’  rowing,  I felt  as  much  relieved 
as  if  I had  been  dining  for  the  same  length  of  time  with  her 
Majesty  the  Queen,  and  went  jumping  home  as  gayly  as 
possible ; but  those  marine  lawyers  insisted  so  piteously 
upon  seeing  Boss  Castle,  close  to  which  we  were  at  length 
landed,  that  I was  obliged  (in  spite  of  repeated  oaths  to  the 
contrary)  to  ascend  that  tower,  and  take  a bird’s-eye  view 
of  the  scene.  Thank  heaven,  1 have  neither  tail  nor  wings, 
and  have  not  the  Slightest  wish  to  be  a bird  : that  continual 
immensity  of  prospect  which  stretches  beneath  those  little 
wings  of  theirs  must  deaden  their  intellects,  depend  on  it. 
Tomkins  and  I are  not  made  for  the  immense  : we  can  en- 
joy a little  at  a time,  and  enjoy  that  little  very  much ; or  if 
like  birds,  we  are  like  the  ostrich  — not  that  we  have  line 
feathers  to  our  backs,  but  because  we  cannot  fly.  Press  us 
too  much,  and  we  become  flurried,  and  run  off  and  bury  our 
heads  in  the  quiet  bosom  of  dear  mother  earth,  and  so  get 
rid  of  the  din,  and  the  dazzle,  and  the  shouting. 

Because  we  dined  upon  potatoes,  that  was  no  reason  we 
should  sup  on  buttermilk.  Well,  well ! salmon  is  good,  and 
whiskey  is  good  too. 


CHAPTER  XII. 


KILLARNEY  — THE  RACES MUCKROSS. 

IE  races  were  as  gay  as 
races  could  be,  in  spite  of 
one  or  two  untoward  acci- 
dents that  arrived  at  the 
close  of  the  day’s  sport. 
Where  all  the  people  came 
from  that  thronged  out  of 
the  town  was  a wonder ; 
where  all  the  vehicles,  the 
cars,  barouches  and  shan- 
drydans, the  carts,  the 
horse-  and  donkey -men 
could  have  found  stable 
and  shelter,  who  can  tell  ? 
Of  all  these  equipages  and 
donkeypages  I had  a fine 
view  from  Mrs.  Macgilli- 
cuddy’s  window,  and  it 
was  pleasant  to  see  the  happy  faces  shining  under  the  blue 
cloaks  as  the  carts  rattled  by. 

A very  handsome  young  lady  — I presume  Miss  MacG. 
— who  gives  a hand  to  the  drawing-room  and  comes  smiling 
in  with  the  teapot  — Miss  MacG.,  I say,  appeared  to-day  in 
a silk  bonnet  and  stiff  silk  dress,  with  a brooch  and  a black 
mantle,  as  smart  as  any  lady  in  the  land,  and  looking  as  if 
she  was  accustomed  to  her  dress  too,  which  the  housemaid 
on  banks  of  Thames  does  not.  Indeed,  I have  not  met  a 
more  ladylike  young  person  in  Ireland  than  Miss  MacG. ; 
and  when  I saw  her  in  a handsome  car  on  the  course,  I was 
quite  proud  of  a bow. 

Tramping  thither,  too,  as  hard  as  they  could  walk,  and  as 
happy  and  smiling  as  possible,  were  Mary  the  coachman’s 
wife  of  the  day  before,  and  Johanna  with  the  child,  and 
presently  the  other  young  lady : the  man  with  the  stick, 


128 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK . 


you  may  be  sure  : lie  would  toil  a year  for  that  day's  pleas- 
ure. They  are  all  mad  for  it : people  walk  for  miles  and 
miles  round  to  the  race  ; they  come  without  a penny  in 
their  pockets  often,  trusting  to  chance  and  charity,  and  that 
some  worthy  gentleman  may  fling  them  a sixpence.  A gen- 
tleman told  me  that  he  saw  on  the  course  persons  from  his 
part  of  the  country,  who  must  have  walked  eighty  miles  for 
the  sport. 

For  a mile  and  a half  to  the  race-course  there  could  be  no 
pleasanter  occupation  than  looking  at  the  happy  multitudes 
who  were  thronging  thither ; and  I am  bound  to  say  that  on 
rich  or  poor  shoulders  I never  saw  so  many  handsome  faces 
in  my  life.  In  the  carriages,  among  the  ladies  of  Kerry, 
every  second  woman  was  handsome  ; and  there  is  something 
peculiarly  tender  and  pleasing  in  the  looks  of  the  young 
female  peasantry  that  is  perhaps  even  better  than  beauty. 
Beggars  had  taken  their  stations  along  the  road  in  no  great 
numbers,  for  I suspect  they  were  most  of  them  on  the 
ground,  and  those  who  remained  were  consequently  of  the 
oldest  and  ugliest.  It  is  a shame  that  such  horrible  figures 
are  allowed  to  appear  in  public  as  some  of  the  loathsome 
ones  which  belong  to  these  unhappy  people.  On  went  the 
crowd,  however,  laughing  and  as  gay  as  possible ; all  sorts 
of  fun  passing  from  car-  to  foot-passengers  as  the  pretty 
girls  came  clattering  by,  and  the  “ boys  ” had  a word  for 
each.  One  lady,  with  long  flowing  auburn  hair,  who  was 
turning  away  her  head  from  some  “ boys  ” very  demurely,  I 
actually  saw,  at  a pause  of  the  cart,  kissed  by  one  of  them. 
She  gave  the  fellow  a huge  box  on  the  ear  and  he  roared 
out,  “ 0 murther!”  and  she  frowned  for  some  time  as  hard 
as  she  could,  whilst  the  ladies  in  the  blue  cloaks  at  the  back 
of  the  car  uttered  a shrill  rebuke  in  Irish.  But  in  a minute 
the  whole  party  was  grinning,  and  the  young  fellow  who 
had  administered  the  salute  may,  for  what  I know,  have 
taken  another  without  the  slap  on  the  face  by  way  of  ex- 
change. 

And  here,  lest  the  fair  public  may  have  a bad  opinion  of 
the  personage  who  talks  of  kissing  with  such  awful  levity, 
let  it  be  said  that  with  all  this  laughing,  romping,  kissing, 
and  the  like,  there  are  no  more  innocent  girls  in  the  world 
than  the  Irish  girls ; and  that  the  women  of  our  squeamish 
country  are  far  more  liable  to  err.  One  has  but  to  walk 
through  an  English  and  Irish  town,  and  see  how  much  su- 
perior is  the  morality  of  the  latter.  That  great  terror* 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK 


129 


striker,  the  Confessional,  is  before  the  Irish  girl,  and  sooner 
or  later  her  sins  must  be  told  there. 

By  this  time  we  are  got  upon  the  course,  which  is  really 
one  of  the  most  beautiful  spots  that  ever  was  seen  : the  lake 
and  mountains  lying  along  two  sides  of  it,  and  of  course 
visible  from  all.  They  were  busy  putting  up  the  hurdles 
when  we  arrived : stiff  bars  and  poles,  four  feet  from  the 
ground,  with  furze-buslies  over  them.  The  grand  stand  was 
already  full ; along  the  hedges  sat  thousands  of  the  people, 
sitting  at  their  ease  doing  nothing,  and  happy  as  kings.  A 


daguerreotype  would  have  been  of  great  service  to  have 
taken  their  portraits,  and  I never  saw  a vast  multitude  of 
heads  and  attitudes  so  picturesque  and  lively.  The  sun 
lighted  up  the  whole  course  and  the  lakes  with  amazing 
brightness,  though  behind  the  former  lay  a huge  rack  of  the 
darkest  clouds,  against  which  the  cornfields  and  meadows 
shone  in  the  brightest  green  and  gold,  and  a row  of  white 
tents  was  quite  dazzling. 

There  was  a brightness  and  intelligence  about  this  im- 
mense Irish  crowd,  which  I don’t  remember  to  have  seen  in 
an  English  one.  The  women  m their  blue  cloaks,  with  red 
VOL.  it. — 9 


130 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK . 


smiling  faces  peering  from  one  end,  and  bare  feet  from  the 
other,  had  seated  themselves  in  all  sorts  of  pretty  attitudes 
of  cheerful  contemplation ; and  the  men,  who  are  accustomed 
to  lie  about,  were  doing  so  now  with  all  their  might  — 
sprawling  on  the  banks,  with  as  much  ease  and  variety  as 
club-room  loungers  on  their  soft  cushions, — or  squatted 
leisurely  among  the  green  potatoes.  The  sight  of  so  much 
happy  laziness  did  one  good  to  look  on.  Nor  did  the  honest 
fellows  seem  to  weary  of  this  amusement.  Hours  passed 
on,  and  the  gentlefolks  (judging  from  our  party)  began  to 
grow  somewhat  weary ; but  the  finest  peasantry  in  Europe 
never  budged  from  their  posts,  and  continued  to  indulge  in 
greetings,  indolence,  and  conversation. 

When  we  came  to  the  row  of  white  tents,  as  usual  it  did 
not  look  so  brilliant  or  imposing  as  it  appeared  from  a little 
distance,  though  ■ the  scene  around  them  was  animating 
enough.  The  tents  were  long  humble  booths  stretched  on 
hoops,  each  with  its  humble  streamer  or  ensign  without, 
and  containing,  of  course,  articles  of  refreshment  within. 
But  Father  Mathew  has  been  busy  among  the  publicans, 
and  the  consequence  is  that  the  poor  fellows  are  now  con- 
demned for  the  most  part  to  sell  “ tay  ” in  place  of  whis- 
key; for  the  concoction  of  which  beverage  huge  caldrons 
were  smoking,  in  front  of  each  hut-door,  in  round  graves 
dug  for  the  purpose  and  piled  up  with  black  smoking  sod. 

Behind  this  camp  were  the  carts  of  the  poor  people,  which 
were  not  allowed  to  penetrate  into  the  quarter  where  the 
quality  cars  stood.  And  a little  way  from  the  huts,  again, 
you  might  see  (for  you  could  scarcely  hear)  certain  pipers 
executing  their  melodies  and  inviting  people  to  dance. 

Anything  more  lugubrious  than  the  drone  of  the  pipe,  or 
the  jig  danced  to  it,  or  the  countenances  of  the  dancers  and 
musicians,  I never  saw.  Round  each  set  of  dancers  the 
people  formed  a ring,  in  the  which  the  figurantes  and  cory- 
phees went  through  their  operations.  The  toes  went  in  and 
the  toes  went  out ; then  there  came  certain  mystic  figures 
of  hands  across,  and  so  forth.  I never  saw  less  grace  or 
seemingly  less  enjoyment  — no,  not  even  in  a quadrille. 
The  people,  however,  took  a great  interest,  and  it  was  “ Well 
done,  Tim ! ” “ Step  out,  Miss  Brady ! ” and  so  forth  dur- 
ing the  dance. 

Thimble-rig  too  obtained  somewhat,  though  in  a humble 
way.  A ragged  scoundrel  — the  image  of  Hogarth’s  Bad 
Apprentice  — went  bustling  and  shouting  through  the 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK . 


131 


crowd  with  his  dirty  tray  and  thimble,  and  as  soon  as  he 
had  taken  his  post,  stated  that  this  was  the  “ royal  game  of 
thimble,”  and  called  upon  “gintlemin”  to  come  forward. 
And  then  a ragged  fellow  would  be  seen  to  approach,  with 
as  innocent  an  air  as  he  could  assume,  and  the  bystanders 
might  remark  that  the  second  ragged  fellow  almost  always 
won.  Nay,  he  was  so  benevolent  in  many  instances,  as  to 
point  out  to  various  people  who  had  a mind  to  bet,  under 
which  thimble  the  pea  actually  was.  Meanwhile,  the  first 
fellow  was  sure  to  be  looking  away  and  talking  to  some  one 
in  the  crowd;  but  somehow  it  generally  happened  — and 
how  of  course  I can’t  tell  — that  any  man  who  listened  to 
the  advice  of  rascal  No.  2,  lost  his  money.  I believe  it  is 
so  even  in  England. 

Then  you  would  see  gentlemen  with  halfpenny  roulette- 
tables,  and,  again,  here  were  a pair  who  came  forward  dis- 
interestedly with  a table  and  a pack  of  cards,  and  began 
playing  against  each  other  for  ten  shillings  a game,  betting 
crowns  as  freely  as  possible. 

Gambling,  however,  must  have  been  fatal  to  both  of 
these  gentlemen,  else  might  not  one  have  supposed  that,  if 
they  were  in  the  habit  of  winning  much,  they  would  have 
treated  themselves  to  better  clothes  ? This,  however,  is 
the  way  with  all  gamblers,  as  the  reader  has  no  doubt 
remarked : for,  look  at  a game  of  loo  or  vingt-et-un  played 
in  a friendly  way,  and  where  you,  and  three  or  four  others, 
have  certainly  lost  three  or  four  pounds,  — well,  ask  at  the 
end  of  the  game  who  has  won,  and  you  invariably  find  that 
nobody  has.  Hopkins  has  only  covered  himself;  Snooks 
has  neither  lost  nor  won ; Smith  has  won  four  shillings ; 
and  so  on.  Who  gets  the  money  ? The  devil  gets  it,  I dare 
say ; and  so,  no  doubt,  he  has  laid  hold  of  the  money  of 
yonder  gentleman  in  the  handsome  great-coat. 

But,  to  the  shame  of  the  stewards  be  it  spoken,  they  are 
extremely  averse  to  this  kind  of  sport;  and  presently 
comes  up  one,  a stout  old  gentleman  on  a bay  horse,  wield- 
ing a huge  hunting-whip,  at  the  sight  of  which  all  fly, 
amateurs,  idlers,  professional  men,  and  all.  He  is  a rude 
customer  to  deal  with,  that  gentleman  with  the  whip : just 
now  he  was  clearing  the  course,  and  cleared  it  with  such  a 
vengeance,  that  a whole  troop  on  a hedge  retreated  back- 
wards into  a ditch  opposite,  where  was  rare  kicking,  and 
sprawling,  and  disarrangement  of  petticoats,  and  cries  of 
“ 0 murther ! ”,  “ Mother  of  God ! ” “ I’m  kilt ! ” and  so  on. 


132 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


But  as  soon  as  the  horsewhip  was  gone,  the  people  clam- 
bered out  of  their  ditch  again,  and  were  as  thick  as  ever  on 
the  bank. 

The  last  instance  of  the  exercise  of  the  whip  shall  be 
this.  A groom  rode  insolently  after  a gentleman,  calling 
him  names,  and  inviting  him  to  fight.  This  the  great  flag- 
ellator  hearing,  rode  up  to  the  groom,  lifted  him  gracefully 
off  his  horse  into  the  air,  and  on  to  the  ground,  and  when 
there  administered  to  him  a severe  and  merited  fustigation  ; 
after  which  he  told  the  course-keepers  to  drive  the  fellow 
off  the  course,  and  enjoined  the  latter  not  to  appear  again 
at  his  peril. 

As  for  the  races  themselves,  T won’t  pretend  to  say  that 


they  were  better  or  worse  than  other  such  amusements ; or 
to  quarrel  with  gentlemen  who  choose  to  risk  their  lives  in 
manly  exercise.  In  the  first  race  there  was  a fall : one  of 
the  gentlemen  was  carried  off  the  ground,  and  it  was  said 
he  was  dead . In  the  second  race,  a horse  and  man  went 
over  and  over  each  other,  and  the  fine  young  man  (we  had 
seen  him  five  minutes  before,  full  of  life  and  triumph, 
clearing  the  hurdles  on  his  gray  horse,  at  the  head  of  the 
race)  : — in  the  second  heat  of  the  second  race  the  poor  fel- 
low missed  his  leap,  was  carried  away  stunned  and  dying, 
and  the  bay  horse  won. 

I was  standing,  during  the  first  heat  of  this  race  (this 
is  the  second  man  the  gray  has  killed  — they  ought  to  call 
him  the  Pale  Horse),  by  half  a dozen  young  girls  from  the 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


133 


gentleman’s  village,  and  hundreds  more  of  them  were  there, 
anxious  for  the  honor  of  their  village,  the  young  squire, 
and  the  gray  horse.  Oh,  how  they  hurrah’d  as  he  rode 
ahead!  I saw  these  girls — they  might  be  fourteen  years 
old  — after  the  catastrophe.  “ Well,”  says  I,  “this  is  a sad 
end  to  the  race.”  “ And  is  it  the  pink  jacket  or  the  blue  has 
won  this  time  ? ” says  one  of  the  girls.  It  was  poor  Mr. 
C — - — ’s  only  epitaph:  and  wasn’t  it  a sporting  answer? 
That  girl  ought  to  be  a hurdle-racer’s  wife ; and  I would 
like,  for  my  part,  to  bestow  her  upon  the  groom  who  won 
the  race. 

I don’t  care  to  confess  that  the  accident  to  the  poor 
young  gentleman  so  thoroughly  disgusted  my  feeling  as  a 
man  and  a cockney,  that  I turned  off  the  race-course  short, 
and  hired  a horse  for  sixpence  to  carry  me  back  to  Miss 
Macgillicuddy.  In  the  evening  at  the  inn  (let  no  man  who 
values  comfort  go  to  an  Irish  inn  in  race-time),  a blind  old 
piper,  with  silvery  hair  and  of  a most  respectable,  bard-like 
appearance,  played  a great  Meal  too  much  for  us  after  din- 
ner. He  played  very  well,  and  with  very  much  feeling, 
ornamenting  the  airs  with  flourishes  and  variations  that 
were  very  pretty  indeed,  and  Ins  pipe  was  by  far  the  most 
melodious  I have  heard;  but  honest  truth  compels  me  to 
say,  that  the  bad  pipes  are  execrable,  and  the  good  inferior 
to  a clarionet. 

Next  day,  instead  of  going  back  to  the  race-course,  a car 
drove  me  out  to  Muckross,  where,  in  Mr.  Herbert’s  beauti- 
ful grounds,  lies  the  prettiest  little  bijou  of  a ruined  abbey 
ever  seen  — a little  chapel  with  a little  chancel,  a little 
cloister,  a little  dormitory,  and  in  the  midst  of  the  cloister 
a wonderful  huge  yew-tree  which  darkens  the  whole  place. 
The  abbey  is  famous  in  book  and  legend;  nor  could  two 
young  lovers,  or  artists  in  search  of  the  picturesque,  or 
picnic-parties  with  the  cold  chicken  and  champagne  in  the 
distance,  And  a more  charming  place  to  while  away  a sum* 
mer’s  day  than  in  the  park  of  Mr.  Herbert.  But  depend 
on  it,  for  show-places,  and  the  due  enjoyment  of  scenery, 
that  distance  of  cold  chickens  and  champagne  is  the  most 
pleasing  perspective  one  can  have.  I would  have  sacrificed 
a mountain  or  two  for  the  above,  and  would  have  pitched 
Mangerton  into  the  lake  for  the  sake  of  a friend  with  Avhom 
to  enjoy  the  rest  of  the  landscape. 

The  walk  through  Mr.  Herbert’s  demesne  carries  you, 
through  all  sorts  of  beautiful  avenues,  by  a fine  house 


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THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


which  he  is  building  in  the  Elizabethan  style,  and  from 
which,  as  from  the  whole  road,  you  command  the  most 
wonderful  rich  views  of  the  lake.  The  shore  breaks  into 
little  bays,  which  the  water  washes ; here  and  there  are 
picturesque  gray  rocks  to  meet  it,  the  bright  grass  as  often, 
or  the  shrubs  of  every  kind  which  bathe  their  roots  in  the 
lake.  It  was  August,  and  the  men  before  Turk  Cottage 
were  cutting  a second  crop  of  clover,  as  line,  seemingly,  as 
a first  crop  elsewhere  : a short  walk  from  it  brought  us  to  a 
neat  lodge  whence  issued  a keeper  with  a key,  quite  willing, 
for  the  consideration  of  sixpence,  to  conduct  us  to  Turk 
Waterfall. 

Evergreens  and  other  trees  in  their  brightest  livery  ; blue 
sky ; roaring  water,  here  black,  and  yonder  foaming  of  a 
dazzling  white ; rocks  shining  in  the  dark  places,  or  frown- 
ing black  against  the  light,  all  the  leaves  and  branches 
keeping  up  a perpetual  waving  and  dancing  round  about 
the  cascade  : what  is  the  use  of  putting  down  all  this  ? A 
man  might  describe  the  cataract  of  the  Serpentine  in 
exactly  the  same  terms,  and  the  reader  be  no  wiser.  Suffice 
it  to  say  that  the  Turk  cascade  is  even  handsomer  than  the 
before-mentioned  waterfall  of  O’Sullivan,  and  that  a man 
may  pass  half  an  hour  there,  and  look,  and  listen,  and 
muse,  and  not  even  feel  the  want  of  a companion,  or  so 
much  as  think  of  the  iced  champagne.  There  is  just 
enough  of  savageness  in  the  Turk  cascade  to  make  the  view 
piquante.  It  is  not,  at  this  season  at  least,  by  any  means 
fierce,  only  wild ; nor  was  the  scene  peopled  by  any  of  the 
rude,  red-shanked  figures  that  clustered  about  the  trees  of 
O’Sullivan’s  waterfall,  — savages  won’t  pay  sixpence  for 
the  prettiest  waterfall  ever  seen  — so  that  this  only  was  for 
the  best  of  company. 

The  road  hence  to  Killarney  carries  one  through  Muck- 
ross  village,  a pretty  cluster  of  houses,  where  the  sketcher 
will  find  abundant  materials  for  exercising  his  art  and 
puzzling  his  hand.  There  are  not  only  noble  trees,  but  a 
green  common  and  an  old  water-gate  to  a river,  lined  on 
either  side  by  beds  of  rushes  and  discharging  itself  beneath 
an  old  mill-wheel.  But  the  old  mill-wheel  was  perfectly 
idle,  like  most  men  and  mill-wheels  in  this  country : by  it 
is  a ruinous  house,  and  a fine  garden  of  stinging-nettles ; 
opposite  it,  on  the  common,  is  another  ruinous  house,  with 
another  garden  containing  the  same  plant;  and  far  away 
are  sharp  ridges  of  purple  hills,  which  make  as  pretty  a 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


135 


landscape  as  the  eye  can  see.  I don’t  know  how  it  is,  but 
throughout  the  country  the  men  and  the  landscapes  seem 
to  be  the  same,  and  one  and  the  other  seem  ragged,  ruined, 
and  cheerful. 

Having  been  employed  all  day  (making  some  abominable 
attempts  at  landscape-drawing,  which  shall  not  be  exhib- 
ited here),  it  became  requisite,  as  the  evening  approached, 
to  recruit  an  exhausted  cockney  stomach  — which,  after  a 
very  moderate  portion  of  exercise,  begins  to  sigh  for  beef- 
steaks in  the  most  peremptory  manner.  Hard  by  is  a fine 
hotel  with  a fine  sign  stretching  along  the  road  for  the 
space  of  a dozen  windows  at  least,  and  looking  inviting 
enough.  All  the  doors  were  open,  and  I walked  into  a 
great  number  of  rooms,  but  the  only  person  I saw  was  a 
woman  with  trinkets  of  arbutus,  who  offered  me,  by  way  of 
refreshment,  a walking-stick  or  a card-rack.  I suppose 
everybody  was  at  the  races;  and  an  evilly-disposed  person 
might  have  laid  main-bctsse  upon  the  great-coats  which  were 
there,  and  the  silver  spoons,  if  by  any  miracle  such  things 
were  kept  — but  Brittania-metal  is  the  favorite  composition 
in  Ireland ; or  else  iron  by  itself ; or  else  iron  that  has  been 
silvered  over,  but  that  takes  good  care  to  peep  out  at  all  the 
corners  of  the  forks : and  blessed  is  the  traveller  who  has 
not  other  observations  to  make  regarding  his  fork,  besides 
the  mere  abrasion  of  the  silver. 

This  was  the  last  day’s  race,  and  on  the  next  morning 
(Sunday),  all  the  thousands  who  had  crowded  to  the  race 
seemed  trooping  to  the  chapels,  and  the  streets  were  blue 
with  cloaks.  Walking  in  to  prayers,  and  without  his  board, 
came  my  young  friend  of  the  thimble-rig,  and  presently 
after  sauntered  in  the  fellow  with  the  long  coat,  who  had 
played  at  cards  for  sovereigns.  I should  like  to  hear  the 
confession  of  himself  and  friend  the  next  time  they  com- 
municate with  his  reverence. 

The  extent  of  this  town  is  very  curious,  and  I should 
imagine  its  population  to  be  much  greater  than  five  thou- 
sand, which  was  the  number,  according  to  Miss  Macgilli- 
cuddy.  Along  the  three  main  streets  are  numerous  arches* 
down  every  one  of  which  runs  an  alley,  intersected  by  other 
alleys,  and  swarming  with  people.  A stream  or  gutter  runs 
commonly  down  these  alleys,  in  which  the  pigs  and  ch^ 
dren  are  seen  paddling  about.  The  men  and  women  loll  a f 
their  doors  or  windows,  to  enjoy  the  detestable  prospect.  I 
saw  two  pigs  under  a fresh-made  deal  staircase  in  one  of 


136 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


the  main  streets  near  the  Bridewell : two  very  well-dressed 
girls,  with  their  hair  in  ringlets,  were  looking  out  of  the 
parlor-window  : almost  all  the  glass  in  the  upper  rooms  was 
of  course  smashed,  the  windows  patched  here  and  there 
(if  the  people  were  careful),  the  wood-work  of  the  door 
loose,  the  whitewash  peeling  off,  — and  the  house  evidently 
not  two  years  old. 

By  the  Bridewell  is  a busy  potato-market,  picturesque  to 
the  sketcher,  if  not  very  respectable  to  the  merchant : here 
were  the  country  carts  and  the  country  cloaks,  and  the 
shrill  beggarly  bargains  going  on  — a world  of  shrieking, 
and  gesticulating,  and  talk,  about  a pennyworth  of  potatoes. 

All  round  the  town  miserable  streets  of  cabins  are 


stretched.  You  see  people  lolling  at  each  door,  women 
staring  and  combing  their  hair,  men  with  their  little  pipes, 
children  whose  rags  hang  on  by  a miracle,  idling  in  a 
gutter.  Are  we  to  set  all  this  down  to  absenteeism,  and 
pity  poor  injured  Ireland  ? Is  the  landlord’s  absence  the 
reason  why  the  house  is  filthy,  and  Biddy  lolls  in  the  porch 
all  day  ? Upon  my  word,  I have  heard  people  talk  as  if, 
when  Pat’s  thatch  was  blown  off,  the  landlord  ought  to 
go  fetch  the  straw  and  the  ladder,  and  mend  it  himself. 
People  need  not  be  dirty  if  they  are  ever  so  idle ; if  they 
are  ever  so  poor,  pigs  and  men  need  not  live  together. 
Half  an  hour’s  work,  and  digging  a trench,  might  remove 
that  filthy  dunghill  from  that  filthy  window.  The  smoke 
might  as  well  come  out  of  the  chimney  as  out  of  the  door. 
Why  should  not  Tim  do  that,  instead  of  walking  a hundred 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


137 


and  sixty  miles  to  a race  ? The  priests  might  do  much 
more  to  effect  these  reforms  than  even  the  landlords  them- 
selves : and  I hope  now  that  the  excellent  Father  Mathew 
has  succeeded  in  arraying  his  clergy  to  work  with  him  in 
the  abolition  of  drunkenness,  they  will  attack  the  monster 
Dirt,  with  the  same  good-will,  and  surely  with  the  same 
success. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 


TRALEE LIS  TOWEL TARBERT. 

MADE  the  journey  to  Tra- 
lee the  next  day,  upon  one 
of  the  famous  Bianconi 
cars  — very  comfortable 
conveyances  too,  if  the 
booking-officers  would  only 
receive  as  many  persons  as 
the  car  would  hold,  and 
not  have  too  many  on  the 
seats.  For  half  an  hour 
before  the  car  left  Killar- 
ney,  I observed  people  had 
taken  their  seats  : and,  let 
all  travellers  be  cautious 
to  do  likewise,  lest,  al- 
though they  have  booked 
their  places,  they  be  re- 
quested to  mount  on  the 
roof,  and  accommodate 
themselves  on  a band-box, 
or  a pleasant  deal  trunk  with  a knotted  rope,  to  prevent  it 
from  being  slippery,  while  the  corner  of  another  box  jolts 
against  your  ribs  for  the  journey.  I had  put^my  coat  on  a 
place,  and  was  stepping  to  it,  when  a lovely  lady  with  great 
activity  jumped  up  and  pushed  the  coat  on  the  roof,  and 
not  only  occupied  my  seat,  but  insisted  that  her  husband 
should  have  the  next  one  to  her.  So  there  was  nothing  for 
it  but  to  make  a huge  shouting  with  the  book-keeper  and 
call  instantly  for  the  taking  down  of  my  luggage,  and  vow 
my  great  gods  that  I would  take  a post-chaise  and  make 
the  office  pay : on  which,  I am  ashamed  to  say,  some  other 
person  was  made  to  give  up  a decently  comfortable  seat  on 
the  roof,  which  I occupied,  the  former  occupant  hanging 
on  — heaven  knows  where  or  how. 

138 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


139 


A company  of  young  squires  were  on  the  coach,  and  they 
talked  of  horse-racing  and  hunting  punctually  for  three 
. hours,  during  which  time  I do  believe  they  did  not  utter 
one  single  word  upon  any  other  subject.  What  a wonder- 
ful faculty  it  is ! The  writers  of  Natural  Histories,  in 
describing  the  noble  horse,  should  say  he  is  made  not  only 
to  run,  to  carry  burdens,  &c.,  but  to  be  talked  about. 
What  would  hundreds  of  thousands  of  dashing  young 
fellows  do  with  their  tongues,  if  they  had  not  this  blessed 
subject  to  discourse  on  ? 

As  far  as  the  country  went,  there  was  here,  to  be  sure, 
not  much  to  be  said.  You  pass  through  a sad-looking,  bare, 
undulating  country,  with  few  trees,  and  poor  stone-hedges, 
and  poorer  crops ; nor  have  I yet  taken  in  Ireland  so  dull 
a ride.  About  half-way  between  Tralee  and  Killarney  is  a 
wretched  town,  where  horses  are  changed,  and  where  I saw 
more  hideous  beggary  than  anywhere  else,  I think.  And  I 
was  glad  to  get  over  this  gloomy  tract  of  country,  and 
enter  the  capital  of  Kerry. 

It  has  a handsome  description  in  the  guide-books ; but, 
if  I mistake  not,  the  English  traveller  will  find  a stay  of  a 
couple  of  hours  in  the  town  quite  sufficient  to  gratify  his 
curiosity  with  respect  to  the  place.  There  seems  to  be  a 
great  deal  of  poor  business  going  on;  the  town  thronged 
with  people  as  usual ; the  shops  large  and  not  too  splendid. 
There  are  two  or  three  rows  of  respectable  houses,  and  a 
mall,  and  the  townspeople  have  the  further  privilege  of 
walking  in  the  neighboring  grounds  of  a handsome  park, 
which  the  proprietor  has  liberally  given  to  their  use. 
Tralee  has  a newspaper,  and  boasts  of  a couple  of  clubs : 
the  one  I saw  was  a big  white  house,  no  windows  broken, 
and  looking  comfortable.  But  the  most  curious  sight  of 
the  town  was  the  chapel,  with  the  festival  held  there.  It 
was  the  feast  of  the  Assumption  of  the  Virgin  (let  those 
who  are  acquainted  with  the  calendar  and  the  facts  it  com- 
memorates say  what  the  feast  was,  and  when  it  falls),  and 
all  the  country  seemed  to  be  present  on  the  occasion  : the 
chapel  and  the  large  court  leading  to  it  were  thronged  with 
worshippers,  such  as  one  never  sees  in  our  country,  where 
devotion  is  by  no  means  so  crowded  as  here.  Here,  in  the 
court-yard,  there  were  thousands  of  them  on  their  knees, 
rosary  in  hand,  for  the  most  part  praying,  and  mumbling, 
and  casting  a wistful  look  round  as  the  strangers  passed. 
In  a corner  was  an  old  man  groaning  in  the  agonies  of 


140 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK . 


death  or  colic,  and  a woman  got  off  her  knees  to  ask  us  for 
charity  for  the  unhappy  old  fellow.  In  the  chapel  the 
crowd  was  enormous : the  priest  and  his  people  were  kneel- 
ing, and  bowing,  and  humming,  and  chanting,  and  censer- 
rattling  ; the  ghostly  crew  being  attended  by  a fellow  that 
I don’t  remember  to  have  seen  in  Continental  churches,  a 
sort  of  Catholic  clerk,  a black  shadow  to  the  parson,  bowing 
his  head  when  his  reverence  bowed,  kneeling  when  he  knelt, 
only  three  steps  lower. 

But  we  who  wonder  at  copes  and  candlesticks,  see  noth- 
ing strange  in  surplices  and  beadles.  A Turk,  doubtless, 
would  sneer  equally  at  ea*di,  and  have  you  to  understand 
that  the  only  reasonable  ceremonial  was  that  which  took 
place  at  his  mosque. 

Whether  right  or  wrong  in  point  of  ceremony,  it  was 
evident  the  heart  of  devotion  was  there:  the  immense 
dense  crowd  moaned  and  swayed,  and  you  heard  a hum  of 
all  sorts  of  wild  ejaculations,  each  man  praying  seemingly 
for  himself,  while  the  service  went  on  at  the  altar.  The 
altar  candles  flickered  red  in  the  dark,  steaming  place,  and 
every  now  and  then  from  the  choir  you  heard  a sweet 
female  voice  chanting  Mozart’s  music,  which  swept  over 
the  heads  of  the  people  a great  deal  more  pure  and  de- 
licious than  the  best  incense  that  ever  smoked  out  of  pot. 

On  the  chapel-floor,  just  at  the  entry,  lay  several  people 
moaning,  and  tossing,  and  telling  their  beads.  Behind  the 
old  woman  was  “a  font  of  holy  water,  up  to  which  little 
children  were  clambering-;  and  in  the  chapel-yard  were 
several  old  women,  with  tin  cans  full  of  the  same  sacred 
fluid,  with  which  the  people,  as  they  entered,  aspersed 
themselves  with  all  their  might,  flicking  a great  quantity 
into  their  faces,  and  making  a courtesy  and  a prayer  at  the 
same  time.  “ A pretty  prayer,  truly  ! ” says  the  parson’s 
wife.  “ What  sad,  sad,  benighted  superstition  ! ” says  the 
Independent  minister’s  lady.  Ah ! ladies,  great  as  your 
intelligence  is,  yet  think,  when  compared  with  the  Supreme 
One,  what  a little  difference  there  is  after  all  between  your 
husband’s  very  best  extempore  oration  and  the  poor  Popish 
creatures’!  One  is  just  as  far  off  Infinite  Wisdom  as  the 
other : and  so  let  us  read  the  story  of  the  woman  and  her 
pot  of  ointment,  that  most  noble  and  charming  of  histories ; 
which  equalizes  the  great  and  the  small,  the  wise  and  the 
poor  in  spirit,  and  shows  that  their  merit  before  heaven 
lies  in  doing  their  best . 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK . 


141 


When  I came  out  of  the  chapel,  the  old  fellow  on  the 
point  of  death  was  still  howling  and  groaning  in  so  vehe- 
ment a manner,  that  I heartily  trust  he  was  an  impostor, 
and  that  on  receiving  a sixpence  he  went  home  tolerably 
comfortable,  having  secured  a maintenance  for  that  day. 
But  it  will  be  long  before  I can  forget  the  strange,  wild 
scene,  so  entirely  different  was  it  from  the  decent  and  com- 
fortable observances  of  our  own  church. 

Three  cars  set  off  together  from  Tralee  to  Tarbert : three 
cars  full  to  overflowing.  The  vehicle  before  us  contained 
nineteen  persons,  half  a dozen  being  placed  in  the  recep- 
tacle called  the  well,  and  one  clinging  on  as  if  by  a miracle 
at  the  bar  behind.  What  can  people  want  at  Tarbert  ? I 
wondered  $ or  anywhere  else,  indeed,  that  they  rush  about 
from  one  town  to  another  in  this  inconceivable  way  ? All 
the  cars  in  all  the  towns  seem  to  be  thronged : people  are 
perpetually  hurrying  from  one  dismal  tumble-down  town 
to  another ; and  yet  no  business  is  done  anywhere  that  I 
can  see.  The  chief  part  of  the  contents  of  our  three  cars 
was  discharged  at  Listowel,  to  which,  for  the  greater  part 
of  the  journey,  the  road  was  neither  more  cheerful  nor 
picturesque  than  that  from  Killarney  to  Tralee.  As,  how- 
ever, you  reach  Listowel,  the  country  becomes  better  culti- 
vated, the  gentlemen’s  seats  are  more  frequent,  and  the 
town  itself,  as  seen  from  a little  distance,  lies  very  prettily 
on  a river,  which  is  crossed  by  a handsome  bridge,  which 
leads  to  a neat-looking  square,  which  contains  a smartish 
church,  which  is  flanked  by  a big  Roman  Catholic  chapel, 
&c.  An  old  castle,  gray  and  ivy-covered,  stands  hard  by. 
It  was  one  of  the  strongholds  of  the  Lords  of  Kerry,  whose 
burying-place  (according  to  the  information  of  the  coach- 
man) is  seen  at  about  a league  from  the  town. 

But  pretty  as  Listowel  is  from  a distance,  it  has,  on  a 
more  intimate  acquaintance,  by  no  means  the  prosperous 
appearance  which  a first  glance  gives  it.  The  place  seemed 
like  a scene  at  a country  theatre,  once  smartly  painted  by 
the  artist ; but  the  paint  has  cracked  in  many  places,  the 
lines  are  worn  away  ; and  the  whole  piece  only  looks  more 
shabby  for  the  flaunting  strokes  of  the  brush  which  remain. 
And  here,  of  course,  came  the  usual  crowd  of  idlers  round  the 
car ; the  epileptic  idiot  holding  piteously  out  his  empty  tin 
snuff-box  ; the  brutal  idiot,  in  an  old  soldier’s  coat,  proffering 
his  money-box  and  grinning  and  clattering  the  single  half- 
penny it  contained ; the  old  man  with  no  eyelids,  calling  upon 


142 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK . 


you  in  the  name  of  the  Lord ; the  woman  with  a child  at 
her  hideous  wrinkled  breast ; the  children  without  number. 
As  for  trade,  there  seemed  to  be  none : a great  J eremy- 
Diddler  kind  of  hotel  stood  hard  by,  swaggering  and  out-at- 
elbows,  and  six  pretty  girls  were  smiling  out  of  a beggarly 
straw-bonnet  shop,  dressed  as  smartly  as  any  gentleman’s 


daughters  of  good  estate.  It  was  good,  among  the  crowd 
of  bustling,  shrieking  fellows,  who  were  “ jawing”  vastly 
and  doing  nothing,  to  see  how  an  English  bagman,  with 
scarce  any  words,  laid  hold  of  a hostler,  and  carried  him  off 
vi  et  avmis  in  the  midst  of  a speech,  in  which  the  latter  was 
going  to  explain  his  immense  activity  and  desire  to  serve, 
pushed  him  into  a stable,  from  which  he  issued  in  a twink- 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK . 


143 


ling,  leading  the  hostler  and  a horse,  and  had  his  bag  on 
the  car  and  his  horse  off  in  about  two  minutes  of  time, 
while  the  natives  were  still  shouting  round  about  other 
passengers’  portmanteaus. 

Some  time  afterwards,  away  we  rattled  on  our  own  jour- 
ney to  Tarbert,  having  a postilion  on  the  leader,  and  receiv- 
ing, I must  say,  some  graceful  bows  from  the  young  bonnet- 
makeresses.  But  of  all  the  roads  over  which  human  bones 
were  ever  jolted,  the  first  part  of  this  from  Listowel  to 
Tarbert  deserves  the  palm.  It  shook  us  all  into  headaches  ; 
it  shook  some  nails  out  of  the  side  of  a box  I had ; it  shook 
all  the  cords  loose  in  a twinkling,  and  sent  .the  baggage 
bumping  about  the  passengers’  shoulders.  The  coachman 
at  the  call  of  another  English  bagman,  who  was  a fellow- 
traveller, — the  postilion  at  the  call  of  the  coachman,  de- 
scended to  re-cord  the  baggage.  The  English  bagman  had 
the  whole  mass  of  trunks  and  bags  stoutty  corded  and  firm- 
ly fixed  in  a few  seconds ; the  coachman  helped  him  as  far 
as  his  means  allowed  ; the  postilion  stood  by  with  his  hands 
in  his  pockets,  smoking  his  pipe,  and  never  offering  to  stir 
a finger.  I said  to  him  that  I was  delighted  to  see  in  a 
youth  of  sixteen  that  extreme  activity  and  willingness  to 
oblige,  and  that  I would  give  him  a handsome  remuneration 
for  his  services  at  the  end  of  the  journey  : the  young  rascal 
grinned  with  all  his  might,  understanding  the  satiric  nature 
of  the  address  perfectly  well ; but  he  did  not  take  his  hands 
out  of  his  pockets  for  all  that,  until  it  was  time  to  get  on  his 
horse  again,  and  then,  having  carried  us  over  the  most  dif- 
ficult part  of  the  journey,  removed  his  horse  and  pipe,  and 
rode  away  with  a parting  grin. 

The  cabins  along  the  road  were  not  much  better  than  - 
those  to  be  seen  south  of  Tralee,  but  the  people  were  far 
better  clothed,  and  indulged  in  several  places  in  the  luxury 
of  pigsties.  Near  the  prettily  situated  village  of  Bally- 
longford,  we  came  in  sight  of  the  Shannon  mouth ; and  a 
huge  red  round  moon,  that  shone  behind  an  old  convent  on 
the  banks  of  the  bright  river,  with  dull  green  meadows  be- 
tween it  and  us,  and  white  purple  flats  beyond,  would  be  a 
good  subject  for  the  pencil  of  any  artist  whose  wrist  had 
not  been  put  out  of  joint  by  the  previous  ten  miles  journey. 

The  town  of  Tarbert,  in  the  guide-books  and  topographi- 
cal dictionaries,  flourishes  considerably.  You  read  of  its 
port,  its  corn  and  provision  stores,  &c.,  and  of  certain  good 
hotels ; for  which  as  travellers  we  were  looking  with  a laud- 


144 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK . 


able  anxiety.  The  town,  in  fact,  contains  about  a dozen  of 
houses,  some  hundreds  of  cabins,  and  two  hotels ; to  one  of 
which  we  were  driven,  and  a kind  landlady,  conducting  her 
half-dozen  guests  into  a snug  parlor,  was  for  our  ordering 
refreshment  immediately,  — which  I certainly  should  have 
done,  but  for  the  ominous  whisper  of  a fellow  in  the  crowd 
as  we  descended  (of  course  a disinterested  patron  of  the 
other  house),  who  hissed  into  my  ears,  “ Ask  to  see  the  beds:” 
which  proposal,  accordingly,  I made  before  coming  to  any 
determination  regarding  supper. 

The  worthy  landlady  eluded  my  question  several  times 
with  great  skill  and  good-humor,  but  it  became  at  length 
necessary  to  answer  it ; which  she  did  by  putting  on  as 
confident  an  air  as  possible,  and  leading  the  way  up  stairs 
to  a bedroom,  where  there  was  a good  large  comfortable  bed 
certainly. 

The  only  objection  to  the  bed,  however,  was  that  it  con- 
tained a sick  lady,  whom  the  hostess  proposed  to  eject 
without  any  ceremony,  saying  that  she  was  a great  deal 
better,  and  going  to  get  up  that  very  evening.  However, 
none  of  us  had  the  heart  to  tyrannize  over  lovely  woman 
in  so  painful  a situation,  and  the  hostess  had  the  grief  of 
seeing  four  out  of  her  five  guests  repair  across  the  way 
to  “ Brallaghan’s  ” or  “ Gallagher’s  Hotel,”  — the  name  has 
fled  from  my  memory,  but  it  is  the  big  hotel  in  the  place ; 
and  unless  the  sick  lady  has  quitted  the  other  inn,  which 
most  likely  she  has  done  by  this  time,  the  English  travel- 
ler will  profit  by  this  advice,  and  on  arrival  at  Tarbert  will 
have  himself  transported  to  “ Gallagher’s  ” at  once. 

The  next  morning  a car  carried  us  to  Tarbert  Point, 
where  there  is  a pier  not  yet  completed,  and  a Preventive 
station,  and  where  the  Shannon  steamers  touch,  that  ply 
between  Kilrush  and  Limerick.  Here  lay  the  famous 
river  before  us,  with  low  banks  and  rich  pastures  on  either 
side. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


LIMERICK. 


CAPITAL  steamed,  which 
on  this  day  was  thronged 
with  people,  carried  ns 
for  about  two  hours  down 
the  noble  stream  and 
landed  us  at  Limerick 
quay.  The  character  of 
the  landscape  on  either 
side  the  stream  is  not 
particularly  picturesque, 
but  large,  liberal  and 
prosperous.  Gentle 
sweeps  of  rich  meadows 
and  cornfields  cover  the 
banks,  and  some,  though 
not  too  many,  gentle- 
men’s parks  and  planta- 
tions rise  here  and  there. 
But  the  landscape  was  somehow  more  pleasing  than  if  it 
had  been  merely  picturesque ; and,  especially  after  coming 
out  of  that  desolate  county  of  Kerry,  it  was  pleasant  for 
the  eye  to  rest  upon  this  peaceful,  rich,  and  generous 
scene.  The  first  aspect  of  Limerick  is  very  smart  and 
pleasing : fine  neat  quays  with  considerable  liveliness  and 
bustle,  a very  handsome  bridge  (the  Wellesley  Bridge) 
before  the  spectator ; who,  after  a walk  through  two  long 
and  flourishing  streets,  stops  at  length  at  one  of  the  best 
inns  in  Ireland — the  large,  neat,  and  prosperous  one 
kept  by  Mr.  Cruise.  Except  at  Youghal,  and  the  poor 
fellow  whom  the  Englishman  belabored  at  Glengarilf,  Mr. 
Cruise  is  the  only  landlord  of  an  inn  I have  had  the  honor 
to  see  in  Ireland.  I believe  these  gentlemen  commonly 
vol.  n.  — 10  145 


146 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


(and  very  naturally)  prefer  riding  with  the  hounds,  or 
manly  sports,  to  attendance  on  their  guests ; and  the  land- 
ladies, if  they  prefer  to  play  the  piano,  or  to  have  a game 
of  cards  in  the  parlor,  only  show  a taste  at  which  no  one 
can  wonder:  for  who  can  expect  a lady  to  be  troubling 
herself  with  vulgar  chance-customers,  or  looking  after 
Molly  in  the  bedroom,  or  waiter  Tim  in  the  cellar. 

Now,  beyond  this  piece  of  information  regarding  the 
excellence  of  Mr.  Cruise’s  hotel,  which  every  traveller 
knows,  the  writer  of  this  doubts  very  much  whether  he  has 
anything  to  say  about  Limerick  that  is  worth  the  trouble 
of  saying  or  reading.  I can’t  attempt  to  describe  the 
Shannon,  only  to  say  that  on  board  the  steamboat  there 
was  a piper  and  a bugler,  a hundred  of  genteel  persons 
coming  back  from  donkey-riding  and  bathing  at  Kilkee,  a 
couple  of  heaps  of  raw  hides  that  smelt  very  foully,  a 
score  of  women  nursing  children,  and  a lobster- vender, 
who  vowed  to  me  on  his  honor  that  he  gave  eightpence 
apiece  for  his  fish,  and  that  he  had  boiled  them  only  the 
day  before ; but  when  I produced  the  Guide-book,  and 
solemnly  told  him  to  swear  upon  that  to  the  truth  of  his 
statement,  the  lobster-seller  turned  away  quite  abashed, 
and  would  not  be  brought  to  support  his  previous  assertion 
at  all.  Well,  this  is  no  description  of  the  Shannon,  as  you 
have  no  need  to  be  told,  and  other  travelling  cockneys  will 
no  doubt  meet  neither  piper,  nor  lobster-seller,  nor  raw  hides  ; 
nor,  if  they  come  to  the  inn  where  this  is  written,  is  it 
probable  that  they  will  hear,  as  I do  this  present  moment, 
two  fellows  with  red  whiskers,  and  immense  pomp  and 
noise  and  blustering  with  the  waiter,  conclude  by  ordering 
a pint  of  ale  between  them.  All  that  one  can  hope  to  do 
is,  to  give  a sort  of  notion  of  the  movement  and  manners 
of  the  people  ; pretending  by  no  means  to  offer  a description 
of  places,  but  simply  an  account  of  what  one  sees  in 
them. 

So  that  if  any  traveller  after  staying  two  days  in  Lim- 
erick should  think  fit  to  present  the  reader  with  forty  or 
fifty  pages  of  dissertation  upon  the  antiquities  and  history 
of  the  place,  upon  the  state  of  commerce,  religion,  educa- 
tion, the  public  may  be  pretty  well  sure  that  the  traveller 
has  been  at  work  among  the  guide-books,  and  filching  ex- 
tracts from  the  topographical  and  local  works. 

They  say  there  are  three  towns  to  make  one  Limerick : 
there  is  the  Irish  Town  on  the  Clare  side ; the  English 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


147 


Town  with  its  old  castle  (which  has  sustained  a deal  of 
battering  and  blows  from  Hanes,  from  fierce  Irish  kings, 
from  English  warriors  who  took  an  interest  in  the  place, 
Henry  Secundians,  Elizabethans,  Cromwellians,  and  vice 
versa , Jacobites,  King  Williamites,  — and  nearly  escaped 
being  in  the  hands  of  the  Robert  Emmettites)  ; and  finally 
the  district  called  Newtown-Pery.  In  walking  through 
this  latter  tract,  you  are  at  first  half  led  to  believe  that  you 
are  arrived  in  a second  Liverpool,  so  tall  are  the  ware- 
houses and  broad  the  quays;  so  neat  and.  trim  a street  of 
near  a mile  which  stretches  before  you.  But  even  this 
mile-long  street  does  not,  in  a few  minutes,  appear  to  -be  so 
wealthy  and  prosperous  as  it  shows  at  first  glance ; for  of 
the  population  that  throngs  the  streets,  two-fifths  are  bare- 
footed women,  and  two-fifths  more  ragged  men : and  the 
most  part  of  the  shops  which  have  a grand  show  with  them 
appear,  when  looked  into,  to  be  no  better  than  they  should 
be,  being  empty  makeshift-looking  places  with  their  best 
goods  outside. 

Here,  in  this  handsome  street  too,  is  a handsome  club- 
house, with  plenty  of  idlers,  you  may  be  sure,  lolling  at  the 
portico  ; likewise  you  see  numerous  young  officers,  with 
very  tight  waists  and  absurd  brass  shell-epaulettes  to  their 
little  absurd  frock-coats,  walking  the  pavement  — the  dan- 
dies of  the  street.  Then  you  behold  whole  troops  of  pear, 
apple,  and  plum-women,  selling  very  raw,  green-looking 
fruit,  which,  indeed,  it  is  a wonder  that  any  one  should  eat 
and  live.  The  houses  are  bright  red  — the  street  is  full 
and  gay,  carriages  and  cars  in  plenty  go  jingling  by  — dra- 
goons in  red  are  every  now  and  then  clattering  up  the 
street,  and  as  upon  every  car  which  passes  with  ladies 
in  it  you  are  sure  (I  don’t  know  how  it  is)  to  see  a pretty 
one,  the  great  street  of  Limerick  is  altogether  a very  brill- 
iant and  animated  sight. 

If  the  ladies  of  the  place  are  pretty,  indeed  the  vulgar 
are  scarcely  less  so.  I never  saw  a greater  number  of  kind, 
pleasing,  clever-looking  faces  among  any  set  of  people. 
There  seem,  however,  to  be  two  sorts  of  physiognomies 
which  are  common : the  pleasing  and  somewhat  melancholy 
one  before  mentioned,  and  a square,  high-checked,  flat- 
nosed physiognomy,  not  uncommonly  accompanied  b}^  a 
hideous  staring  head  of  dry  red  hair.  Except,  however,  in 
the  latter  case,  the  hair  flowing  loose  and  long  is  a pretty 
characteristic  of  the  women  of  the  country : many  a fair 


148 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


one  do  you  see  at  the  door  of  the  cabin,  or  the  poor 
shop  in  the  town,  combing  complacently  that  “ great- 
est ornament  of  female  beauty,”  as  Mr.  Rowland  justly 
calls  it. 

The  generality  of  the  women  here  seem  also  much  better 
clothed  than  in  Kerry  ; and  I saw  many  a one  going  bare- 
foot, whose  gown  was  nevertheless  a good  one,  and  whose 
cloak  was  of  line  cloth.  Likewise  it  must  be  remarked, 
that  the  beggars  in  Limerick  were  by  no  means  so  numer- 
ous as  those  in  Cork,  or  in  many  small  places  through 
which  I have  passed.  There  were  but  five,  strange  to  say, 
round  the  mail-coach  as  we  went  away ; and,  indeed,  not  a 
great  number  in  the  streets. 

The  belles-lettres  seems  to  be  by  no  means  so  well  culti- 
vated here  as  in  Cork.  I looked  in  vain  for  a Limerick 
Guide-book  : I saw  but  one  good  shop  of  books,  and  a little 
trumpery  circulating  library,  which  seemed  to  be  provided 
with  those  immortal  works  of  a year  old  — which,  having 
been  sold  for  half  a guinea  the  volume  at  first,  are  sudden- 
ly found  to  be  worth  only  a shilling.  Among  these,  let  me 
mention,  with  perfect  resignation  to  the  decrees  of  fate, 
the  works  of  one  Titmarsh:  they  were  rather  smartly 
bound  by  an  enterprising  publisher,  and  I looked  at  them 
in  Bishop  Murphy’s  Library  at  Cork,  in  a book-shop  in  the 
remote  little  town  of  Ennis,  and  elsewhere,  with  a melan- 
choly tenderness.  Poor  flowerets  of  a season  ! (and  a very 
short  season  too)  let  me  be  allowed  to  salute  your  scat- 
tered leaves  with  a passing  sigh ! . . . Besides  the  book- 
shops, 1 observed  in  the  long,  best  street  of  Limerick  a 
half-dozen  of  what  are  called  French  shops,  with  knick- 
knacks,  German-silver  chimney-ornaments,  and  paltry  fin- 
ery. In  the  windows  of  these  you  saw  a card  with 
u Cigars  ” : in  the  book-shop,  “ Cigars  ” ; at  the  grocer’s,  the 
whiskey-shop,  “ Cigars  ” : everybody  sells  the  noxious  weed, 
or  makes  believe  to  sell  it,  and  I know  no  surer  indication  of 
a struggling,  uncertain  trade  than  that  same  placard  of 
“ Cigars.”  I went  to  buy  some  of  the  pretty  Limerick 
gloves  (they  are  chiefly  made,  as  I have  since  discovered  at 
Cork).  I think  the  man  who  sold  them  had  a patent  from 
the  Queen,  or  his  Excellency,  or  both,  in  his  window : but, 
seeing  a friend  pass  just  as  I entered  the  shop,  he  brushed 
past,  and  held  his  friend  in  conversation  for  some  minutes 
in  the  street,  — about  the  Killarney  races  no  doubt,  or  the 
fun  going  on  at  Kilkee.  I might  have  swept  away  a bag- 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOH 


149 


ful  of  walnut-shells  containing  the  flimsy  gloves ; but 
instead  walked  out,  making  him  a low  bow,  and  saying  I 
would  call  next  week.  He  said  “ wouldn’t  I wait?”  and 
resumed  his  conversation ; and,  no  doubt,  by  this  way  of 
doing  business,  is  making  a handsome  independence.  I 
asked  one  of  the  ten  thousand  fruit-women  the  price  of  her 
green  pears.  “ Twopence  apiece,”  she  said;  and  there 
were  two  little  ragged  beggars  standing  by,  who  were 
munching  the  fruit.  A book-shopwoman  made  me  pay 
threepence  for  a bottle  of  ink  which  usually  costs  a penny ; 
a potato-woman  told  me  that  her  potatoes  cost  fourteen- 
pence  a stone : and  all  these  ladies  treated  the  stranger 
with  a leering,  wheedling  servility  which  made  me  long  to 
box  their  ears,  were  it  not  that  the  man  who  lays  his  hand 
upon  a woman  is  an,  &c.,  whom  ’twere  gross  flattery  to  call 
a what-d’ye-call-’im  ? By  the  way,  the  man  who  played 
Duke  Aranza  at  Cork  delivered  the  celebrated  claptrap 
above  alluded  to  as  follows  : — 

“ The  man  who  lays  his  hand  upon  a woman, 

Save  in  the  way  of  kindness,  is  a villain, 

Whom  ’twere  a gross  piece  of  flattery  to  call  a coward 

and  looked  round  calmly  for  the  applause,  which  deservedly 
followed  his  new  reading  of  the  passage. 

To  return  to  the  apple-women  : — legions  of  ladies  were 
employed  through  the  town  upon  that  traffic ; there  were 
really  thousands  of  them  clustering  upon  the  bridges, 
squatting  down  in  doorways  and  vacant  sheds  for  tem- 
porary markets,  marching  and  crying  their  sour  goods 
in  all  the  crowded  lanes  of  the  city.  After  you  get 
out  of  the  Main  Street  the  handsome  part  of  the  town 
is  at  an  end,  and  you  suddenly  find  yourself  in  such  a 
labyrinth  of  busy  swarming  poverty  and  squalid  commerce 
as  never  was  seen  — no,  not  in  St.  Giles’s,  where  Jew  and 
Irishman  side  by  side  exhibit  their  genius  for  dirt.  Here 
every  house  almost  was  a half  ruin,  and  swarming  with 
people : in  the  cellars  you  looked  down  and  saw  a barrel 
of  herrings,  which  a merchant  was  dispensing;  or  a sack 
of  meal,  which  a poor  dirty  woman  sold  to  people  poorer 
and  dirtier  than  herself : above  was  a tinman,  or  a shoe- 
maker, or  other  craftsman,  his  battered  ensign  at  the  door, 
and  his  small  wares  peering  through  the  cracked  panes  of 
his  shop.  As  for  the  ensign,  as  a matter  of  course 


150 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


the  name  is  never  written  in  letters  of  the  same  size. 
You  read  — 


or  some  similar  signboard.  High  and  low,  in  this  country, 
they  begin  things  on  too  large  a scale.  They  begin 
churches  too  big,  and  can’t  finish  them ; mills  and  houses 
too  big,  and  are  ruined  before  they  are  done ; letters 
on  signboards  too  big,  and  are  up  in  a corner  before  the 
inscription  is  finished.  There  is  something  quite  strange, 
really,  in  this  general  consistency. 

Well,  over  James  Hurley  or  Pat  Hanlahan,  you  will 
most  likely  see  another  board  of  another  tradesman,  with 
a window  to  the  full  as  curious.  Above  Tim  Carthy 
evidently  lives  another  family.  There  are  long-haired 
girls  of  fourteen  at  every  one  of  the  windows,  and  dirty 
children  everywhere.  In  the  cellars,  look  at  them  in 
dingy  white  nightcaps  over  a bowl  of  stirabout ; in  the 
shop,  paddling  up  and  down  the  ruined  steps,  or  issuing 
from  beneath  the  black  counter ; up  above,  see  the  girl  of 
fourteen  is  tossing  and  dandling  one  of  them : and  a pretty 
tender  sight  it  is,  in  the  midst  of  this  filth  and  wretched- 
ness, to  see  the  women  and  children  together.  It  makes 
a sunshine  in  the  dark  place,  and  somehow  half  reconciles 
one  to  it.  Children  are  everywhere.  Look  out  of  the 
nasty  streets  into  the  still  more  nasty  back  lanes  : there 
they  are  sprawling  at  every  door  and  court,  paddling  in 
every  puddle ; and  in  about  a fair  proportion  to  every  six 
children  an  old  woman  — a very  old,  blear-eyed,  ragged 
woman  — who  makes  believe  to  sell  something  out  of  a 
basket,  and  is  perpetually  calling  upon  the  name  of  the 
Lord.  For  every  three  ragged  old  women  you  will  see 
two  ragged  old  men,  praying  and  moaning  like  the  females. 
And  there  is  no  lack  of  young  men,  either,  though  I never 
could  make  out  what  they  were  about : they  loll  about  the 
street,  chiefly  conversing  in  knots;  and  in  every  street  you 
will  be  pretty  sure  to  see  a recruiting-sergeant,  with  gay 
ribbons  in  his  cap,  loitering  about  with  an  eye  upon  the 
other  loiterers  there.  The  buzz  and  hum  and  chattering 
of  this  crowd  is  quite  inconceivable  to  us  in  England, 


PAT*  HANlaH** 
3*;  TAILOR 


JA ML5  huhl«* 

SHOE  MAK 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


151 


where  a crowd  is  generally  silent.  As  a person  with  a 
decent  coat  passes,  they  stop  in  their  talk  and  say,  “ God 
bless  you  for  a line  gentleman  ! ” In  these  crowded  streets, 
where  all  are  beggars,  the  beggary  is  but  small : only  the 
very  old  and  hideous  venture  to  ask  for  a penny,  otherwise 
f he  competition  would  be  too  great. 

As  for  the  buildings  that  one  lights  upon  every  now  and 
then  in  the  midst  of  such  scenes  as  this,  they  are  scarce 
worth  the  trouble  to  examine  : occasionally  you  come  on  a 
chapel  with  sham  Gothic  windows  and  a little  belfry,  one 
of  the  Catholic  places  of  worship  ; then  placed  in  some 
quiet  street,  a neat-looking  Dissenting  meeting-house. 
Across  the  river  yonder,  as  you  issue  out  from  the  street 
where  the  preceding  sketch  was  taken,  is  a handsome 
hospital ; near  it  the  old  cathedral,  a barbarous  old  turreted 
edifice  — of  the  fourteenth  century  it  is  said : how  differ- 
ent to  the  sumptuous  elegance  which  characterizes . the 
English  and  continental  churches  of  the  same  period ! 
Passing  by  it,  and  walking  down  other  streets,  — black, 
ruinous,  swarming,  dark,  hideous,  — you  come  upon  the 
barracks  and  the  walks  of  the  old  castle,  and  from  it  on  to 
an  old  bridge,  from  which  the  view  is  a fine  one.  On  one 
side  are  the  gray  bastions  of  the  castle ; beyond  them, 
in  the  midst  of  the  broad  stream,  stands  a huge  mill  that 
looks  like  another  castle ; further  yet  is  the  handsome  new 
Wellesley  Bridge,  with  some  little  craft  upon  the  river, 
and  the  red  warehouses  of  the  New  Town  looking  pros- 
perous enough.  The  Irish  Town  stretches  away  to  the. 
right ; there  are  pretty  villas  beyond  it ; and  on  the  bridge 
are  walking  twenty-four  young  girls,  in  parties  of  four  and 
five,  with  their  arms  round  each  other’s  waists,  swaying 
to  and  fro,  and  singing  or  chattering,  as  happy  as  if  they 
had  shoes  to  their  feet.  Yonder  you  see  a dozen  pair  of 
red  legs  glittering  in.  the  water,  their  owners  being  em- 
ployed in  washing  their  own  or  other  people’s  rags. 

The  Guide-book  mentions  that  one  of  the  aboriginal 
forests  of  the  country  is  to  be  seen  at  a few  miles  from 
Limerick,  and  thinking  that  an  aboriginal  forest  would  be 
a huge  discovery,  and  form  an  instructive  and  delightful 
feature  of  the  present  work,  I hired  a car  in  order  to  visit 
the  same,  and  pleased  myself  with  visions  of  gigantic 
oaks,  Druids,  Norma,  wildernesses  and  awful  gloom,  which 
would*  fill  the  soul  with  horror.  The  romance  of  the 
place  was  heightened  by  a fact  stated  by  the  carman,  viz., 


152 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK 


that  until  late  years  robberies  were  very  frequent  about 
the  wood ; the  inhabitants  of  the  district  being  a wild, 
lawless  race.  Moreover  there  are  numerous  castles  round 
about,  — and  for  what  can  a man  wish  more  than  robbers, 
castles,  and  an  aboriginal  wood  ? 

The  way  to  these  wonderful  sights  lies  through  the 
undulating  grounds  which  border  the  Shannon ; and 
though  the  view  is  by  no  means  a fine  one,  I know 
few  that  are  pleasanter  than  the  sight  of  these  rich, 
golden,  peaceful  plains,  with  the  full  harvest  waving  on 
them  and  just  ready  for  the  sickle.  The  hay  harvest  was 
likewise  just  being  concluded,  and  the  air  loaded  with 
the  rich  odor  of  the  hay.  Above  the  trees,  to  your  left, 
you  saw  the  mast  of  a ship,  perhaps  moving  along,  and 
every  now  and  then  caught  a glimpse  of  the  Shannon,  and 
the  low  grounds  and  plantations  of  the  opposite  county  of 
Limerick.  Not  an  unpleasant  addition  to  the  landscape, 
too,  was  a sight  which  I do  not  remember  to  have  wit- 
nessed often  in  this  country  — that  of  several  small  and 
decent  farm-houses,  with  their  stacks  and  sheds  and 
stables,  giving  an  air  of  neatness  and  plenty  that  the 
poor  cabin  with  its  potato-patch  does  not  present.  Is 
it  on  account  of  the  small  farms  that  the  land  seems  richer 
and  better  cultivated  here  than  in  most  other  parts  of  the 
country  ? Some  of  the  houses  in  the  midst  of  the  warm 
summer  landscape  had  a strange  appearance,  for  it  is  often 
the  fashion  to  whitewash  the  roofs  of  the  houses,  leaving 
the  slates  of  the  walls  of  their  natural  color ; hence,  and  in 
the  evening  especially,  contrasting  with  the  purple  sky, 
the  house-tops  often  looked  as  if  they  were  covered  with 
snow. 

According  to  the  Guide-book’s  promise,  the  castles  began 
soon  to  appear : at  one  point  we  could  see  three  of  these 
ancient  mansions  in  a line,  each  seemingly  with  its  little 
grove  of  old  trees,  in  the  midst  of  the  bare  but  fertile 
country.  By  this  time,  too,  we  had  got  into  a road  so 
abominably  bad  and  rocky,  that  I began  to  believe  more 
and  more  with  regard  to  the  splendor  of  the  aboriginal 
forest,  which  must  be  most  aboriginal  and  ferocious  indeed 
when  approached  by  such  a savage  path.  After  travelling 
through  a couple  of  lines  of  wall  with  plantations  on 
either  side,  I at  length  became  impatient  as  to  the  forest, 
and,  much  to  my  disappointment,  was  told  this  was  it. 
For  the  fact  is,  that  though  the  forest  has  always  been 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


153 


there,  the  trees  have  not,  the  proprietors  cutting  them 
regularly  when  grown  to  no  great  height,  and  the  monarchs 
of  the  woods  which  I saw  round  about  would  scarcely 
have  afforded  timber  for  a bed-post.  Nor  did  any  robbers 
make  their  appearance  in  this  wilderness : with  which 
disappointment,  however,  I was  more  willing  to  put  up 
than  with  the  former  one. 

But  if  the  wood  and  the  robbers  did  not  come  up  to  my 
romantic  notions,  the  old  Castle  of  Buuratty  fully  answered 
them,  and  indeed  should  be  made  the  scene  of  a romance, 
in  three  volumes  at  least. 

“It  is  a huge,  square  tower,  with  four  smaller  ones  at 
each  angle ; and  you  mount  to  the  entrance  by  a steep 
flight  of  steps,  being  commanded  all  the  way  by  the 
cross-bows  of  two  of  the  Lord  De  Clare’s  retainers,  the 
points  of  whose  weapons  may  be  seen  lying  upon  the  ledge 
of  the  little  narrow  meurtriere  on  each  side  of  the  gate. 
A venerable  seneschal,  with  the  keys  of  office,  presently 
opens  the  little  back  postern,  and  you  are  admitted  to 
the  great  hall  — a noble  chamber,  pardi  ! some  seventy 
feet  in  length  and  thirty  high.  ’Tis  hung  round  with 
a thousand  trophies  of  war  and  chase,  — the  golden  helmet 
and  spear  of  the  Irish  king,  the  long  yellow  mantle  he 
wore,  and  the  huge  brooch  that  bound  it.  Hugo  De  Clare 
slew  him  before  the  castle  in  1305,  when  he  and  his  kernes 
attacked  it.  Less  successful  in  1314,  the  gallant  Hugo  saw 
his  village  of  Bunratty  burned  round  his  tower  by  the  son 
of  the  slaughtered  O’Niel;  and,  sallying  out  to  avenge 
the  insult,  was  brought  back  — a corpse!  Ah!  what  was 
the  pang  that  shot  through  the  fair  bosom  of  the  Lady 
Adela  when  she  knew  that  ’twas  the  hand  of  Redmond 
O’Neil  sped  the  shaft  which  slew  her  sire  ! 

“You  listen  to  this  sad  story,  reposing  on  an  oaken 
settle  (covered  with  deer’s-skin  taken  in  the  aboriginal 
forest  of  Carclow  hard  by)  placed  at  the  enormous  hall-fire. 
Here  sits  Thonom  an  Diaoul,  ‘Dark  Thomas,’  the  blind 
harper  of  the  race  of  De  Clare,  who  loves  to  tell  the  deeds 
of  the  lordly  family.  ‘Penetrating  in  disguise,’  he  con- 
tinues, ‘ into  the  castle,  Bedmond  of  the  golden  locks 
sought  an  interview  with  the  Lily  of  Bunratty ; but  she 
screamed  when  she  saw  him  under  the  disguise  of  the  glee- 
man,  and  said,  “ My  father’s  blood  is  in  the  hall ! ” At 
this,  up  started  fierce  Sir  Banulph.  “ Ho,  Bludyer ! ” he 
cried  to  his  squire,  “call  me  the  hangman  and  Father 


154 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK . 


John;  seize  me,  vassals,  yon  villain  in  gleeman’s  guise, 
and  hang  him  on  the  gallows  on  the  tower  ! ” ’ 

“ 1 Will  it  please  ye  walk  to  the  roof  of  the  old  Castle 
and  see  the  beam  on  which  the  lords  of  the  place  execute 
the  refractory?’  ‘Na  y,  marry/  say  you,  ‘by  my  spurs  of 
knighthood,  I have  seen  hanging  enough  in  merry  England, 
and  care  not  to  see  the  gibbets  of  Trish  kernes.’  The 
harper  would  have  taken  lire  at  this  speech  reflecting  on 
his  country  ; but  luckily  here  Gulph,  your  English  squire, 
entered  from  the  pan  tier  (with  whom  he  had  been  holding 
a parley),  and  brought  a manchet  of  bread,  and  bade  ye,  in 
the  Lord  De  Clare’s  name,  crush  a cup  of  Ypocras,  well 
spiced,  pardi , and  by  the  fair  hands  of  the  Lady  Adela. 

“ ‘ The  Lady  Adela ! ’ say  you,  starting  up  in  amaze.  ‘ Is 
not  this  the  year  of  grace  1600,  and  lived  she  not  three 
hundred  years  syne  ? ’ 

“‘Yes,  Sir  Knight,  but  Bunratty  tower  hath  another 
Lily : will  it  please  you  see  your  chamber  ? ’ 

“ So  saying,  the  seneschal  leads  you  up  a winding  stair 
in  one  of  the  turrets,  past  one  little  dark  chamber  and 
another,  without  a fireplace,  without  rushes  (how  different 
from  the  stately  houses  of  Nonsuch  or  Audley  End !)  and, 
leading  you  through  another  vast  chamber  above  the  ba- 
ronial hall,  similar  in  size,  but  decorated  with  tapestries 
and  rude  carvings,  you  pass  the  little  chapel  (‘  Marry/ 
says  the  steward,  ‘ many  would  it  not  hold,  and  many  do 
not  come  !)  ’ until  at  last,  you  are  located  in  the  little  cell 
appropriated  to  you.  Some  rude  attempts  have  been  made 
to  render  it  fitting  for  the  stranger ; but,  though  more 
neatly  arranged  than  the  hundred  other  little  chambers 
which  the  castle  contains,  in  sooth  ’tis  scarce  fitted  for  the 
serving-man,  much  more  for  Sir  Reginald,  the  English 
knight. 

“ While  you  are  looking  at  a bouquet  of  flowers,  which 
lies  on  the  settle  — magnolias,  geraniums,  the  blue  flowers 
of  the  cactus,  and  in  the  midst  of  the  bouquet,  one  lily ; 
whilst  you  wonder  whose  fair  hands  could  have  culled  the 
flowers  — hark  ! the  horns  are  blowing  at  the  drawbridge, 
and  the  warder  lets  the  portcullis  down.  You  rush  to  your 
window,  a stalwart  knight  rides  over  the  gate,  the  hoofs  of 
his  black  courser  clanging  upon  the  planks.  A host  of 
wild  retainers  wait  round  about  him  : see,  four  of  them 
carry  a stag,  that  hath  been  slain  no  doubt  in  the  aborigi- 
nal forest  of  Carclow.  ‘By  my  fay  ! ’ say  you,  ‘ ’tis  a stag 
of  ten.’ 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK . 


155 


“ But  who  is  that  yonder  on  the  gray  palfrey,  conversing 
so  prettily,  and  holding  the  sportive  animal  with  so  light  a 
rein  ? — a light  green  riding  habit  and  ruff,  a little  hat  with 
a green  plume  — sure  it  may  be  a lady,  and  a fair  one.  She 
looks  up.  0 blessed  Mother  of  Heaven,  that  look  ! those 
eyes  that  smile,  those  sunny  golden  ringlets  ! It  is  — it  is 
the  Lady  Adela  : the  Lily  of  Bunrat.  . . .” 

If  the  reader  cannot  finish  the  other  two  volumes  for 
him  or  herself,  he  or  she  never  deserves  to  have  a novel 
from  a circulating  library  again : for  my  part,  I will  take 
my  affidavit  the  English  knight  will  marry  the  Lily  at  the 
end  of  the  third  volume,  having  previously  slain  the  other 
suitor  at  one  of  the  multifarious  sieges  of  Limerick.  And 
I beg  to  say  that  the  historical  part  of  this  romance  has 
been  extracted  carefully  from  the  Guide-book  : the  topo- 
graphical and  descriptive  portion  being  studied  on  the 
spot.  A policeman  shows  you  over  it,  halls,  chapels,  gal- 
leries, gibbets  and  all.  The  huge  old  tower  was,  until  late 
years,  inhabited  by  the  family  of  the  proprietor,  who  built 
himself  a house  in  the  midst  of  it : but  he  has  since  built 
another  in  the  park  opposite,  and  half  a dozen  “ Peelers,” 
with  a commodity  of  wives  and  children,  now  inhabit 
Bunratty.  On  the  gate  where  we  entered  were  numerous 
placards  offering  rewards  for  the  apprehension  of  various 
country  offenders  ; and  a turnpike,  a bridge,  and  a quay 
have  sprung  up  from  the  place  which  Bed  Bedmond  (or 
anybody  else)  burned. 

On  our  road  to  Galway  the  next  day,  we  were  carried 
once  more  by  the  old  tower,  and  for  a considerable  distance 
along  the  fertile  banks  of  the  Fergus  lake,  and  a river 
which  pours  itself  into  the  Shannon.  The  first  town  we 
come  to  is  Castle  Clare,  which  lies  conveniently  on  the 
river,  with  a castle,  a good  bridge,  and  many  quays  and 
warehouses,  near  which  a small  ship  or  two  were  lying. 
The  place  was  once  the  chief  town  of  the  county,  but  is 
wretched  and  ruinous  now,  being  made  up  for  the  most 
part  of  miserable  thatched  cots,  round  which  you  see  the 
usual  dusky  population.  The  drive  hence  to  Ennis  lies 
through  a country  which  is  by  no  means  so  pleasant  as 
that  rich  one  we  have  passed  through,  being  succeeded  u by 
that  craggy,  bleak,  pastoral  district  which  occupies  so  large 
a portion  of  the  limestone  district  of  Clare.”  Ennis  like- 
wise, stands  upon  the  Fergus  — a busy  little  narrow- 


156 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


streeted,  foreign-looking  town,  approached  by  half  a mile 
of  thatched  cots,  in  which  I am  not  ashamed  to  confess 
that  I saw  some  as  pretty  faces  as  over  any  half-mile  of 
country  I ever  travelled  in  my  life* 

A great  light  of  the  Catholic  Church,  who  was  of  late  a 
candlestick  in  our  own  communion,  was  on  the  coach  with 
us,  reading  devoutly  out  of  a breviary  on  many  occasions 
along  the  road.  A crowd  of  black  coats  and  heads,  with 
that  indescribable  look  which  belongs  to  the  Catholic 
clergy,  were  evidently  on  the  lookout  for  the  coach ; and 
as  it  stopped,  one  of  them  came  up  to  me  with  a low  bow, 

and  asked  if  I was  the  Honorable  and  Iieverend  Mr.  S ? 

How  I wish  I had  answered  him  I was  ! It  would  have 
been  a grand  scene.  The  respect  paid  to  this  gentleman’s 
descent  is  quite  absurd : the  papers  bandy  his  title  about 
with  pleased  emphasis  — the  Galway  paper  calls  him  the 
very  reverend.  There  is  something  in  the  love  for  rank 
almost  childish : witness  the  adoration  of  George  IV. ; the 
pompous  joy  with  which  John  Tuam  records  his  correspond- 
ence with  a great  man ; the  continual  My -Lording  of  the 
Bishops,  the  Bight-Honorabling  of  Mr.  O’Connell  — which 
title  his  party  papers  delight  on  all  occasions  to  give  him 
— nay,  the  delight  of  that  great  man  himself  when  first  he 
attained  the  dignity  : he  figured  in  his  robes  in  the  most 
good-humored  simple  delight  at  having  them,  and  went  to 
church  forthwith  in  them ; as  if  such  a man  wanted  a title 
before  his  name. 

At  Ennis,  as  well  as  everywhere  else  in  Ireland,  there 
were  of  course  the  regular  number  of  swaggering-looking 
buckeens  and  shabby-genteel  idlers  to  watch  the  arrival  of 
the  mail-coach.  A poor  old  idiot,  with  his  gray  hair  tied 
up  in  bows,  and  with  a ribbon  behind,  thrust  out  a very 
fair  soft  hand  with  taper  fingers,  and  told  me,  nodding  his 
head  very  wistfully,  that  he  had  no  father  nor  mother ; 
upon  which  score  he  got  a penny.  Nor  did  the  other  beg- 
gars round  the  carriage  who  got  none  seem  to  grudge 
the  poor  fellow’s  good  fortune.  I think  when  one  poor 
wretch  has  a piece  of  luck,  the  other  seems  glad  here : and 
they  promise  to  pray  for  you  just  the  same  if  you  give  as 
if  you  refuse. 

The  town  was  swarming  with  people ; the  little  dark 
streets,  which  twist  about  in  all  directions,  being  full  of 
cheap  merchandise  and  its  venders.  Whether  there  are 
many  buyers,  I can’t  say.  This  is  written  opposite  the 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK 


157 


market  place  in  Galway,  where  I have  watched  a stall  a 
hundred  times  in  the  course  of  the  last  three  hours  andi 
seen  no  money  taken  : but  at  every  place  I come  to,  I canT 
help  wondering  at  the  numbers;  it  seems  market-day  every « 
where  — apples,  pigs,  and  potatoes  being  sold  all  over  the 
kingdom.  There  seem  to  be  some  good  shops  in  those 
narrow  streets ; among  others,  a decent  little  library, 
where  I bought,  for  eighteenpence,  six  volumes  of  worka 
strictly  Irish,  that  will  serve  for  a half-hour’s  gossip  on 
the  next  rainy  day. 

The  road  hence  to  Gort  carried  us  at  first  by  some  dis^ 
mal,  lonely-looking,  reedy  lakes,  through  a melancholy 
country  ; an  open  village  standing  here  and  there,  with  a 
big  chapel  in  the  midst  of  it,  almost  always  unfinished  in 
some  point  or  other.  Crossing  at  a bridge  near  a place 
called  Tubbor,  the  coachman  told  us  we  were  in  the  famous 
county  of  Galway,  which  all  readers  of  novels  admire  in 
the  warlike  works  of  Maxwell  and  Lever ; and,  dismal  as 
the  country  had  been  in  Clare,  I think  on  the  northern 
side  of  the  bridge  it  was  dismaller  still  — the  stones  not 
only  appearing  in  the  character  of  hedges,  but  strewing 
over  whole  fields,  in  which  sheep  were  browsing  as  well  as 
they  could. 

We  rode  for  miles  through  this  stony,  dismal  district, 
seeing  more  lakes  now  and  anon,  with  fellows  spearing 
eels  in  the  midst.  Then  we  passed  the  plantations  of  Lord 
Gort’s  Castle  of  Loughcooter,  and  presently  came  to  the 
town  which  bears  his  name,  or  vice  versa.  It  is  a regularly- 
built  little  place,  with  a square  and  street : but  it  looked  as 
if  it  wondered  how  the  deuce  it  got  into  the  midst  of  such 
a desolate  country,  and  seemed  to  bore  itself  there  consider- 
ably. It  had  nothing  to  do,  and  no  society. 

A short  time  before  arriving  at  Oranmore,  one  has 
glimpses  of  the  sea,  which  comes  opportunely  to  relieve 
the  dulness  of  the  land.  Between  Gort  and  that  place  we 
passed  through  little  but  the  most  woful  country,  in  the 
midst  of  which  was  a village,  where  a horse-fair  was  held, 
and  where  (upon  the  word  of  the  coachman)  all  the  bad 
horses  of  the  country  were  to  be  seen.  The  man  was  com- 
missioned, no  doubt,  to  buy  for  his  employers,  for  two  or 
three  merchants  were  on  the  lookout  for  him,  and  trotted 
out  their  cattle  by  the  side  of  the  coach.  A very  good, 
neat-looking,  smart-trotting  chestnut  horse,  of  seven  years 
old,  was  offered  by  the  owner  for  SI.  ; a neat  brown  mare 


158 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


for  10 1.,  and  a better  (as  I presume)  for  14Z. ; but  all  looked 
very  respectable,  and  I have  the  coachman’s  word  for  it 
that  they  were  good  serviceable  horses.  Oran  more,  with 
an  old  castle  in  the  midst  of  the  village,  woods,  and  park- 
plantations  round  about,  and  the  bay  beyond  it,  has  a 
pretty  and  romantic  look;  and  the  drive,  of  about  four 
miles  thence  to  Galway,  is  the  most  picturesque  part  per- 
haps of  the  fifty  miles’  ride  from  Limerick.  The  road  is 
tolerably  wooded.  You  see  the  town  itself,  with  its  huge 
old  churcli-tower,  stretching  along  the  bay,  “ backed  by 
hills  linking  into  the  long  chain  of  mountains  which 
stretch  across  Connemara  and  the  Joyce  country.”  A 
suburb  of  cots  that  seems  almost  endless  has,  however,  an 
end  at  last  among  the  houses  of  the  town ; and  a little  fleet 
of  a couple  of  hundred  fishing  boats  was  manoeuvring  in 
the  bright  waters  of  the  bay. 


CHAPTER  XV. 


GALWAY “ KILROY*S  HOTEL  ** GALWAY  NIGHTS*  ENTER- 
TAINMENTS   FIRST  NIGHT  : AN  EVENING  WITH  CAPTAIN 

FREENY. 


any  one  will  be  so  good  as  to  play. 

But  there  was  no  one  in  the  hotel  coffee-room  who  was 
inclined  for  the  sport.  The  company  there,  on  the  day  of 
our  arrival,  consisted  of  two  coach-passengers,  — a French- 
man who  came  from  Sligo,  and  ordered  mutton-chops  and 
fraid  potatoes  for  dinner  by  himself,  a turbot  which  cost  two 
shillings,  and  in  Billingsgate  would  have  been  worth  a guinea, 
and  a couple  of  native  or  inhabitant  bachelors,  who  fre- 
quented the  table-d’hote. 

By  the  way,  besides  these  there  were  at  dinner  two  tur- 
keys (so  that  Mr.  Kilroy*s  two-shilling  ordinary  was  by  no 
means  ill-supplied) ; and,  as  a stranger,  I had  the  honor  of 
carving  these  animals,  which  were  dispensed  in  rather  a 
singular  way.  There  are,  as  it  is  generally  known,  to  two 
turkeys  four  wings.  Of  the  four  passengers  one  ate  no  tur- 


HEN  it  is  stated  that, 
throughout  the  town  of 
Galway,  you  cannot  get 
a cigar  that  costs  more 
than  twopence,  London- 
ers may  imagine  the 
strangeness  and  remote- 
ness of  the  place.  The 
rain  poured  down  for 
two  days  after  our  arri- 
val at  “ Kilroy’s  Hotel.** 
An  umbrella  under  such 
circumstances  is  a poor 
resource  : se  1 f-c  o n t e m- 
plation  is  far  more  amus- 
ing ; especially  smoking, 
and  a game  at  cards,  if 


159 


160 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK . 


key,  one  had  a pinion,  another  the  remaining  part  of  the 
wing,  and  the  fourth  gentleman  took  the  other  three  wings 
for  his  share.  Does  everybody  in  Galway  eat  three  wings 
when  there  are  two  turkeys  for  dinner  ? One  has  heard 
wonders  of  the  country,  — the  dashing,  daring,  duelling,  des- 
perate, rollicking,  whiskey-drinking  people  ; but  this  won- 
der beats  all.  When  I asked  the  Galway  turkiphagus  (there 
is  no  other  word,  for  Turkey  was  invented  long  after  Greece) 
“ if  he  would  take  a third  wing  ? ” with  a peculiar  satiric 
accent  on  the  words  third  wing , which  cannot  be  expressed 
in  writing,  but  which  the  occasion  fully  merited,  I thought 
perhaps  that,  following  the  custom  of  the  country,  where 
everybody  according  to  Maxwell  and  Lever,  challenges 
everybody  else,  — I thought  the  Galwagian  would  call  me 
out ; but  no  such  thing.  He  only  said,  “ If  you  plase,  sir,” 
in  the  blandest  way  in  the  world  ; and  gobbled  up  the  limb 
in  a twinkling. 

As  an  encouragement,  too,  for  persons  meditating  that 
important  change  of  condition,  the  gentleman  was  a teeto- 
taler : he  took  but  one  glass  of  water  to  that  intolerable 
deal  of  bubbly  jock.  Galway  must  be  very  much  changed 
since  the  days  when  Maxwell  and  Lever  knew  it.  Three 
turkey-wings  and  a glass  of  water  ! But  the  man  cannot  be 
the  representative  of  a class,  that  is  clear  : it  is  physically 
and  arithmetically  impossible.  They  can’t  all  eat  three 
wings  of  two  turkeys  at  dinner ; the  turkeys  could  not 
stand  it,  let  alone  the  men.  These  wings  must  have  been 
u non  usitatae  (nec  tenues)  pennae.”  But  no  more  of  these 
flights ; let  us  come  to  sober  realities. 

The  fact  is,  that  when  the  rain  is  pouring  down  in  the 
streets  the  traveller  has  little  else  to  remark  except  these 
peculiarities  of  his  fellow-travellers  and  inn-sojourners ; 
and,  lest  one  should  be  led  into  further  personalities,  it  is 
best  to  quit  that  water-drinking  gormandizer  at  once,  and, 
retiring  to  a private  apartment,  to  devote  one’s  self  to  quiet 
observation  and  the  acquisition  of  knowledge,  either  by 
looking  out  of  the  window  and  examining  mankind,  or  by 
perusing  books,  and  so  living  with  past  heroes  and  ages. 

As  for  the  knowledge  to  be  had  by  looking  out  of  window, 
it  is  this  evening  not  much.  A great,  wide,  blank,  bleak, 
water-whipped  square  lies  before  the  bedroom  window  ; at 
the  opposite  side  of  which  is  to  be  seen  the  opposition  hotel, 
looking  even  more  bleak  and  cheerless  than  that  over  which 
Mr.  Kilroy  presides.  Large  dismal  warehouses  and  private 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK . 


161 


houses  form  three  sides  of  the  square  ; and  in  the  midst  is  a 
bare  pleasure-ground  surrounded  by  a growth  of  gaunt  iron- 
railings,  the  only  plants  seemingly  in  the  place.  Three  tri- 
angular edifices  that  look  somewhat  like  gibbets  stand  in 
the  paved  part  of  the  square,  but  the  victims  that  are  con- 
signed to  their  fate  under  these  triangles  are  only  potatoes, 
which  are  weighed  there ; and,  in  spite  of  the  torrents  of 
rain,  a crowd  of  barefooted,  red-petticoated  women,  and  men 
in  gray  coats  and  flower-pot  hats,  are  pursuing  their  little 
bargains  with  the  utmost  calmness.  The  rain  seems  to 


make  no  impression  on  the  males ; nor  do  the  women  guard 
against  it  more  than  by  flinging  a petticoat  over  their  heads, 
and  so  stand  bargaining  and  chattering  in  Irish,  their  figures 
indefinitely  reflected  in  the  shining,  varnished  pavement. 
Donkeys  and  pony-carts  innumerable  stand  around,  similarly 
reflected ; and  in  the  baskets  upon  these  vehicles  you  see 
shoals  of  herrings  lying.  After  a short  space  this  prospect 
becomes  somewhat  tedious,  and  one  looks  to  other  sources 
of  consolation. 

The  eighteenpennyworth  of  little  books  purchased  at 
Ennis  in  the  morning  came  here  most  agreeably  to  my  aid ; 
and  indeed  they  afford  many  a pleasant  hour’s  reading. 

VOL.  II.  - — 11 


162 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


Like  the  “ Bibliotheque  Grise,”  which  one  sees  in  the  French 
cottages  in  the  provinces,  and  the  German  “ Volksbiicher,” 
both  of  which  contain  stores  of  old  legends  that  are  still 
treasured  in  the  country,  these  yellow-covered  books  are 
prepared  for  the  people  chiefly  ; and  have  been  sold  for 
many  long  years  before  the  march  of  knowledge  began  to 
banish  Fancy  out  of  the  world,  and  gave  us,  in  place  of  the 
old  fairy  tales,  Penny  Magazines  and  similar  wholesome 
works.  Where  are  the  little  harlequin-backed  story-books 
that  used  to  be  read  by  children  in  England  some  thirty 
years  ago  ? Where  such  authentic  narratives  as  “ Captain 
Bruce’s  Travels,”  “ The  Dreadful  Adventures  of  Sawney 
Bean,”  &c.,  which  were  commonly  supplied  to  the  little 
boys  at  school  by  the  same  old  lady  who  sold  oranges  and 
alycompayne  ? — they  are  all  gone  out  of  the  world,  and 
replaced  by  such  books  as  “ Conversations  on  Chemistry,” 
“The  Little  Geologist,”  “Peter  Parley’s  Tales  about  the 
Binomial  Theorem,”  and  the  like.  The  world  will  be  a dull 
world  some  hundreds  of  years  hence,  when  Fancy  shall  be 
dead,  and  ruthless  Science  (that  has  no  more  bowels  than  a 
steam-engine)  has  killed  her. 

It  is  a comfort,  meanwhile,  to  come  on  occasions  on  some 
of  the  good  old  stories  and  biographies.  These  books  were 
evidently  written  before  the  useful  had  attained  its  present 
detestable  popularity.  There  is  nothing  useful  here , that’s 
certain  : and  a man  will  be  puzzled  to  extract  a precise 
moral  out  of  the  “Adventures  of  Mr.  James  Freeny  ” ; or 
out  of  the  legends  in  the  “Hibernian  Tales,”  or  out  of  the 
lamentable  tragedy  of  the  “ Battle  of  Aughrim,”  writ  in 
most  doleful  Anglo-Irish  verse.  But  are  we  to  reject  all 
things  that  have  not  a moral  tacked  to  them  ? “ Is  there 

any  moral  shut  within  the  bosom  of  the  rose  ? ” And  yet, 
as  the  same  noble  poet  sings  (giving  a smart  slap  to  the 
utility  people  the  while),  “ useful  applications  lie  in  art  and 
nature,”  and  every  man  may  find  a moral  suited  to  his 
mind  in  them ; or,  if  not  a moral,  an  occasion  for  moraliz- 
ing. 

Honest  Freeny ’s  adventures  (let  us  begin  with  history 
and  historic  tragedy,  and  leave  fancy  for  future  considera- 
tion), if  they  have  a moral,  have  that  dubious  one  which  the 
poet  admits  may  be  elicited  from  a rose  ; and  which  every 
man  may  select  according  to  his  mind.  And  surely  this  is 
a far  better  and  more  comfortable  system  of  moralizing  than 
that  in  the  fable-books,  where  you  are  obliged  to  accept  the 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


163 


story  witli  the  inevitable  moral  corollary  that  will  stick 
close  to  it. 

Whereas,  in  Freeny’s  life,  one  man  may  see  the  evil  of 
drinking,  another  the  harm  of  horse-racing,  another  the 
danger  attendant  on  early  marriage,  a fourth  the  exceeding 
inconvenience  as  well  as  hazard  of  the  heroic  highwayman’s 
life  — which  a certain  Ainsworth,  in  company  with  a certain 
Ouikshank,  has  represented  as  so  poetic  and  brilliant,  so 
prodigal  of  delightful  adventure,  so  adorned  with  cham- 
pagne, gold-lace,  and  brocade. 

And  the  best  part  of  worthy  Freeny’s  tale  is  the  noble 
naivete  and  simplicity  of  the  hero  as  he  recounts  his  own 
adventures,  and  the  utter  unconsciousness  that  he  is  narrat- 
ing anything  wonderful.  It  is  the  way  of  all  great  men, 
who  recite  their  great  actions  modestly,  and  as  if  they  were 
matters  of  course  ; as  indeed  to  them  they  are.  A common 
tyro,  having  perpetrated  a great  deed,  would  be  amazed  and 
flurried  at  his  own  action ; whereas  I make  no  doubt  the 
Duke  of  Wellington,  after  a great  victory,  took  his  tea  and 
went  to  bed  just  as  quietly  as  he  would  after  a dull  debate 
in  the  House  of  Lords.  And  so  with  Freeny,  — his  great 
and  charming  characteristic  is  grave  simplicity  : he  does  his 
work ; he  knows  his  danger  as  well  as  another ; but  he  goes 
through  his  fearful  duty  quite  quietly  and  easily,  and  not 
with  the  least  air  of  bravado,  or  the  smallest  notion  that  he 
is  doing  anything  uncommon. 

It  is  related  of  Carter,  the  Lion-King,  that  when  he  was 
a boy,  and  exceedingly  fond  of  gingerbread-nuts,  a relation 
gave  him  a parcel  of  those  delicious  cakes,  which  the  child 
put  in  his  pocket  just  as  he  was  called  on  to  go  into  a cage 
with  a very  large  and  roaring  lion.  He  had  to  put  his  head 
into  the  forest-monarch’s  jaws,  and  leave  it  there  for  a con- 
siderable time,  to  the  delight  of  thousands  : as  is  even  now 
:;he  case  ; and  the  interest  was  so  much  the  greater,  as  the 
child  was  exceedingly  innocent,  rosy-cheeked  and  pretty. 
To  have  seen  that  little  flaxen  head  bitten  off  by  the  lion 
would  have  been  a far  more  pathetic  spectacle  than  that  of 
the  decapitation  of  some  gray-bearded  old  unromantic  keep- 
er, who  had  served  out  raw  meat  and  stirred  up  the  animals 
with  a pole  any  time  these  twenty  years  : and  the  interest 
rose  in  consequence. 

While  the  little  darling’s  head  was  thus  en jawed,  what 
was  the  astonishment  of  everybody  to  see  him  put  his  hand 
into  his  little  pocket,  take  out  a paper  — from  the  paper  a 


164 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


gingerbread-nut  — pop  that  gingerbread-nut  into  the  lion’s 
mouth,  then  into  his  own,  and  so  finish  at  least  two-penny- 
worth of  nuts  ! 

The  excitement  was  delirious  : the  ladies,  when  he  came 
out  of  chancery,  were  for  doing  what  the  lion  had  not  done, 
and  eating  him  up  — with  kisses.  And  the  only  remark 
the  young  hero  made  was,  “ Uncle,  them  nuts  wasn’t  so 
crisp  as  them  I had  t’other  day.”  He  never  thought  of  the 
danger,  — he  only  thought  of  the  nuts. 

Thus  it  was  with  Freeny.  It  is  fine  to  mark  his  bravery, 
and  to  see  how  he  cracks  his  simple  philosophic  nuts  in  the 
jaws  of  innumerable  lions. 

At  the  commencement  of  the  last  century,  honest  Free- 
ny’s  father  was  house-steward  in  the  family  of  Joseph  Rob- 
bins, Esq.,  of  Ballyduff ; and,  marrying  Alice  Phelan,  a 
maid-servant  in  the  same  family,  had  issue  James,  the  cel- 
ebrated Irish  hero.  At  a proper  age  James  was  put  to 
school ; but  being  a nimble,  active  lad,  and  his  father’s  mis- 
tress taking  a fancy  to  him,  he  was  presently  brought  to 
Ballyduff,  where  she  had  a private  tutor  to  instruct  him 
during  the  time  which  he  could  spare  from  his  professional 
duty,  which  was  that  of  pantry-boy  in  Mr.  Robbins’s  estab- 
lishment. At  an  early  age  he  began  to  neglect  his  duty; 
and  although  his  father,  at  the  excellent  Mrs.  Robbins’s  sug- 
gestion, corrected  him  very  severely,  the  bent  of  his  genius* 
was  not  to  be  warped  by  the  rod,  and  he  attended  “ all  the 
little  country  dances,  diversions,  and  meetings,  and  became 
what  is  called  a good  dancer ; his  own  natural  inclinations 
hurrying  him  ” (as  he  finely  says)  “ into  the  contrary  diver- 
sions.” 

He  was  scarce  twenty  years  old  when  he  married  (a 
frightful  proof  of  the  wicked  recklessness  of  his  former 
courses),  and  set  up  in  trade  in  Waterford  ; where,  however, 
matters  went  so  ill  with  him,  that  he  was  -speedily  with- 
out money,  and  50 l.  in  debt.  He  had,  he  says,  not  any  way 
of  paying  the  debt,  except  by  selling  his  furniture  or  his 
riding-mare , to  both  of  which  measures  he  was  averse  : for 
where  is  the  gentleman  in  Ireland  that  can  do  without  a 
horse  to  ride  ? Mr.  Freeny  and  his  riding-mare  became 
soon  famous,  insomuch  that  a thief  in  jail  warned  the 
magistrates  of  Kilkenny  to  beware  of  a one-eyed  man  with 
a mare. 

These  unhappy  circumstances  sent  him  on  the  highway 
to  seek  a maintenance,  and  his  first  exploit  was  to  rob  a 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  HOOK. 


165 


gentleman  of  fifty  pounds ; then  he  attacked  another, 
against  whom  he  “ had  a secret  disgust , because  this  gentle- 
man had  prevented  his  former  master  from  giving  him  a 
suit  of  clothes  ! ” 

Urged  by  a noble  resentment  against  this  gentleman,  Mr. 
Freeny,  in  company  with  a friend  by  the  name  of  Beddy, 
robbed  the  gentleman’s  house,  taking  therein  70 1.  in  money, 
which  was  honorably  divided  among  the  captors. 

“ We  then,”  continues  Mr.  Freeny,  “ quitted  the  house 
with  the  booty,  and  came  to  Thomastown ; but  not  know- 
ing how  to  dispose  of  the  plate,  left  it  with  Beddy,  who 
said  he  had  a friend  from  whom  he  would  get  cash  .for  it. 
In  some  time  afterwards  I asked  him  for  the  dividend  of 
the  cash  he  got  for  the  plate,  but  all  the  satisfaction  he 
gave  me  was,  that  it  was  lost,  which  occasioned  me  to  have 
my  own  opinion  of  him.” 

Mr.  Freeny  then  robbed  Sir  William  Fownes’  servant  of 
14Z.,  in  such  an  artful  manner  that  everybody  believed  the 
servant  himself  had  secreted  the  money  ; and  no  doubt  the 
rascal  was  turned  adrift,  and  starved  in  consequence  — a 
truly  comic  incident,  and  one  that  could  be  used,  so  as  to 
provoke  a great  deal  of  laughter,  in  an  historical  work  of 
which  our  champion  should  be  the  hero. 

The  next  enterprise  of  importance  is  that  against  the 
house  of  Colonel  Palliser,  which  Freeny  thus  picturesquely 
describes.  Coming  with  one  of  his  spies  close  up  to  the 
house,  Mr.  Freeny  watched  the  Colonel  lighted  to  bed  by  a 
servant ; and  thus,  as  he  cleverly  says,  could  judge  “ of  the 
room  the  Colonel  lay  in.” 

“ Some  time  afterwards,”  says  Freeny,  “ I observed  a 
light  upstairs,  by  which  I judged  the  servants  were  going 
to  bed,  and  soon  after  observed  that  the  candles  were  all 
quenched,  by  which  I assured  myself  they  were  all  gone  to 
bed.  I then  came  back  to  where  the  men  were,  and  ap- 
pointed Bulger,  Motley,  and  Commons  to  go  in  along  with 
me  ; but  Commons  answered  that  he  never  had  been  in  any 
house  before  where  there  were  arms : upon  which  I asked 
the  coward  what  business  he  had  there,  and  swore  I would 
as  soon  shoot  him  as  look  at  him,  and  at  the  same  time 
cocked  a pistol  to  his  breast ; but  the  rest  of  the  men  pre- 
vailed upon  me  to  leave  him  at  the  back  .of  the  house,  where 
he  might  run  away  when  he  thought  proper. 

“ I then  asked  Grace  where  did  he  choose  to  be  posted  : 
he  answered  Ghat  he  would  go  where  I pleased  to  order 


166 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  HOOK. 


him/  for  which  I thanked  him.  W e then  immediately  came 
up  to  the  house,  lighted  our  candles,  put  Houlahan  at  the 
hack  of  the  house  to  prevent  any  person  from  coming  out 
that  way,  and  placed  Hacket  on  my  mare,  well  armed,  at 
the  front ; and  I then  broke  one  of  the  windows  with  a 
sledge,  whereupon  Bulger,  Motley,  Grace,  and  I got  in  ; up- 
on which  I ordered  Motley  and  Grace  to  go  up  stairs,  and 
Bulger  and  I would  stay  below,  where  we  thought  the  great- 
est danger  would  be ; but  I immediately,  upon  second  con- 
sideration, for  fear  Motley  or  Grace  should  be  daunted,  de- 
sired Bulger  to  go  up  with  them,  and  when  he  had  fixed 
matters  above,  to  come  down,  as  I judged  the  Colonel  lay 
below.  I then  went  to  the  room  where  the  Colonel  was, 
and  burst  open  the  door;  upon  which  he  said,  1 Odds- 
wounds  ! who’s  there  ? 7 to  which  1 answered,  ‘ A friend, 
sir  ’ ; upon  which  he  said,  ‘ You  lie  ! by  G-d,  you  are  no 
friend  of  mine  ! ’ I then  said  that  I was,  and  his  relation 
also,  and  that  if  he  viewed  me  close  he  would  know  me,  and 
begged  of  him  not  to  be  angry  : upon  which  I immediately 
seized  a bullet-gun  and  case  of  pistols,  which  I observed 
hanging  up  in  his  room.  I then  quitted  his  room,  and 
walked  round  the  lower  part  of  the  house,  thinking  to  meet 
some  of  the  servants,  whom  I thought  would  strive  to  make 
their  escape  from  the  men  who  were  above,  and  meeting 
none  of  them,  I immediately  returned  to  the  Colonel’s  room ; 
where  I no  sooner  entered  than  he  desired  me  to  go  out  for 
a villain,  and  asked  why  I bred  such  disturbance  in  his 
house  at  that  time  of  night.  At  the  same  time  I snatched 
his  breeches  from  under  his  head,  wherein  I got  a small 
purse  of  gold,  and  said  that  abuse  was  not  lit  treatment  for 
me  who  was  his  relation,  and  that  it  would  hinder  me  of 
calling  to  see  him  again.  I then  demanded  the  key  of  his 
desk  which  stood  in  his  room  ; he  answered  he  had  no  key  ; 
upon  which  I said  I had  a very  good  key  ; at  the  same  time 
giving  it  a stroke  with  the  sledge,  which  burst  it  open, 
wherein  I got  a purse  of  ninety  guineas,  a four-pound  piece, 
two  moidores,  some  small  gold,  and  a large  glove  with 
t went v-eight  guineas  in  silver. 

“ By  this  time  Bulger  and  Motley  came  down  stairs  to 
me,  after  rifling  the  house  above.  We  then  observed  a closet 
inside  his  room,  which  we  soon  entered,  and  got  therein  a 
basket  wherein  there  was  plate  to  the  value  of  three  hun- 
dred pounds.” 

And  so  they  took  leave  of  Colonel  Palisser,  and  rode 
away  with  their  earnings. 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


167 


The  story,  as  here  narrated,  has  that  simplicity  which  is 
beyond  the  reach  of  all  except  the  very  highest  art ; and  it 
is  not  high  art  certainly  which  Mr.  Freeny  can  be  said  to 
possess,  but  a noble  nature  rather,  which  leads  him  thus 
grandly  to  describe  scenes  wherein  he  acted  a great  part. 
With  what  a gallant  determination  does  he  inform  the  cow- 
ard Commons  that  he  would  shoot  him  “ as  soon  as  look  at 
him”;  and  how  dreadful  he  must  have  looked  (with  his 
one  eye)  as  he  uttered  that  sentiment ! But  he  left  him, 
he  says  with  a grim  humor,  at  the  back  of  the  house,  “ where 
he  might  run  away  when  he  thought  proper.”  The  Duke 
of  Wellington  must  have  read  Mr.  Freeny ’s  history  in  his 
youth  (his  Grace’s  birthplace  is  not  far  from  the  scene  of 
the  other  gallant  Irishman’s  exploit),  for  the  Duke  acted  in 
precisely  a similar  way  by  a Belgian  Colonel  at  Waterloo. 

It  must  be  painful  to  great  and  successful  commanders  to 
think  how  their  gallant  comrades  and  lieutenants,  partners 
of  their  toil,  their  feelings,  and  their  fame,  are  separated 
from  them  by  time,  by  death,  by  estrangement  — nay, 
sometimes  by  treason.  Commons  is  off,  disappearing  noise- 
less into  the  deep  night,  whilst  his  comrades  perform  the 
work  of  danger ; and  Bulger,  — Bulger,  who  in  the  above 
scene  acts  so  gallant  a part,  and  in  whom  Mr.  Freeny 
places  so  much  confidence  — actually  went  away  to  Eng- 
land, carrying  off  “ some  plate,  some  shirts,  a gold  watch, 
and  a diamond  ring  ” of  the  Captain’s ; and,  though  he  re- 
turned to  his  native  country,  the  valuables  did  not  return 
with  him,  on  which  the  Captain  swore  he  would  blow  his 
brains  out.  As  for  poor  Grace,  he  was  hanged,  much  to  his 
leader’s  sorrow,  who  says  of  him  that  he  was  “ the  faitliful- 
lest  of  his  spies.”  Motley  was  sent  to  Naas  jail  for  the 
very  robbery : and  though  Captain  Freeny  does  not  men- 
tion his  ultimate  fate,  ’tis  probable  he  was  hanged  too.  In- 
deed, the  warrior’s  life  is  a hard  one,  and  over  misfortunes 
like  these  the  feeling  heart  cannot  but  sigh. 

But,  putting  out  of  the  question  the  conduct  and  fate  of 
the  Captain’s  associates,  let  us  look  to  his  own  behavior  as 
a leader.  It  is  impossible  not  to  admire  his  serenity,  his 
dexterity,  that  dashing  impetuosity  in  the  moment  of  action 
and  that  aquiline  coup-d’oeil  which  belong  to  but  few  gener- 
als. He  it  is  who  leads  the  assault,  smashing  in  the  win- 
dow with  a sledge ; he  bursts  open  the  Colonel’s  door,  who 
says  (naturally  enough),  “ Odds-wounds  ! who’s  there  ? ” 
“ A friend,  sir,”  says  Freeny.  “ You  lie  ! by  G-d,  you  are 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


168 

no  friend  of  mine!”  roars  the  military  blasphemer.  “I 
then  said  that  I was,  and  his  relation  also , and  that  if  he 
viewed  me  close  he  would  know  me,  and  begged  of  him  not 
to  be  angry : upon  which  I immediately  seized  a brace  of 
pistols  which  I observed  hanging  up  in  his  room.”  That  is 
something  like  presence  of  mind : none  of  your  brutal 
braggadocio  work,  but  .neat,  wary  — nay,  sportive  bearing 
in  the  face  of  danger.  And  again,  on  the  second  visit  to 
the  Colonel's  room,  when  the  latter  bids  him  “go  out  for  a 
villain,  and  not  breed  a disturbance,”  what  reply  makes 
Freeny  ? “ At  the  same  time  I snatched  his  breeches  from 

under  his  head.”  A common  man  would  never  have  thought 
of  looking  for  them  in  such  a place  at  all.  The  difficulty 
about  the  key  he  resolves  in  quite  an  Alexandrian  manner ; 
and  from  the  specimen  we  already  have  had  of  the  Colonel's 
style  of  speaking,  we  may  fancy  how  ferociously  he  lay  in 
bed  and  swore,  after  Captain  Freeny  and  his  friends  had 
disappeared  with  the  ninety  guineas,  the  moidores,  the  four- 
pound  piece,  and  the  glove  with  twenty-eight  guineas  in 
silver. 

As  for  the  plate,  he  hid  it  in  a wood  : and  then,  being  out 
of  danger,  he  sat  down  and  paid  everybody  his  deserts.  By 
the  wa}7-,  what  a strange  difference  of  opinion  is  there  about 
a man's  deserts  ! Here  sits  Captain  Freeny  with  a company 
of  gentlemen,  and  awards  them  a handsome  sum  of  money 
for  an  action  which  other  people  would  have  remunerated 
with  a halter.  Which  are  right  ? perhaps  both  : but  at  any 
rate  it  will  be  admitted  that  the  Captain  takes  the  humane 
view  of  the  question. 

The  greatest  enemy  Captain  Freeny  had  was  Counsellor 
Bobbins,  a son  of  his  old  patron,  and  one  of  the  most  de- 
termined thief-pursuers  the  country  ever  knew.  But 
though  he  was  untiring  in  his  efforts  to  capture  (and  of 
course  to  hang)  Mr.  Freeny,  and  though  the  latter  was 
strongly  urged  by  his  friends  to  blow  the  Counsellor's 
brains  out : yet,  to  his  immortal  honor  it  is  said,  he  refused 
that  temptation,  agreeable  as  it  was,  declaring  that  he  had 
eaten  too  much  of  that  family's  bread  ever  to  take  the  life 
of  one  of  them,  and  being  besides  quite  aware  that  the 
Counsellor  was  only  acting  against  him  in  a public  capacity. 
He  respected  him,  in  fact,  like  an  honorable  though  terrible 
adversary. 

How  deep  a stratagem  inventor  the  Counsellor  was  may  be 
gathered  from  the  following  narration  of  one  of  his  plans  : — 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK . 


169 


“ Counsellor  Bobbins  finding  his  brother  had  not  got  in- 
telligence that  was  sufficient  to  carry  any  reasonable  foun- 
dation for  apprehending  us,  walked  out  as  if  merely  for  ex- 
ercise, till  he  met  with  a person  whom  he  thought  he  could 
confide  in,  and  desired  the  person  to  meet  him  at  a private 
place  appointed  for  that  purpose,  which  they  did ; and  he 
told  that  person  he  had  a very  good  opinion  of  him,  from 
the  character  received  from  his  father  of  him,  and  from  his 
own  knowledge  of  him,  and  hoped  that  the  person  would 
then  show  him  that  such  opinion  was  not  ill  founded.  The 
person  assuring  the  Counsellor  he  would  do  all  in  his  power 
to  serve  and  oblige  him,  the  Counsellor  told  him  how  greatly 
he  was  concerned  to  hear  the  scandalous  character  that  part 
of  the  country  (which  had  formerly  been  an  honest  one) 
had  lately  fallen  into ; that  it  was  said  that  a gang  of  rob- 
bers who  disturbed  the  country  lived  thereabouts.  The 
person  told  him  he  was  afraid  what  he  said  was  too  true ; 
and,  on  being  asked  whom  he  suspected,  he  named  the  same 
four  persons  Mr.  Robbins  had,  but  said  he  dare  not,  for  fear 
of  being  murdered,  be  too  inquisitive,  and  therefore  could 
not  say  anything  material.  The  Counsellor  asked  him  if 
he  knew  where  there  was  any  private  ale  to  be  sold ; and 
he  said  Moll  Burke,  who  lived  near  the  end  of  Mr.  Robbins’s 
avenue,  had  a barrel  or  half  a barrel.  The  Counsellor  then 
gave  the  person  a moidore,  and  desired  him  to  go  to  Thom- 
astown  and  buy  two  or  three  gallons  of  whiskey,  and  bring 
it  to  Moll  Burke’s,  and  invite  as  many  as  he  suspected  to 
be  either  principals  or  accessories  to  take  a drink,  and  make 
them  drink  very  heartily,  and  when  he  found  they  were 
fuddled,  and  not  sooner,  to  tell  some  of  the  hastiest  that 
some  other  had  said  some  bad  things  of  them,  so  as  to  pro- 
voke them  to  abuse  and  quarrel  with  each  other ; and  then, 
probably  in  their  liquor  and  passion,  they  might  make  some 
discoveries  of  each  other,  as  may  enable  the  Counsellor  to 
get  some  one  of  the  gang  to  discover  and  accuse  the  rest. 

“ The  person  accordingly  got  the  whiskey  and  invited  a 
good  many  to  drink ; but  the  Counsellor  being  then  at  his 
brother’s,  a few  only  went  to  Moll  Burke’s,  the  rest  being 
afraid  to  venture  while  the  Counsellor  was  in  the  neighbor- 
hood : among  those  who  met  there  was  one  Moll  Brophy,  the 
wife  of  Mr.  Robbins’s  smith,  and  one  Edmund  or  Edward 
Stapleton,  otherwise  Gaul,  who  lived  thereabouts  ; and  when 
they  had  drank  plentifully,  the  Counsellor’s  spy  told  Moll 
Brophy  that  Gaul  had  said  she  had  gone  astray  with  some 


170 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


persons  or  other ; she  then  abased  Gaul,  and  told  him  he 
was  one  of  Freeny ’s  accomplices,  for  that  he,  Gaul,  had  told 
her  he  had  seen  Colonel  Ralliser’s  watch  with  Freeny,  and 
that  Freeny  had  told  him,  Gaul,  that  John  Welsh  and  the 
two  Graces  had  been  with  him  at  the  robbery. 

“ The  company  on  their  quarrel  broke  up,  and  the  next 
morning  the  spy  met  the  Counsellor  at  the  place  appointed, 
at  a distance  from  Mr.  Robbins’s  house,  to  prevent  suspicion, 
and  there  told  the  Counsellor  what  intelligence  he  had  got. 
The  Counsellor,  not  being  then  a justice  of  the  peace,  got 
his  brother  to  send  for  Moll  Brophy  to  be  examined ; but 
when  she  came,  she  refused  to  be  sworn  or  to  give  any  evi- 
dence, and  thereupon  the  Counsellor  had  her  tied  and  put 
on  a car,  in  order  to  be  carried  to  jail  on  a mittimus  from 
Mr.  Bobbins,  for  refusing  to  give  evidence  on  behalf  of  the 
Crown.  When  she  found  she  would  really  be  sent  to  jail, 
she  submitted  to  be  sworn,  and  the  Counsellor  drew  from 
her  what  she  had  said  the  night  before,  and  something 
further,  and  desired  her  not  to  tell  anybody  what  she  had 
sworn.” 

But  if  the  Counsellor  was  acute,  were  there  not  others  as 
clever  as  he  ? For  when,  in  consequence  of  the  information 
of  Mrs.  Brophy,  some  gentlemen  who  had  been  engaged  in 
the  burglarious  enterprises  in  which  Mr.  Freeny  obtained 
so  much  honor  were  seized  and  tried,  Freeny  came  forward 
with  the  best  of  arguments  in  their  favor.  Indeed,  it  is  fine 
to  see  these  two  great  spirits  matched  one  against  the  other, 
— the  Counsellor,  with  all  the  regular  force  of  the  country 
to  back  him,  — the  Highway  General,  with  but  the  wild 
resources  of  his  gallant  genius,  and  with  cunning  and  bravery 
for  his  chief  allies. 

“I  lay  by  for  a considerable  time  after,  and  concluded 
within  myself  to  do  no  more  mischief  till  after  the  assizes, 
when  I would  hear  how  it  went  with  the  men  who  were 
then  in  confinement.  Some  time  before  the  assizes  Coun- 
sellor Bobbins  came  to  Ballyduff,  and  told  his  brother  that 
he  believed  Anderson  and  Welsh  were  guilty,  and  also  said 
he  would  endeavor  to  have  them  both  hanged  : of  which  I 
was  informed. 

“ Soon  after,  I went  to  the  house  of  one  George  Roberts, 
who  asked  me  if  I had  any  regard  for  those  fellows  who 
were  then  confined  (meaning  Anderson  and  Welsh).  I told 
him  I had  a regard  for  one  of  them  : upon  which  he  said  he 
had  a friend  who  was  a man  of  power  and  interest,  — that 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


171 


he  would  save  either  of  them,  provided  I would  give  him 
five  guineas.  I told  him  I would  give  him  ten  and  the  first 
gold  watch  I could  get ; whereupon  he  said  that  it  was  of 
no  use  to  speak  to  his  friend  without  the  money  or  value, 
for  that  he  was  a mercenary  man : on  which  I told  Roberts 
I had  not  so  much  money  at  that  time,  but  that  I would 
give  him  my  watch  as  a pledge  to  give  his  friend.  I then 
gave  him  my  watch,  and  desired  him  to  engage  that  I would 
pay  the  money  which  I promised  to  pay,  or  give  value  for 
it  in  plate,  in  two  or  three  nights  after ; upon  which  he 
engaged  that  his  friend  would  act  the  needful.  Then  we 
appointed  a night  to  meet,  and  we  accordingly  met ; and 
Roberts  told  me  that  his  friend  agreed  to  save  Anderson  and 
Welsh  from  the  gallows  ; whereupon  I gave  him  a plate 
tankard,  value  10 L,  a large  ladle,  value  4 l.f  with  some  table- 
spoons. The  assizes  of  Kilkenny,  in  spring,  1748,  coming- 
on  soon  after,  Counsellor  Robbins  had  Welsh  transmitted 
from  Naas  to  Kilkenny,  in  order  to  give  evidence  against 
Anderson  and  Welsh  ; and  they  were  tried  for  Mrs.  Moun- 
ford’s  robbery,  on  the  evidence  of  John  Welsh  and  others. 
The  physic  working  well,  six  of  the  jury  were  for  finding 
them  guilty,  and  six  more  for  acquitting  them  ; and  the 
other  six  finding  them  peremptory,  and  that  they  were 
resolved  to  starve  the  others  into  compliance,  as  they  say 
they  may  do  by  law,  were  for  their  own  sakes  obliged  to 
comply  with  them,  and  they  were  acquitted.  On  which 
Counsellor  Robbins  began  to  smoke  the  affair,  and  suspect 
the  operation  of  gold  dust,  which  was  well  applied  for  my 
comrades,  and  thereupon  left  the  court  in  a rage,  and  swore 
he  would  forever  quit  the  country,  since  he  found  people 
were  not  satisfied  with  protecting  and  saving  the  rogues 
they  had  under  themselves,  but  must  also  show  that  they 
could  and  would  oblige  others  to  have  rogues  under  them 
whether  they  would  or  no.” 

Here  Counsellor  Robbins  certainly  loses  that  greatness 
which  has  distinguished  him  in  his  former  attack  on  Freeny  ; 
the  Counsellor  is  defeated  and  loses  his  temper.  Like  Napo- 
leon, he  is  unequal  to  reverses : in  adverse  fortune  his  pres- 
ence of  mind  deserts  him. 

But  what  call  had  he  to  be  in  a passion  at  all  ? It  may 
be  very  well  for  a man  to  be  in  a rage  because  he  is  disap- 
pointed of  his  prey  : so  is  the  hawk,  when  the  dove  escapes, 
in  a rage ; but  let  us  reflect  that,  had  Counsellor  Robbins 
had  his  will,  two  honest  fellows  would  have  been  hanged; 


172 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK . 


and  so  let  us  be  heartily  thankful  that  he  was  disappointed, 
and  that  these  men  were  acquitted  by  a jury  of  their  coun- 
trymen. What  right  had  the  Counsellor,  forsooth,  to  inter- 
fere with  their  verdict  ? Not  against  Irish  juries  at  least 
does  the  old  satire  apply,  “And  culprits  hang  that  jurymen 
may  dine?”  At  Kilkenny,  on  the  contrary,  the  jurymen 
starve  in  order  that  the  culprits  might  be  saved  — a noble 
and  humane  act  of  self-denial. 

In  another  case,  stern  justice,  and  the  law  of  self-preser- 
vation, compelled  Mr.  Freeny  to  take  a very  different 
course  with  respect  to  one  of  his  ex-associates.  In  the  for- 
mer instance  we  have  seen  him  pawning  his  watch,  giving 
up  tankard,  tablespoons  — all,  for  his  suffering  friends ; 
here  we  have  his  method  of  dealing  with  traitors. 

One  of  his  friends,  by  the  name  of  Dooling,  was  taken 
prisoner,  and  condemned  to  be  hanged,  which  gave  Mr. 
Freeny,  he  says,  “ a great  shock  ” ; but  presently  this  Doo- 
ling’s fears  were  worked  upon  by  some  traitors  within  the 
jail,  and  — 

“ He  then  consented  to  discover ; but  I had  a friend  in 
jail  at  the  same  time,  one  Patrick  Healy,  who  daily  insin- 
uated to  him  that  it  was  of  no  use  or  advantage  to  him  to 
discover  anything,  as  he  received  sentence  of  death : and 
that,  after  he  had  made  a discovery,  they  would  leave  him 
as  he  was,  without  troubling  themselves  about  a reprieve. 
But  notwithstanding,,  he  told  the  gentlemen  that  there  was 
a man  blind  of  an  eye  who  had  a bay-mare , that  lived  at  the 
other  side  of  Thomastown  bridge,  whom  he  assured  them 
would  be  very  troublesome  in  that  neighborhood  after  his 
death.  When  Healy  discovered  what  he  told  the  gentle- 
men, he  one  night  took  an  opportunity  and  made  Dooling 
fuddled,  and  prevailed  upon  him  to  take  his  oath  he  never 
would  give  the  least  hint  about  me  any  more.  He  also  told 
him  the  penalty  that  attended  infringing  upon  his  oath  — 
but  more  especially  as  he  was  at  that  time  near  his  end  — 
which  had  the  desired  effect ; for  he  never  mentioned  my 
name,  nor  even  anything  relative  to  me,”  and  so  went  out 
of  the  world  repenting  his  meditated  treason. 

What  further  exploits  Mr.  Freeny  performed  may  be 
learned  by  the  curious  in  his  history  : they  are  all,  it  need 
scarcely  be  said,  of  a similar  nature  to  that  noble  action 
which  has  already  been  described.  His  escapes  from  his 
enemies  were  marvellous  ; his  courage  in  facing  them  equally 
great.  He  is  attacked  by  whole  “armies,”  through  which 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK . 


173 


lie  makes  his  way ; wounded,  he  lies  in  the  woods  for  days 
together  with  three  bullets  in  his  leg,  and  in  this  condition 
manages  to  escape  several  “ armies  ” that  have  been  marched 
against  him.  He  is  supposed  to  be  dead,  or  travelling  on 
the  continent,  and  suddenly  makes  his  appearance  in  his 
old  haunts,  advertising  his  arrival  by  robbing  ten  men  on 
the  highway  in  a single  day.  And  so  terrible  is  his  cour- 
age, or  so  popular  his  manners,  that  he  describes  scores  of 
laborers  looking  on  while  his  exploits  were  performed,  and 
not  affording  the  least  aid  to  the  roadside  traveller  whom 
he  vanquished. 

But  numbers  always  prevail  in  the  end : what  could 
Leonidas  himself  do  against  an  army  ? The  gallant  band 
of  brothers  led  by  Freeny  were  so  pursued  by  the  indefati- 
gable Robbins  and  his  myrmidons,  that  there  was  no  hope 
left  for  them,  and  the  Captain  saw  that  he  must  succumb. 

He  reasoned,  however,  with  himself  (with  his  usual  keen 
logic),  and  said : “ My  men  must  fall,  — the  world  is  too 
strong  for  us,  and,  to-day,  or  to-morrow,  — it  matters  scarce- 
ly when,  — they  must  yield.  They  will  be  hanged  for  a 
certainty,  and  thus  will  disappear  the  noblest  company  of 
knights  the  world  has  ever  seen. 

“But  as  they  will  certainly  be  hanged,  and  no  power  of 
mine  can  save  them,  is  it  necessary  that  I should  follow 
them  too  to  the  tree  ? and  will  James  Bulger’s  fate  be  a 
whit  more  agreeable  to  him,  because  James  Freeny  dangles 
at  his  side  ? To  suppose  so,  would  be  to  admit  that  he  was 
actuated  by  a savage  feeling  of  revenge,  which  I know  be- 
longs not  to  his  generous  nature.” 

In  a word,  Mr.  Freeny  resolved  to  turn  king’s  evidence ; 
for  though  he  swore  (in  a communication  with  the  implac- 
able Robbins)  that  he  would  rather  die  than  betray  Bulger, 
yet  when  the  Counsellor  stated  that  he  must  then  die, 
Freeny  says,  “I  promised  to  submit,  and  understood  that 
Bulger  should  be  set.” 

Accordingly  some  days  afterwards  (although  the  Captain 
carefully  avoids  mentioning  that  he  had  met  his  friend  with 
any  such  intentions  as  those  indicated  in  the  last  para- 
graph) he  and  Mr.  Bulger  came  together : and,  strangely 
enough,  it  was  agreed  that  the  one  was  to  sleep  while  the 
other  kept  watch;  and,  while  thus  employed,  the  enemy 
came  upon  them.  But  let  Freeny  describe  for  himself  the 
last  passages  of  his  history  : — 

“We  then  went  to  Welsh’s  house,  with  a view  not  to 


174 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


make  any  delay  there  ; but,  taking  a glass  extraordinary 
after  supper,  Bulger  fell  asleep.  Welsh,  in  the  meantime, 
told  me  his  house  was  the  safest  place  I could  get  in  that 
neighborhood,  and  while  I remained  there  I would  be  very 
safe,  provided  that  no  person  knew  of  my  coming  there  (1 
had  not  acquainted  him  that  Breen  knew  of  my  coming 
that  way).  I told  Welsh  that,  as  Bulger  was  asleep,  1 
would  not  go  to  bed  till  morning:  upon  which  Welsh  and  1 
stayed  up  all  night,  and  in  the  morning  Welsh  said  that  he 
and  his  wife  had  a call  to  Callen,  it  being  market-day. 
About  nine  o’clock  I went  and  awoke  Bulger,  desiring  him 
to  get  up  and  guard  me  whilst  I slept,  as  I guarded  him  all 
night ; he  said  he  would,  and  then  I went  to  bed,  charging 
him  to  watch  close,  for  fear  we  should  be  surprised.  I put 
my  blunderbuss  and  two  cases  of  pistols  under  my  head, 
and  soon  fell  fast  asleep.  In  two  hours  after  the  servant- 
girl  of  the  house,  seeing  an  enemy  coming  into  the  yard, 
ran  up  to  the  room  where  we  were,  and  said  that  there 
were  an  hundred  men  coming  into  the  yard ; upon  which 
Bulger  immediately  awoke  me,  and,  taking  up  my  blunder- 
buss, he  fired  a shot  towards  the  door,  which  wounded  Mr. 
Burgess,  one  of  the  sheriffs  of  Kilkenny,  of  which  wound 
he  died.  They  concluded  to  set  the  house  on  fire  about  us, 
which  they  accordingly  did ; upon  which  I took  my  fusee 
in  one  hand,  and  a pistol  in  the  other,  and  Bulger  did  the 
like,  and  as  we  came  out  of  the  door,  we  fired  on  both  sides, 
imagining  it  to  be  the  best  method  of  dispersing  the  enemy, 
who  were  on  both  sides  of  the  door.  We  got  through  them, 
but  they  fired  after  us,  and  as  Bulger  was  leaping  over  a 
ditch  he  received  a shot  in  the  small  of  the  leg,  which  ren- 
dered him  incapable  of  running  ; but,  getting  into  a field, 
where  I had  the  ditch  between  me  and  the  enemy,  I still 
walked  slowly  with  Bulger,  till  I thought  the  enemy  were 
within  shot  of  the  ditch,  and  then  wheeled  back  to  the 
ditch  and  presented  my  fusee  at  them.  They  all  drew 
back  and  went  for  their  horses  to  ride  round,  as  the  field 
was  wide  and  open,  and  without  cover  except  the  ditch. 
When  I discovered  their  intention  I stood  in  the  middle  of 
the  field,  and  one  of  the  gentlemen’s  servants  (there  were 
fourteen  in  number)  rode  foremost  towards  me ; upon 
which  I told  the  son  of  a coward  I believed  he  had  no  more 
than  live  pounds  a year  from  his  master,  and  that  I would 
put  him  in  such  a condition  that  his  master  would  not 
maintain  him  afterwards.  To  which  he  answered  that  he 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


175 


had  no  view  of  doing  us  any  harm,  but  that  he  was  com- 
manded by  his  master  to  ride  so  near  us ; and  then  immedi- 
ately rode  back  to  the  enemy,  who  were  coming  towards 
him.  They  rode  almost  within  shot  of  us,  and  I observed 
they  intended  to  surround  us  in  the  field,  and  prevent  me 
from  having  any  recourse  to  the  ditch  again.  Bulger  was 
at  this  time  so  bad  with  the  wound,  that  he  could  not  go 
one  step  without  leaning  on  my  shoulder.  At  length,  see- 
ing the  enemy  coming  within  shot  of  me,  I laid  down  my 
fusee  and  stripped  off  my  coat  and  waistcoat,  and  running 
towards  them,  cried  out,/ You  sons  of  cowards,  come  on, 
and  I will  blow  your  brains  out ! ’ On  which  they  returned 
back,  and  then  I walked  easy  to  the  place  where  I left  my 
clothes,  and  put  them  on,  and  Bulger  and  I walked  leisure- 
ly some  distance  further.  The  enemy  came  a second  time, 
and  I occasioned  them  to  draw  back  as  before,  and  then  we 
walked  to  Lord  Dysart’s  deer-park  wall.  I got  up  the  wall 
and  helped  Bulger  up.  The  enemy,  who  still  pursued  us, 
though  not  within  shot,  seeing  us  on  the  wall,  one  of  them 
fired  a random  shot  at  us  to  no  purpose.  We  got  safe  over 
the  wall,  and  went  from  thence  into  my  Lord  Dysart’s  wood, 
where  Bulger  said  he  would  remain,  thinking  it  a safe 
place ; but  I told  him  he  would  be  safer  anywhere  else,  for 
the  army  of  Kilkenny  and  Callen  would  be  soon  about  the 
wood,  and  that  he  would  be  taken  if  he  stayed  there.  Be- 
sides, as  I was  very  averse  to  betraying  him  at  all,  I could 
not  bear  the  thoughts  of  his  being  taken  in  my  company  by 
any  party  but  Lord  Carrick’s.  I then  brought  him  about 
half  a mile  beyond  the  wood,  and  left  him  there  in  a brake 
of  briars,  and  looking  towards  the  wood  I saw  it  surrounded 
by  the  army.  There  was  a cabin  near  that  place  where  I 
fixed  Bulger : he  said  he  would  go  to  it  at  night,  and  he 
would  send  for  some  of  his  friends  to  take  care  of  him.  It 
was  then  almost  two  o’clock,  and  we  were  four  hours  going 
to  that  place,  which  was  about  two  miles  from  Welsh’s 
house.  Imagining  that  there  were  spies  fixed  on  all  the 
fords  and  by-roads  between  that  place  and  the  mountain,  I 
went  towards  the  bounds  of  the  county  Tipperary,  where  I 
arrived  about  nightfall,  and  going  to  a cabin,  I asked 
whether  there  was  any  drink  sold  near  that  place  ? The 
man  of  the  house  said  there  was  not ; and  as  I was  very 
much  fatigued,  I sat  down,  and  there  refreshed  myself  with 
what  the  cabin  afforded.  I then  begged  of  the  man  to'  sell 
me  a pair  of  his  brogues  and  stockings,  as  I was  then  bare- 


176 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


footed,  which  lie  accordingly  did.  I quitted  the  house, 
went  through  Kinsheenah  and  Poulacoppal,  and,  having  so 
many  thorns  in  my  feet,  I was  obliged  to  go  barefooted, 
and  went  to  Sleedelagh,  and  through  the  mountains,  till  I 
came  within  four  miles  of  Waterford,  and  going  into  a cabin 
the  man  of  the  house  took  eighteen  thorns  out  of  the  soles 
of  my  feet,  and  I remained  in  and  about  that  place  for  some 
time  after. 

“In  the  meantime  a friend  of  mine  was  told  that  it  was 
impossible  for  me  to  escape  death,  for  Bulger  had  turned 
against  me,  and  that  his  friends  and  Stack  were  resolved 
upon  my  life  ; but  the  person  who  told  my  friend  so,  also 
said  that  if  my  friend  would  set  Bulger  and  Breen,.  I might 
get  a pardon  through  the  Earl  of  Carrick’s  means  and 
Counsellor  Bobbins’s  interest.  My  friend  said  that  he 
was  sure  I would  not  consent  to  such  a thing , but  the  best 
way  teas  to  do  it  unknown  to  me ; and  my  friend  accord- 
ingly set  Bulger,  who  was  taken  by  the  Earl  of  Carrick  and 
his  party,  and  Mr.  Fitzgerald,  and  six  of  Counsellor 
Bobbins’s  soldiers,  and  committed  to  Kilkenny  jail.  He 
was  three  days  in  jail  before  I heard  he  was  taken,  being 
at  that  time  twenty  miles  distant  from  the  neighborhood; 
nor  did  I hear  from  him  or  see  him  since  I left  him  near 
Lord  Dysart’s  wood,  till  a friend  came  and  told  me  it  was 
to  preserve  my  life  and  to  fulfil  my  articles  that  Bulger 
was  taken.” 

“ Finding  I was  suspected,  I withdrew  to  a neighboring 
wood  and  concealed  myself  there  till  night,  and  then  went 
to  Ballyduff  to  Mr.  Fitzgerald  and  surrendered  myself  to 
him,  till  I could  write  to  my  Lord  Carrick;  which  I did 
immediately,  and  gave  him  an  account  of  what  I escaped, 
or  that  I would  have  gone  to  Bally  lynch  and  surrendered 
myself  there  to  him,  and  begged  his  lordship  to  send  a 
guard  for  me  to  conduct  me  to  his  house — which  he  did, 
and  I remained  there  for  a few  days. 

“He  then  sent  me  to  Kilkenny  jail ; and  at  the  summer 
assizes  following,  James  Bulger,  Patrick  Hacket  otherwise 
Bristeen,  Martin  Millea,  John  Stack,  Felix  Donelly,  Ed- 
mund Kenny,  and  James  Larrasy  were  tried,  convicted,  and 
executed ; and  at  spring  assizes  following,  George  Boberts 
was  tried  for  receiving  Colonel  Palliser’s  gold  watch  know- 
ing it  to  be  stolen,  but  was  acquitted  on  account  of  excep- 
tions taken  to  my  pardon,  which  prevented  my  giving 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK 


177 


evidence.  At  the  following  assizes,  when  I had  got  a 
new  pardon,  Roberts  was  again  tried  for  receiving  the 
tankard,  ladle,  and  silver  spoons  from  me  knowing  them 
to  be  stolen,  and  was  convicted  and  executed.  At  the 
same  assizes,  John  Reddy,  my  instructor,  and  Martin 
Millea,  were  also  tried,  convicted,  and  executed.” 

And  so  they  were  all  hanged  : James  Bulger,  Patrick 
Hacked  or  Bristeen,  Martin  Millea,  John  Stack  and  Felix 
Donelly,  and  Edmund  Kenny  and  James  Larrasy,  with 
Roberts  who  received  the  ColonePs  watch,  the  tankard, 
ladle,  and  the  silver  spoons,  were  all  convicted  and  exe- 
cuted. Their  names  drop  naturally  into  blank  verse.  It 
is  hard  upon  poor  George  Roberts  too : for  the  watch  he 
received  was  no  doubt  in  the  very  inexpressibles  which  the 
Captain  himself  took  from  the  ColonePs  head. 

As  for  the  Captain  himself,  he  says  that,  on  going  out 
of  jail,  Counsellor  Robbins  and  Lord  Garrick  proposed  a 
subscription  for  him  — in  which,  strangely,  the  gentlemen 
of  the  county  would  not  join,  and  so  that  scheme  came  to 
nothing;  and  so  he  published  his  memoirs  in  order  to  get 
himself  a little  money.  Many  a man  has  taken  up  the  pen 
under  similar  circumstances  of  necessity. 

But  what  became  of  Captain  Freeny  afterwards,  does  not 
appear.  Was  he  an  honest  man  ever  after?  Was  he 
hanged  for  subsequent  misdemeanors  ? It  matters  little  to 
him  now ; though,  perhaps,  one  cannot  help  feeling  a little 
wish  that  the  latter  fate  may  have  befallen  him. 

Whatever  his  death  was,  however,  the  history  of  his  life 
has  been  one  of  the  most  popular  books  ever  known  in  this 
country.  It  formed  the  class-book  in  those  rustic  universi- 
ties which  are  now  rapidly  disappearing  from  among  the 
hedges  of  Ireland.  And  lest  any  English  reader  should,  on 
account  of  its  lowness,  quarrel  with  the  introduction-  here 
of  this  strange  picture  of  wild  courage  and  daring,  let  him 
be  reconciled  by  the  moral  at  the  end,  which,  in  the  persons 
of  Bulger  and  the  rest,  hangs  at  the  beam  before  Kilkenny 
jail. 


VOL.  II. 12 


CHAPTER  XVI. 


MORE  RAIN  IN  GALWAY A WALK  THERE AND  THE 

SECOND  GALWAY  NIGHT’S  ENTERTAINMENT. 

EVEN  bills  has  Rome,  seven 
mouths  has  Nilus’  stream, 
Around  the  Pole  seven  burning 
planets  gleam. 

Twice  equal  these  is  Galway, 
Connaught’s  Rome: 

Twice  seven  illustrious  tribes 
here  find  their  home.* 

Twice  seven  fair  towers  the  city’s 
ramparts  guard  : 

Each  house  within  is  built  of 
marble  hard. 

With  lofty  turret  flanked,  twice 
seven  the  gates, 

Through  twice  seven  bridges  wa- 
ter permeates. 

In  the  high  church  are  twice 
seven  altars  raised, 

At  each  a holy  saint  and  patron’s 
praised. 

Twice  seven  the  convents  dedi- 
cate to  heaven,  — 

Seven  for  the  female  sex  — for  godly  fathers  seven.”  t 

* By  the  help  of  an  Alexandrine,  the  names  of  these  famous  families 
may  also  be  accommodated  to  verse. 

“ Athey,  Blake,  Bodkin,  Browne,  Deane,  Dorsey,  Frinche, 

Joyce,  Moreeli,  Skeretli,  Fonte,  Kirowan,  Martin,  Lynclie.” 
t If  the  rude  old  verses  are  not  very  remarkable  in  quality,  in 
quantity  they  are  still  more  deficient,  and  take  some  dire  liberties  with 
the  laws  laid  down  in  the  Gradus  and  the  Grammar : — 

“ Septem  ornant  montes  Romam,  septem  ostia  Nilum, 

Tot  rutilis  stellis  splendet  in  axe  Polus. 

Galvia,  Polo  Niloque  bis  aequas.  Roma  Conachtae, 

Bis  septem  illustres  has  colit  ilia  tribus. 

Bis  urbis  septem  defendunt  moenia  turres, 

Intus  et  en  duro  est  marmore  quaeque  domus. 

Bis  septem  portae  sunt,  castra  et  culmina  circum, 

Per  totidem  pontum  permeat  unda  vias. 

Principe  bis  septem  fulgent  altaria  templo. 

Quaevis  patron  a?  est  ara  dicata  suo, 

Et  septem  sacrata  Deo  coenobia,  patrum 
Foeminei  et  sexus,  tot  pia  tecta  tenet.” 

ns 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK . 


179 


Having  read  in  Hardiman’s  History  the  quaint  inscription 
in  Irish  Latin,  of  which  the  above  lines  are  a version,  and 
looked  admiringly  at  the  old  plans  of  Galway  which  are  to 
be  found  in  the  same  work,  I was  in  hopes  to  have  seen  in 
the  town  some  considerable  remains  of  its  former  splendor, 
in  spite  of  a warning  to  the  contrary  which  the  learned 
historiographer  gives. 

The  old  city  certainly  has  some  relics  of  its  former 
stateliness ; and,  indeed,  is  the  only  town  in  Ireland  I have 
seen,  where  an  antiquary  can  find  much  subject  for  study, 
or  a lover  of  the  picturesque  an  occasion  for  using  his 
pencil.  It  is  a wild,  fierce,  and  most  original  old  town. 
Joyce’s  Castle  in  one  of  the  principal  streets,  a huge  square 
gray  tower,  with  many  carvings  and  ornaments,  is  a gallant 
relic  of  its  old  days  of  prosperity,  and  gives  one  an  awful 
idea  of  the  tenements  which  the  other  families  inhabited, 
and  which  are  designed  in  the  interesting  plate  which  Mr. 
Hardiman  gives  in  his  work.  The  Collegiate  Church,  too, 
is  still  extant,  without  its  fourteen  altars,  and  looks  to  be 
something  between  a church  and  a castle,  and  as  if  it 
should  be  served  by  Templars  with  sword  and  helmet  in 
place  of  mitre  and  crosier.  The  old  houses  in  the  Main 
Street  are  like  fortresses  : the  windows  look  into  a court 
within;  there  is  but  a small  low  door,  and  a few  grim 
windows  peering  suspiciously  into  the  street. 

Then  there  is  Lombard  Street,  otherwise  called  Dead- 
man’s  Lane,  with  a raw-head  and  cross-bones  and  a “ me- 
mento mori”  over  the  door  where  the  dreadful  tragedy  of 
the  Lynches  was  acted  in  1493.  If  Galway  is  the  Rome  of 
Connaught,  James  Lynch  Fitzstephen,  the  Mayor,  may  be 
considered  as  the  Lucius  Junius  Brutus  thereof.  Lynch 
had  a son  who  went  to  Spain  as  master  of  one  of  his  father’s 
ships,  and  being  of  an  extravagant,  wild  turn,  there  con- 
tracted debts,  and  drew  bills,  and  alarmed  his  father’s 
correspondent,  who  sent  a clerk  and  nephew  of  his  own 
back  in  young  Lynch’s  ship  to  Galway  to  settle  accounts. 
On  the  fifteenth  day,  young  Lynch  threw  the  Spaniard 
overboard.  Coming  back  to  his  own  country,  he  reformed 
his  life  a little,  and  was  on  the  point  of  marrying  one  of 
the  Blakes,  Burkes,  Bodkins,  or  others,  when  a seaman  who 
had  sailed  with  him,  being  on  the  point  of  death,  confessed 
the  murder  in  which  he  had  been  a participator. 

Hereon  the  father,  who  was  chief  magistrate  of  the  town, 
tried  his  son,  and  sentenced  him  to  death;  and  when  the 


180 


THE  1RJSII  SKETCH  BOOK. 


clan  Lynch  rose  in  a body  to  rescue  the  young  man,  and 
avert  such  a disgrace  from  their  family,  it  is  said  that 
Fitzstephen  Lynch  hung  the  culprit  with  his  own  hand. 
A tragedy  called  “The  Warden  of  Galway”  has  been 
written  on  the  subject,  and  was  acted  a few  nights  before 
my  arrival. 

The  waters  of  Lough  Corrib,  which  “ permeate ” under 
the  bridges  of  the  town,  go  rushing  and  roaring  to  the  sea 
with  a noise  and  eagerness  only  known  in  Galway;  and 
along  the  banks  you  see  all  sorts  of  strange  figures  washing 
all  sorts  of  wonderful  rags,  with  red  petticoats  and  redder 
shanks  standing  in  the  stream.  Pigs  are  in  every  street: 
the  whole  town  shrieks  with  them.  There  are  numbers  of 
idlers  on  the  bridges,  thousands  in  the  streets,  humming 
and  swarming  in  and  out  of  dark  old  ruinous  houses,  con- 
gregated round  numberless  apple-stalls,  nail-stalls,  bottle- 
stalls,  pigsfoot-stalls ; in  queer  old  shops,  that  look  to  be 
two  centuries  old  ; loitering  about  warehouses,  ruined  or 
not;  looking  at  the  washerwomen  washing  in  the  river,  or 
at  the  fish-donkeys,  or  at  the  potato-stalls,  or  at  a vessel  com- 
ing into  the  quay,  or  at  the  boats  putting  out  to  sea. 

That  boat  at  the  quay,  by  the  little  old  gate,  is  bound  for 
Arran  mole ; and  one  next  to  it  has  a freight  of  passengers 
for  the  cliffs  of  Mohir  on  the  Clare  Coast ; and  as  the  sketch 
is  taken,  a hundred  of  people  have  stopped  in  the  street  to 
look  on,  and  are  buzzing  behind  in  Irish,  telling  the  little 
boys  in  that  language  — who  will  persist  in  placing  them- 
selves exactly  in  the  front  of  the  designer  — to  get  out  of 
his  way : which  they  do  for  some  time ; but  at  length  curi- 
osity is  so  intense  that  you  are  entirely  hemmed  in  and 
the  view  rendered  quite  invisible.  A sailor’s  wife  comes 
up  — who  speaks  English  — with  a very  wistful  face,  and 
begins  to  hint  that  them  black  pictures  are  very  bad  like- 
nesses, and  very  dear  too  for  a poor  woman,  and  how  much 
would  a painted  one  cost  does  his  honor  think  ? And  she 
has  her  husband  that  is  going  to  sea  to  the  West  Indies  to- 
morrow, and  she’d  give  anything  to  have  a picture  of  him. 
So  I made  bold  to  offer  to  take  his  likeness  for  nothing. 
But  he  never  came,  except  one  day  at  dinner,  and  not  at  all 
on  the  next  day,  though  I stayed  on  purpose  to  accommo- 
date him.  It  is  true  that  it  was  pouring  with  rain  ; and  as 
English  waterproof  cloaks  are  not  waterproof  in  Ireland , 
the  traveller  who  has  but  one  coat  must  of  necessity  respect 
it,  and  had  better  stay  where  he  is,  unless  he  prefers  to 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


181 


go  to  bed  while  he  has  his  clothes  dried  at  the  next 
stage. 

The  houses  in  the  fashionable  street  where  the  club- 
house stands  (a  strong  building,  with  an  agreeable  Old 
Bailey  look),  have  the  appearance  of  so  many  little  New- 
gates.  The  Catholic  chapels  are  numerous,  unfinished, 
and  ugly.  Great  warehouses  and  mills  rise  up  by  the 
stream,  or  in  the  midst  of  unfinished  streets  here  and  there ; 
and  handsome  convents  with  their  gardens,  justice-houses, 
barracks,  and  hospitals  adorn  the  large,  poor,  bustling, 


rough-and-ready-looking  town.  A man  who  sells  hunting- 
whips,  gunpowder,  guns,  fishing-tackle,  and  brass  and  iron 
ware,  has  a few  books  on  his  counter ; and  a lady  in  a by- 
street, who  carries  on  the  profession  of  a milliner,  ekes  out 
her  stock  in  a similar  way.  But  there  were  no  regular 
book-shops  that  I saw,  and  when  it  came  on  to  rain  I had 
no  resource  but  the  hedge-school  volumes  again.  They, 
like  Patrick  Spelman’s  sign  (which  was  faithfully  copied  in 
the  town),  present  some  very  rude  flowers  of  poetry  and 
“ entertainment  ” of  an  exceedingly  humble  sort ; but  such 
shelter  is  not  to  be  despised  when  no  better  is  to  be  had : 
nay,  possibly  its.  novelty  may  be  piquant  to  some  readers, 
as  an  admirer  of  Shakspeare  will  occasionally  condescend 
to  listen  to  Mr.  Punch,  or  an  epicure  to  content  himself 
with  a homely  dish  of  beans  and  bacon. 

When  Mr.  Kilroy’s  waiter  has  drawn  the  window  curtains, 


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THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK . 


brought  the  hot-water  for  the  whiskey-negus,  a pipe  and  a 
“screw”  of  tobacco,  and  two  huge  old  candlesticks  that 
were  plated  once,  the  audience  may  be  said  to  be  assembled, 
and  after  a little  overture  performed  on  the  pipe,  the  sec- 
ond night’s  entertainment  begins  with  the  historical  tragedy 
of  the  “ Battle  of  Aughrim.” 

Though  it  has  found  its  way  to  the  West  of  Ireland,  the 
“ Battle  of  Aughrim  ” is  evidently  by  a Protestant  author,  a 
great  enemy  of  popery  and  wooden  shoes  : both  of  which 
principles  incarnate  in  the  person  of  Saint  Ruth,  the  French 
General  commanding  the  troops  sent  by  Louis  XIV.  to  the 
aid  of  James  II.,  meet  with  a woful  downfall 
at  the  conclusion  of  the  piece.  It  must  have 
been  written  in  the  reign  of  Queen  Anne, 
judging  from  some  loyal  compliments  which 
are  paid  to  that  sovereign  in  the  play;  which 
is  also  modelled  upon  “ Cato.” 

The  “ Battle  of  Aughrim  ” is  written 
from  beginning  to  end  in  decasyllabic  verse 
of  the  richest  sort ; and  introduces  us  to 
the  chiefs  of  William’s  and  James’s  armies. 
On  the  English  side  we  have  Baron  Ginkell,  three  Generals, 
and  two  Colonels ; on  the  Irish,  Monsieur  Saint  Ruth,  two 
Generals,  two  Colonels,  and  an  English  gentleman  of  for- 
tune, a volunteer,  and  a son  of  no  less  a person  than  Sir 
Edmundbury  Godfrey. 

There  are  two  ladies  — Jemima,  the  Irish  Colonel  Talbot’s 
daughter,  in  love  with  Godfrey ; and  Lucinda,  lady  of 
Colonel  Herbert,  in  love  with  her  lord.  And  the  deep 
nature  of  the  tragedy  may  be  imagined  when  it  is  stated 
that  Colonel  Talbot  is  killed,  Colonel  Herbert  is  killed,  Sir 
Charles  Godfrey  is  killed,  and  Jemima  commits  suicide,  as 
resolved  not  to  survive  her  adorer.  St.  Ruth  is  also  killed, 
and  the  remaining  Irish  heroes  are  taken  prisoners  or  run 
away.  Among  the  supernumeraries  there  is  likewise  a 
dreadful  slaughter. 

The  author,  however,  though  a Protestant  is  an  Irishman 
(there  are  peculiarities  in  his  pronunciation  which  belong 
only  to  that  nation),  and  as  far  as  courage  goes,  he  allows 
the  two  parties  to  be  pretty  equal.  The  scene  opens  with 
a martial  sound  of  kettle-drums  and  trumpets  in  the  Irish 
camp,  near  Athlone.  That  town  is  besieged  by  Ginkell, 
and  Monsieur  St.  Ruth  (despising  his  enemy  with  a confi- 
dence often  fatal  to  Generals)  meditates  an  attack  on  the 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


183 


besiegers’  lines,  if,  by  any  chance,  the  besieged  garrison  be 
not  in  a condition  to  drive  them  off.  After  discoursing  on 
the  posture  of  affairs,  and  letting  General  Sarsfield  and 
Colonel  O’Neil  know  his  hearty  contempt  of  the  English 
and  their  General,  all  parties,  after  protestations  of  patriot- 
ism, indulge  in  hopes  of  the  downfall  of  William.  St. 
Ruth  says  he  will  drive  the  wolves  and  lions’  cubs  away. 
O’Neil  declares  he  scorns  the  revolution,  and,  like  great 
Cato,  smiles  at  persecution.  Sarsfield  longs  for  the  day 
“ when  our  Monks  and  Jesuits  shall  return,  and  holy  incense 
on  our  altars  burn.”  When 

“ Enter  a Post. 

“ Post.  With  important  news  I from  Athlone  am  sent, 

Be  pleased  to  lead  me  to  the  General’s  tent. 

“ Sars.  Behold  the  General  there.  Your  message  tell. 

“ St.  Ruth.  Declare  your  message.  Are  our  friends  all  well  ? 

“ Post.  Pardon  me,  sir,  the  fatal  news  I bring 
Like  vulture’s  poison  every  heart  shall  sting. 

Athlone  is  lost  without  your  timely  aid. 

At  six  this  morning  an  assault  was  made, 

When,  under  shelter  of  the  British  cannon, 

Their  grenadiers  in  armor  took  the  Shannon, 

Led  by  brave  Captain  Sandys,  who  with  fame 
Plunged  to  his  middle  in  the  rapid  stream. 

He  led  them  through,  and  with  undaunted  ire 
He  gained  the  bank  in  spite  of  all  our  fire  ; 

Being  bravely  followed  by  his  grenadiers 
Though  bullets  flew  like  hail  about  their  ears, 

And  by  this  time  they  enter  uncontrolled. 

“ St.  Ruth.  Dare  all  the  force  of  England  be  so  bold 
T’  attempt  to  storm  so  brave  a town,  when  I 
With  all  Hibernia’s  sons  of  war  am  nigh  ? 

Return : and  if  the  Britons  dare  pursue, 

Tell  them  St.  Ruth  is  near,  and  that  will  do. 

“ Post.  Your  aid  would  do  much  better  than  your  name. 

“St.  Ruth.  Bear  back  this  answer,  friend,  from  whence  you  came. 

“ [Exit  Post.” 

The  picture  of  brave  Sandys,  “ who  with  fame  plunged 
to  his  middle  in  the  rapid  strame,”  is  not  a bad  image  on 
the  part  of  the  Post ; and  St.  Ruth’s  reply,  “ Tell  them  St. 
Ruth  is  near,  and  that  will  do ,”  characteristic  of  the  vanity 
of  his  nation.  But  Sarsfield  knows  Britons  better,  and  pays 
a merited  compliment  to  their  valor  : 

“ Sars.  Send  speedy  succors  and  their  fate  prevent, 

You  know  not  yet  what  Britons  dare  attempt. 

I know  the  English  fortitude  is  such, 

To  boast  of  nothing,  though  they  hazard  much. 

Ho  force  on  earth  their  fury  can  repel, 

Nor  would  they  fly  from  all  the  devils  in  hell.” 


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THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK . 


Another  officer  arrives  : Athlone  is  really  taken,  St.  Ruth 
gives  orders  to  retreat  to  Aughrim,  and  Sarsfield,  in  a rage, 
first  challenges  him,  and  then  vows  he  will  quit  the  army. 
“ A gleam  of  horror  does  my  vitals  damp”  says  the  French- 
man (in  a figure  of  speech  more  remarkable  for  vigor  than 
logic)  : “ I fear  Lord  Lucan  has  forsook  the  camp  ! ” But 
not  so  : after  a momentary  indignation,  Sarsfield  returns  to 
his  duty,  and  ere  long  is  reconciled  with  his  vain  and  vacil- 
lating chief. 

And  now  the  love-intrigue  begins.  Godfrey  enters,  and 
states  Sir  Charles  Godfrey  is  his  lawful  name  : he  is  an 
Englishman,  and  was  on  his  way  to  join  Ginckle’s  camp, 
when  Jemima’s  beauty  overcame  him  : he  asks  Colonel 
Talbot  to  bestow  on  him  the  lady’s  hand.  The  Colonel 
consents,  and  in  Act  II.,  on  the  plain  of  Aughrim,  at  5 
o’clock  in  the  morning,  Jemima  enters  and  proclaims  her 
love.  The  lovers  have  an  interview,  which  concludes  by  a 
mutual  confession  of  attachment,  and  Jemima  says,  “Here, 
take  my  hand.  ’Tis  true  the  gift  is  small,  but  when  I can 
I’ll  give  you  heart  and  all.”  The  lines  show  finely  the 
agitation  of  the  young  person.  She  meant  to  say,  Take 
my  heart , but  she  is  longing  to  be  married  to  him,  and  the 
words  slip  out  as  it  were  unawares.  Godfrey  cries  in 
raptures  — 

“ Thanks  to  the  gods!  who  such  a present  gave  : 

Such  radiant  graces  ne’er  could  man  receive  (resctve 
For  who  on  earth  has  e’er  such  transports  known  ? 

What  is  the  Turkish  monarch  on  his  throne, 

Hemmed  round  with  rusty  sivortls  in  pompous  state? 
Amidst  his  court  no  joys  can  be  so  great. 

Retire  with  me,  my  soul,  no  longer  stay 
In  public  view!  the  General  moves  this  way.” 

'Tis,  indeed,  the  General ; who,  reconciled  with  Sarsfield, 
straightway,  according  to  his  custom,  begins  to  boast  about 
what  he  will  do  : — 

“ Thrice  welcome  to  my  heart,  thou  best  of  friends! 

The  rock  on  which  our  holy  faith  depends ! 

May  this  our  meeting  as  a tempest  make 
The  vast  foundations  of  Britannia  shake, 

Tear  up  their  orange  plant,  and  overwhelm 
The  strongest  bulwarks  of  the  British  realm  ! 

Then  shall  the  Dutch  and  Hanoverian  fall, 

And  James  shall  ride  in  triumph  to  Whitehall; 

Then  to  protect  our  faith  he  will  maintain 
An  inquisition  here  like  that  in  Spain. 

“ Sars.  Most  bravely  urged,  my  lord!  your  skill,  I own, 
Would  be  unparalleled  — had  you  saved  Athlone.” 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  HOOK 


185 


— u Had  you  saved  Athlone  ! ” Sarsfield  has  him  there. 
And  the  contest  of  words  might  have  provoked  quarrels 
still  more  fatal,  but  alarms  are  heard : the  battle  begins, 
and  St.  Ruth  (still  confident)  goes  to  meet  the  enemy, 
exclaiming,  “ Athlone  was  sweet,  but  Aughrim  shall  be 
sour.”  The  fury  of  the  Irish  is  redoubled  on  hearing  of 
Talbot’s  heroic  death : the  Colonel’s  corpse  is  presently 
brought  in,  and  to  it  enters  Jemima,  who  bewails  her  loss 
in  the  following  pathetic  terms  : — 

“ Jemima . Oh  ! — he  is  dead ! — my  soul  is  all  on  fire, 
Witness  ye  gods ! — he  did  with  fame  expire. 

For  Liberty  a sacrifice  was  made, 

And  fell,  like  Poinpey,  by  some  villain’s  blade. 

There  lies  a breathless  corpse,  whose  soul  ne’er  knew 
A thought  but  what  was  always  just  and  true; 

Look  down  from  heaven,  God  of  peace  and  love, 

Waft  him  with  triumph  to  the  throne  above; 

And,  O ye  winged  guardians  of  the  skies! 

Tune  your  sweet  harps  and  sing  his  obsequies! 

Good  friends,  stand  off — whilst  I embrace  the  ground 
Whereon  he  lies  — and  bathe  each  mortal  wound 
With  brinish  tears,  that  like  to  torrents  run 
From  these  sad  eyes.  O heavens!  I’m  undone. 

[Falls  down  on  the  body . 

“ Enter  Sir  Charles  Godfrey.  He  raises  her. 

* 6 Sir  Char.  Why  do  these  precious  eyes  like  fountains  flow, 
To  drown  the  radiant  heaven  that  lies  below  f 
Dry  up  your  tears,  I trust  his  soul  ere  this 
Has  reached  the  mansions  of  eternal  bliss. 

Soldiers ! bear  hence  the  body  out  of  sight. 

[They  bear  him  off. 

“Jem.  Oh,  stay  — ye  murderers,  cease  to  kill  me  quite: 

See  how  he  glares!  — and  see  again  he  flies! 

The  crowds  fly  open,  and  he  mounts  the  skies. 

Oh ! see  his  biood,  it  shines  refulgent  bright, 

I see  him  yet  — I cannot  lose  him  quite, 

But  still  pursue  him  on  — and  — lose  my  sight.” 

The  gradual  disappearance  of  the  Colonel’s  soul  is  now 
finely  indicated,  and  so  is  her  grief : when  showing  the 
body  to  Sir  Charles,  she  says,  “ Behold  the  mangled  cause 
of  all  my  woes.”  The  sorrow  of  youth,  however,  is  but 
tfansitory ; and  when  her  lover  bids  her  dry  her  gushish 
tears,  she  takes  out  her  pocket-handkerchief  .with  the  elas- 
ticity of  youth,  and  consoles  herself  for  the  father  in  the 
husband. 

Act  III.  represents  the  English  camp ; Ginckle  and  his 
Generals  discourse ; the  armies  are  engaged.  In  Act  IV. 


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THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


the  English  are  worsted  in  spite  of  their  valor,  which  Sars- 
field  greatly  describes.  “View,”  says  he  — 

“View  how  the  foe  like  an  impetuous  flood 
Breaks  through  the  smoke,  the  water,  and  — the  mud  !” 

It  becomes  exceedingly  hot.  Colonel  Earles  says  — 

“ In  vain  Jove’s  lightnings  issue  from  the  sky, 

For  death  more  sure  from  British  ensigns  fly. 

Their  messengers  of  death  much  blood  have  spilled, 

And  full  three  hundred  of  the  Irish  killed.” 

A description  of  war  (Herbert)  : — 

“ Now  bloody  colors  wave  in  all  their  pride, 

And  each  proud  hero  does  his  beast  bestride .” 

General  Dorrington’s  description  of  the  fight  is,  if  possi- 
ble, still  more  noble  : — 

“ Dor.  Haste,  noble  friends,  and  save  your  lives  by  flight, 
For  ’tis  but  madness  if  you  stand  to  fight. 

Our  cavalry  the  battle  have  forsook, 

And  death  appears  in  each  dejected  look  ; 

Nothing  but  dread  confusion  can  be  seen, 

For  severed  heads  and  trunks  o’erspread  the  green; 

The  fields,  the  vales,  the  hills,  and  vanquished  plain, 

For  five  miles  round  are  covered  with  the  slain. 

Death  in  each  quarter  does  the  eye  alarm, 

Here  lies  a leg,  and  there  a shattered  arm. 

There  heads  appear,  which,  cloven  by  mighty  bangs, 

And  severed  quite,  on  either  shoulder  hangs  : 

This  is  the  awful  scene,  my  lords ! Oh,  fly 
The  impending  danger,  for  your  fate  is  nigh.” 

Which  party,  however,  is  to  win  — the  Irish  or  English  ? 
Their  heroism  is  equal,  and  young  Godfrey  especially,  on 
the  Irish  side,  is  carrying  all  before  him  — when  he  is 
interrupted  in  the  slaughter  by  the  ghost  of  his  father : of 
old  Sir  Edmundbury,  whose  monument  we  may  see  in  West- 
minster Abbey.  Sir  Charles,  at  first,  doubts  about  the 
genuineness  of  this  venerable  old  apparition : and  thus 
puts  a case  to  the  ghost : — 

“Were  ghosts  in  heaven,  in  heaven  they  there  would  stay, 

Or  if  in  hell  they  coidd  not  get  away.” 

A clincher,  certainly,  as  one  would  imagine ; but  the  ghost 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


18 


jumps  over  the  horns  of  the  fancied  dilemma,  by  saying 
that  he  is  not  at  liberty  to  state  where  he  comes  from. 

“ Ghost.  Where  visions  rest,  or  souls  imprisoned  dwell, 

By  heaven’s  command,  we  are  forbid  to  tell  ; 

But  in  the  obscure  grave  — where  corpse  decay, 

Moulder  in  dust  and  putrefy  away,  — 

No  rest  is  there;  for  the  immortal  soul 
Takes  its  full  flight  and  flutters  round  the  Pole; 

Sometimes  I hover  over  the  Euxine  sea  — 

From  Pole  to  Sphere,  until  the  judgment  day  — 

Over  the  Thracian  Bosphorus  do  I float, 

And  pass  the  Stygian  lake  in  Charon’s  boat, 

O’er  Vulcan’s  fiery  court  and  sulph’rous  cave, 

And  ride  like  Neptune  on  a briny  wave; 

List  to  the  blowing  noise  of  Etna’s  flames, 

And  court  the  shades  of  Amazonian  dames  ; 

Then  take  my  flight  up  to  the  gleamy  moon  : 

Thus  do  I wander  till  the  day  of  doom. 

Proceed  I dare  not,  or  I would  unfold 
A horrid  tale  would  make  your  blood  run  cold, 

Chill  all  your  nerves  and  sinews  in  a trice 
Like  whispering  rivulets  congealed  to  ice. 

“ Sir  Char.  Ere  you  depart  me,  ghost,  I here  demand 
You  let  me  know  your  last  divine  command!  ” 

The  ghost  says  that  the  young  man  must  die  in  the  battle ; 
that  it  will  go  ill  for  him  if  he  die  in  the  wrong  cause ; and, 
therefore,  that  he  had  best  go  over  to  the  Protestants  — 
which  poor  Sir  Charles  (not  without  many  sighs  for  Jemi- 
ma) consents  to  do.  He  goes  off  then,  saying  — 

“I’ll  join  my  countrymen,  and  yet  proclaim 
Nassau’s  great  title  to  the  crimson  plain.” 

In  Act  V.,  that  desertion  turns  the  fate  of  the  day. 
Sarsfield  enters  with  his  sword  drawn,  and  acknowledges 
his  fate.  “ Aughrim,”  exclaims  Lord  Lucan, 

44  Aughrim  is  now  no  more,  St.  Ruth  is  dead. 

And  all  his  guards  are  from  the  battle  fled. 

As  he  rode  down  the  hill  he  met  his  fall. 

And  died  a victim  to  a cannon  ball.” 

And  he  bids  the  Frenchman’s  body  to 

44 lie  like  Pompey  in  his  gore, 

Whose  hero’s  blood  encircles  the  Egyptian  shore.” 

“Four  hundred  Irish  prisoners  we  have  got,”  exclaims  an 


188 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK . 


English  General,  “and  seven  thousand  lyetli  on  the  spot.” 
In  fact,  they  are  entirely  discomfited,  and  retreat  off  the 
stage  altogether ; while,  in  the  moment  of  victory,  poor  Sir 
Charles  Godfrey  enters,  wounded  to  death,  according  to  the 
old  gentleman’s  prophecy.  He  is  racked  by  bitter  remorse ; 
he  tells  his  love  of  his  treachery,  and  declares  “no  crocodile 
was  ever  more  unjust.”  His  agony  increases,  the  “optic 
nerves  grow  dim  and  lose  their  sight,  and  all  his  veins  are 
now  exhausted  quite  ” ; and  he  dies  in  the  arms  of  his 
Jemima,  who  stabs  herself  in  the  usual  way. 

And  so  every  one  being  disposed  of,  the  drums  and 
trumpets  give  a great  peal,  the  audience  huzzas,  and  the 
curtain  falls  on  Ginckle  and  his  friends  exclaiming  — 

“ May  all  the  gods  tli’  auspicious  evening  bless, 

Who  crowns  Great  Britain’s  arrums  with  success!” 

And,  questioning  the  prosody,  what  Englishman  will  not 
join  in  the  sentiment  ? 

In  the  interlude  the  band  (the  pipe)  performs  a favorite 
air.  Jack  the  waiter  and  candle-snuffer  looks  to  see  that 
all  is  ready ; and  after  the  dire  business  of  the  tragedy, 
comes  in  to  sprinkle  the  stage  with  water  (and  perhaps  a 
little  whiskey  in  it).  Thus  all  things  being  arranged,  the 
audience  takes  its  seat  again  and  the  afterpiece  begins. 

Two  of  the  little  yellow  volumes  purchased  at  Ennis  are 
entitled  “The  Irish  and  Hibernian  Tales.”  The  former 
are  modern,  and  the  latter  of  an  ancient  sort ; and  so  great 
is  the  superiority  of  the  old  stories  over  the  new,  in  fancy, 
dramatic  interest,  and  humor,  that  one  can’t  help  fancying 
Hibernia  must  have  been  a very  superior  country  to  Ire- 
land. 

These  Hibernian  novels,  too,  are  evidently  intended  for 
the  hedge-school  universities.  They  have  the  old  tricks 
and  some  of  the  old  plots  that  one  has  read  in  many  popu- 
lar legends  of  almost  all  countries,  European  and  Eastern : 
successful  cunning  is  the  great  virtue  applauded ; and  the 
heroes  pass  through  a thousand  wild  extravagant  dangers, 
such  as  could  only  have  been  invented  when  art  was  young 
and  faith  was  large.  And  as  the  honest  old  author  of  the 
tales  says  “they  are  suited  to  the  meanest  as  well  as  the 
highest  capacity,  tending  both  to  improve  the  fancy  and 
enrich  the  mind,”  let  us  conclude  the  night’s  entertainment 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK . 


189 


by  reading  one  or  two  of  them,  and  reposing  after  the 
doleful  tragedy  which  has  been  represented.  The  “ Black 
Thief”  is  worthy  of  the  Arabian  Nights,  I think,  — as  wild 
and  odd  as  an  Eastern  tale. 

It  begins,  as  usual,  with  a King  and  Queen  who  lived 
once  on  a time  in  the  South  of  Ireland,  and  had  three  sons ; 
but  the  Queen  being  on  her  death-bed,  and  fancying  her 
husband  might  marry  again,  and  unwilling  that  her  chil- 
dren should  be  under  the  jurisdiction  of  any  other  woman, 
besought  his  Majesty  to  place  them  in  a tower  at  her  death, 
and  keep  them  there  safe  until  the  young  Princes  should 
come  of  age. 

The  Queen  dies : the  King  of  course  marries  again,  and 
the  new  Queen,  who  bears  a son  too,  hates  the  offspring  of 
the  former  marriage,  and  looks  about  for  means  to  destroy 
them. 

“ At  length  the  Queen,  having  got  some  business  with  the 
hen-wife , went  herself  to  her,  and  after  a long  conference 
passed,  was  taking  leave  of  her,  when  the  hen-wife  prayed 
that  if  ever  she  should  come  back  to  her  again  she  might 
break  her  neck.  The  Queen,  greatly  incensed  at  such  a 
daring  insult  from  one  of  her  meanest  subjects,  to  make 
such  a prayer  on  her,  demanded  immediately  the  reason,  or 
she  would  have  her  put  to  death.  ‘ It  was  worth  your 
while,  madam/  says  the  hen-wife,  ‘ to  pay  me  well  for  it, 
for  the  reason  I prayed  so  on  you  concerns  you  much/ 
‘ What  must  I pay  you?*  asked  the  Queen.  ‘ You  must 
give  me/  says  she,  ‘ the  full  of  a pack  of  wool ; and  I have 
an  ancient  crock  which  you  must  fill  with  butter ; likewise 
a barrel  which  you  must  fill  for  me  full  of  wheat/  ‘ How 
much  wool  will  it  take  to  the  pack  ? * says  the  Queen. 
‘ It  will  take  seven  herds  of  sheep/  said  she,  ‘ and  their 
increase  for  seven  years/  ‘ How  much  butter  will  it  take 
to  fill  your  crock  ? * ‘ Seven  dairies/  said  she,  ‘ and  the 

increase  for  seven  years/  ‘ Amd  how  much  will  it  fcike  to 
fill  the  barrel  you  have?’  says  the  Queen.  ‘It  will  take 
the  increase  of  seven  barrels  of  wheat  for  seven  years/ 
‘That  is  a great  quantity/  says  the  Queen,  ‘but  the  reason 
must  be  extraordinary,  and  before  I want  it  I will  give 
you  all  you  demand/  ”• 

The  hen-wife  acquaints  the  Queen  with  the  existence  of 
the  three  sons,  and  giving  her  Majesty  an  enchanted  pack 
of  cards,  bids  her  to  get  the  young  men  to  play  with  her 
with  these  cards,  and  on  their  losing,  to  inflict  upon  them 


190 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK . 


such  a task  as  must  infallibly  end  in  their  ruin.  All 
young  princes  are  set  upon  such  tasks,  and  it  is  a sort  of 
opening  of  the  pantomime,  before  the  tricks  and  activity 
begin.  The  Queen  went  home,  and  “ got  speaking  ” to  the 
King  “in  regard  of  his  children,  and  she  broke  it  off  to 
him  in  a very  polite  and  engaging  manner,  so  that  he  could 
see  no  muster  or  design  in  it.”  The  King  agreed  to  bring 
his  sons  to  court,  and  at  night,  when  the  royal  party  “be- 
gan to  sport,  and  play  at  all  kinds  of  diversions,”  the 
Queen  cunningly  challenged  the  three  Princes  to  play 
cards.  They  lose,  and  she  sends  them  in  consequence  to 
bring  her  back  the  Knight  of  the  Glen’s  wild  steed  of  bells. 

On  their  road  (as  wandering  young  princes,  Indian  or 
Irish,  always  do)  they  meet  with  the  Black  Thief  of  Sloan, 
who  tells  them  what  they  must  do.  But  they  are  caught 
in  the  attempt,  and  brought  “ into  that  dismal  part  of  the 
palace  where  the  Knight  kept  a furnace  always  boiling,  in 
which  he  threw  all  offenders  that  ever  came  in  his  way, 
which  in  a few  minutes  would  entirely  consume  them. 
‘ Audacious  villains ! ’ says  the  Knight  of  the  Glen,  ‘ how 
dare  you  attempt  so  bold  an  action  as  to  steal  my  steed  ? 
see  now  the  reward  of  your  folly ; for  your  greater  punish- 
ment I will  not  boil  you  all  together,  but  one  after  the 
other,  so  that  he  that  survives  may  witness  the  dire  afflic- 
tions of  his  unfortunate  companions.’  So  saying,  he 
ordered  his  servants  to  stir  up  the  fire.  ‘We  will  boil 
the  eldest-looking  of  these  young  men  first,’  says  he,  ‘ and 
so  on  to  the  last,  which  will  be  this  old  champion  with  the 
black  cap.  He  seems  to  be  the  captain,  and  looks  as  if  he 
had  come  through  many  toils.’  — ‘ I was  as  near  death  once 
as  this  Prince  is  yet/  says  the  Black  Thief,  ‘ and  escaped  : 
and  so  will  he  too.’  ‘No,  you  never  were,’  said  the  Knight, 
‘ for  he  is  within  two  or  three  minutes  of  his  latter  end.’ 
‘ But,’  says  the  Black  Thief,  ‘ I was  within  one  moment  of 
my  death,  and  I am  here  yet.’  ‘ How  was  that  ? ’ says  the 
Knight.  ‘ I would  be  glad  to  hear  it,  for  it  seems  to  be 
impossible.’  ‘If  you  think,  Sir  Knight,’  says  the  Black 
Thief,  ‘ that  the  danger  I was  in  surpassed  that  of  this 
young  man,  will  you  pardon  him  his  crime  ? ’ ‘I  will,’ 
says  the  Knight,  ‘ so  go  on  with  your  story.’ 

“ ‘ I was,  sir,’  says  he,  ‘ a very  wild  boy  in  my  youth,  and 
came  through  many  distresses  : once  in  particular,  as  I was 
on  my  rambling,  I was  benighted,  and  could  find  no  lodg- 
ing. At  length  I came  to  an  old  kiln,  and  being  much 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK . 


191 


fatigued,  I went  up  and  lay  on  the  ribs.  1 had  not  been 
long  there,  when  I saw  three  witches  coining  in  with  three 
bags  of  gold.  Each  put  her  bag  of  gold  under  her  head  as 
if  to  sleep.  I heard  the  one  say  to  the  other  that  if  the 
Black  Thief  came  on  them  while  they  slept  he  would  not 
leave  them  a penny.  I found  by  their  discourse  that  every- 
body had  got  my  name  into  their  mouth,  though  I kept 
silent  as  death  during  their  discourse.  At  length  they  fell 
fast  asleep,  and  then  I stole  softly  down,  and  seeing  some 
turf  convenient , I placed  one  under  each  of  their  heads,  and 
off  I went  with  their  gold  as  fast  as  I could. 

“ ‘ I had  not  gone  far/  continued  the  Thief  of  Sloan, 
‘ until  I saw  a greyhound,  a hare,  and  a hawk  in  pursuit  of 
me,  and  began  to  think  it  must  be  the  witches  that  had 
taken  that  metamorphosis,  in  order  that  I might  not  escape 
them  unseen  either  by  land  or  water.  Seeing  they  did  not 
appear  in  any  formidable  shape,  I was  more  than  once 
resolved  to  attack  them,  thinking  that  with  my  broad 
sword  I could  easily  destroy  them.  But  considering  again 
that  it  was  perhaps  still  in  their  power  to  become  so,  I 
gave  over  the  attempt,  and  climbed  with  difficulty  up  a 
tree,  bringing  my  sword  in  my  hand,  and  all  the  gold  along 
with  me.  However,  when  they  came  to  the  tree  they 
found  what  I had  done,  and,  making  further  use  of  their 
hellish  art,  one  of  them  was  changed  into  a smith’s  anvil, 
and  another  into  a piece  of  iron,  of  which  the  third  one 
soon  made  a hatchet.  Having  the  hatchet  made,  she  fell 
to  cutting  down  the  tree,  and  in  course  of  an  hour  it  began 
to  shake  with  me.’  ” 

This  is  very  good  and  original.  The  “ boiling  ” is  in  the 
first  fee-faw-fum  style,  and  the  old  allusion  to  “the  old 
champion  in  the  black  cap  ” has  the  real  Ogresque  humor. 
Nor  is  that  simple  contrivance  of  the  honest  witches  with- 
out its  charm  : for  if,  instead  of  wasting  their  time,  the  one 
in  turning  herself  into  an  anvil,  the  other  into  a piece  of 
iron,  and  so  hammering  out  a hatchet  at  considerable  labor 
and  expense  — if  either  of  them  had  turned  herself  into 
a hatchet  at  once,  they  might  have  chopped  down  the 
Black  Thief  before  cock-crow,  when  they  were  obliged  to 
fly  off  and  leave  him  in  possession  of  the  bags  of  gold. 

The  eldest  Prince  is  ransomed  by  the  Knight  of  the  Glen 
in  consequence  of  this  story : and  the  second  Prince  escapes 
on  account  of  the  merit  of  a second  story ; but  the  great 
story  of  all  is  of  course  reserved  for  the  youngest  Prince. 


192 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


“I  was  one  day  on  my  travels/7  says  the  Black  Thief, 
u and  I came  into  a large  forest,  where  I wandered  a long 
time  and  could  not  get  out  of  it.  At  length  I came  to  a 
large  castle,  and  fatigue  obliged  me  to  call  into  the  same, 
where  I found  a young  woman,  and  a child  sitting  on  her 
knee,  and  she  crying.  1 asked  her  what  made  her  cry,  and 
where  the  lord  of  the  castle  was,  for  I wondered  greatly 
that  I saw  no  stir  of  servants  or  any  person  about  the 
place.  6 It  is  well  for  you/  says  the  young  woman,  ‘ that 
the  lord  of  this  castle  is  not  at  home  at  present;  for  he 
is  a monstrous  giant,  with  but  one  eye  on  his  forehead, 
who  lives  on  human  flesh.  He  brought  me  this  child/  says 
she — ‘ I do  not  know  where  he  got  it  — and  ordered  me  to 
make  it  into  a pie,  and  I cannot  help  crying  at  the  com- 
mand.7 I told  her  that  if  she  knew  of  any  place  conven- 
ient that  I could  leave  the  child  safely,  I would  do  it, 
rather  than  that  it  should  be  buried  in  the  bowels  of  such 
a monster.  She  told  of  a house  a distance  off,  where  I 
would  get  a woman  who  would  take  care  of  it.  6 But  what 
will  I do  in  regard  of  the  pie  ? 7 ‘ Cut  a finger  off  it/  said 

I,  ‘ and  I will  bring  you  in  a young  wild  pig  out  of  the 
forest,  which  you  may  dress  as  if  it  was  the  child,  and  put 
the  finger  in  a certain  place,  that  if  the  giant  doubts  any- 
thing about  it,  you  may  know  where  to  turn  it  over  at  first, 
and  when  he  sees  it  he  will  be  fully  satisfied  that  it  is 
made  of  the  child.7  She  agreed  to  the  plan  I proposed; 
and,  cutting  off  the  child’s  finger,  by  her  direction  I soon 
had  it  at  the  house  she  told  me  of,  and  brought  her  the 
little  pig  in  the  place  of  it.  She  then  made  ready  the  pie ; 
and,  after  eating  and  drinking  heartily  myself,  I was  just 
taking  my  leave  of  the  young  woman  when  we  observed 
the  giant  coming  through  the  castle-gates.  ‘Lord  bless 
me  ! 7 said  she,  what  will  you  do  now  ? run  away  and  lie 
down  among  the  dead  bodies  that  he  has  in  the  room7 
(showing  me  the  place),  ‘and  strip  off  your  clothes  that  he 
may  not  know  you  from  the  rest  if  he  has  occasion  to  go 
that  way.7  I took  her  advice,  and  laid  myself  down  among 
the  rest,  as  if  dead,  to  see  how  he  would  behave.  The  first 
thing  I heard  was  him  calling  for  his  pie.  When  she  set 
it  down  before  him,  he  swore  it  smelt  like  swine’s  flesh  ; 
but  knowing  where  to  find  the  finger,  she  immediately 
turned  it  up  — which  fairly  convinced  him  of  the  contrary. 
The  pie  only  served  to  sharpen  his  appetite,  and  I heard 
him  sharpen  his  knife,  and  saying  he  must  have  a collop  or 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK . 


193 


two,  for  he  was  not  near  satisfied.  But  wliat  was  my  ter- 
ror when  I heard  the  giant  groping  among  the  bodies,  and, 
fancying  myself,  cut  the  half  of  my  hip  off,  and  took  it 
with  him  to  be  roasted.  You  may  be  certain  I was  in 
great  pain  ; but  the  fear  of  being  killed  prevented  me  from 
making  any  complaint.  However,  when  he  had  eat  all,  he 
began  to  drink  hot  liquors  in  great  abundance,  so  that  in  a 
short  time  he  could  not  hold  up  his  head,  but  threw  him- 
self on  a large  creel  he  had  made  for  the  purpose,  and  fell 
fast  asleep.  When  ever  I heard  him  snoring,  bad  as  I was, 
I went  up  and  caused  the  woman  to  bind  my  wound 
with  a handkerchief ; and  taking  the  giant’s  spit,  I red- 
dened it  in  the  fire,  and  ran  it  through  the  eye,  but  was 
not  able  to  kill  him.  However,  I left  the  spit  sticking  in 
his  head  and  took  to  my  heels ; but  I soon  found  he  was  in 
pursuit  of  me,  although  blind;  and  having  an  enchanted 
ring  he  threw  it  at  me,  and  it  fell  on  my  big  toe  and  re- 
mained fastened  to  it.  The  giant  then  called  to  the  ring, 
‘ Where  it  was  ? ’ and  to  my  great  surprise  it  made  him 
answer,  ‘ On  my  foot,’  and  he,  guided  by  the  same,  made  a 
leap  at  me  — which  I had  the  good  luck  to  observe,  and 
fortunately  escaped  the  danger.  However,  I found  run- 
ning was  of  no  use  in  saving  me  as  long  as  I had  the  ring 
on  my  foot;  so  I took  my  sword  and  cut  off  the  toe  it  was 
fastened  on,  and  threw  both  into  a large  fish-pond  that  was 
convenient.  The  giant  called  again  to  the  ring,  which, 
by  the  power  of  enchantment,  always  made  answer;  but 
he,  not  knowing  what  I had  done,  imagined  it  was  still  on 
some  part  of  me,  and  made  a violent  leap  to  seize  me  — 
when  he  went  into  the  pond  over  head  and  ears  and  was 
drowned.  Now,  Sir  Knight,”  said  the  Thief  of  Sloan, 
“ you  see  what  dangers  I came  through  and  always 
escaped ; but  indeed  I am  lame  for  want  of  my  toe  ever 
since.” 

And  now  remains  but  one  question  to  be  answered,  viz., 
How  is  the  Black  Thief  himself  to  come  off  ? This 
difficulty  is  solved  in  a very  dramatic  way  and  with  a 
sudden  turn  in  the  narrative  that  is  very  wild  and 
curious. 

“My  lord  and  master,”  says  an  old  woman  that  was 
listening  all  the  time,  “that  story  is  but  too  true,  as  I 
well  know : for  I am  the  very  woman  that  was  in  the 
giant's  castle , and  yon , my  lord , the  child  that  I was  to 
make  into  a pie ; and  this  is  the  very  man  that  saved 

VOL.  if. — 13 


194 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


your  life,  which  you  may  know  by  the  want  of  your  finger 
that  was  taken  off,  as  you  have  heard,  to  deceive  the 
giant.” 

That  fantastical  way  of  bearing  testimony  to  the  previ- 
ous tale,  by  producing  an  old  woman  who  says  the  tale  is 
not  only  true,  but  she  was  the  very  old  woman  who  lived 
in  the  giant’s  castle,  is  almost  a stroke  of  genius.  It 
is  fine  to  think  that  the  simple  chronicler  found  it 
necessary  to  have  a proof  for  his  story,  and  he  was 
no  doubt  perfectly  contented  with  the  proof  found. 

“ The  Knight  of  the  Glen,  greatly  surprised  at  what  he 
had  heard  the  old  woman  tell,  and  knowing  he  wanted  his 
finger  from  his  childhood,  began  to  understand  that  the 
story  was  true  enough.  ‘ And  is  this  my  dear  deliverer  ? ’ 
says  he.  ‘0  brave  fellow,  I not  only  pardon  you  all, 
but  I will  keep  you  with  myself  while  you  live ; where 
you  shall  feast  like  princes  and  have  every  attendance 
that  I have  myself.’  They  all  returned  thanks  on  their 
knees,  and  the  Black  Thief  told  him  the  reason  they  at- 
tempted to  steal  the  steed  of  bells,  and  the  necessity  they 
were  under  of  going  home.  ‘Well,’  says  the  Knight  of  the 
Glen,  ‘if  that’s  the  case,  I bestow  you  my  steed  rather 
than  this  brave  fellow  should  die : so  you  may  go  when 
you  please : only  remember  to  call  and  see  me  betimes, 
that  we  may  know  each  other  well.’  They  promised  they 
would,  and  with  great  joy  they  set  off  for  the  King 
their  father’s  palace,  and  the  Black  Thief  along  with 
them.  The  wicked  Queen  was  standing  all  this  time- 
on  the  tower,  and  hearing  the  bells  ringing  at  a great 
distance  off,  knew  very  well  it  was  the  Princes  coming 
home,  and  the  steed  with  them,  and  through  spite  and 
vexation  precipitated  herself  from  the  tower  and  was 
shattered  to  pieces.  The  three  Princes  lived  happy  and 
well  during  their  father’s  reign,  always  keeping  the  Black 
Thief  along  with  them  ; but  how  they  did  after  the  old 
King’s  death  is  not  known.” 

Then  we  come  upon  a story  that  exists  in  many  a 
European  language  — of  the  man  cheating  Death ; then 
to  the  history  of  the  Apprentice  Thief,  who  of  course 
cheated  his  masters : which,  too,  is  an  old  tale,  and  may 
have  been  told  very  likely  among  those  Phoenicians  who 
were  the  fathers  of  the  Hibernians,  for  whom  these  tales 
were  devised.  A very  curious  tale  is  there  concerning 
Manus  O’Malaghan  and  the  Fairies:  — “In  the  parish  of 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


195 


Ahoghill  lived  Manus  O’Malaghan.  As  he  was  searching 
for  a calf  that  had  strayed , he  heard  many  people  talking. 
Drawing  near,  he  distinctly  heard  them  repeating,  one 
after  the  other,  ‘ Get  me  a horse,  get  me  a horse  7 ; and 
‘ Get  me  a horse,  too/  says  Manus.  Manus  was  instantly 
mounted  on  a steed,  surrounded  with  a vast  crowd,  who 
galloped  off,  taking  poor  Manus  with  them.  In  a short 
time  they  suddenly  stopped  in  a large  wide  street,  asking 
Manus  if  he  knew  where  he  was  ? ‘ Faith/  says  he,  6 1 do 

not.7  ‘ You  are  in  Spain / said  they.77 

Here  we  have  again  the  wild  mixture  of  the  positive  and 
the  fanciful.  The  chronicler  is  careful  to  tell  us  why 
Manus  went  out  searching  for  a calf,  and  this  positiveness 
prodigiously  increases  the  reader’s  wonder  at  the  subse- 
quent events.  And  the  question  and  answer  of  the  mys- 
terious horseman  is  fine : “ Don’t  you  know  where  you 
are  ? In  Spain”  A vague  solution,  such  as  one  has  of 
occurrences  in  dreams  sometimes. 

The  history  of  Robin  the  Blacksmith  is  full  of  these 
strange  flights  of  poetry.  He  is  followed  about  “by  a 
little  boy  in  a green  jacket/7  who  performs  the  most 
wondrous  feats  of  the  blacksmith’s  art,  as  follows : — 

“ Robin  was  asked  to  do  something,  who  wisely  shifted 
it,  saying  he  would  be  very  sorry  not  to  give  the  honor 
of  the  first  trick  to  his  lordship’s  smith  — at  which  the 
latter  was  called  forth  to  the  bellows.  When  the  fire 
was  well  kindled,  to  the  great  surprise  of  all  present,  he 
blew  a great  shower  of  wheat  out  of  the  fire,  which  fell 
through  all  the  shop.  They  then  demanded  of  Robin  to 
try  what  he  could  do.  c Pho ! ’ said  Robin,  as  if  he 
thought  nothing  of  what  was  done.  ‘ Come/  said  he  to 
the  boy,  ‘ I think  I showed  you  something  like  that.7 
The  boy  goes  then  to  the  bellows  and  blew  out  a great  flock 
of  pigeons,  who  soon  devoured  all  the  grain  and  then 
disappeared. 

“ The  Dublin  smith,  sorely  vexed  that  such  a boy  should 
outdo  him,  goes  a second  time  to  the  bellows  and  blew  a 
fine  trout  out  of  the  hearth,  who  jumped  into  a little  river 
that  was  running  by  the  shop-door  and  was  seen  no  more  at 
that  time. 

“ Robin  then  said  to  the  boy,  ‘ Come,  you  must  bring  us 
yon  trout  back  again,  to  let  the  gentlemen  see  we  can  do 
something.7  Away  the  boy  goes  and  blew  a large  otter  out 
of  the  hearth,  who  immediately  leaped  into  the  river  and 


196 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


in  a short  time  returned  with  the  trout  in  his  mouth,  and 
then  disappeared.  All  present  allowed  that  it  was  folly  to 
attempt  a competition  any  further.” 

The  boy  in  the  green  jacket  was  one  “ of  a kind  of  small 
beings  called  fairies”;  and  not  a little  does  it  add  to  the 
charm  of  these  wild  tales  to  feel  as  one  reads  them  that 
the  writer  must  have  believed  in  his  heart  a great  deal  of 
what  he  told.  You  see  the  tremor  as  it  were,  and  a wild 
look  of  the  eyes,  as  the  story-teller  sits  in  his  nook  and 
recites,  and  peers  wistfully  round  lest  the  beings  he  talks 
of  be  really  at  hand. 

Let  us  give  a couple  of  the  little  tales  entire.  They  are 
not  so  fanciful  as  those  before  mentioned,  but  of  the  comic 
sort,  and  suited  to  the  first  kind  of  capacity  mentioned  by 
the  author  in  his  preface. 

DONALD  AND  HIS  NEIGHBORS. 

“ Hudden  and  Dudden  and  Donald  O’Neary  were  near 
neighbors  in  the  barony  of  Ballineonlig,  and  ploughed  with 
three  bullocks  ; but  the  two  former,  envying  the  present 
prosperity  of  the  latter,  determined  to  kill  his  bullock  to 
prevent  his  farm  being  properly  cultivated  and  labored  — 
that,  going  back  in  the  world,  he  might  be  induced  to  sell 
his  lands,  which  they  meant  to  get  possession  of.  Poor 
Donald,  finding  his  bullock  killed,  immediately  skinned  it, 
and  throwing  the  skin  over  his  shoulder,  with  the  fleshy 
side  out,  set  off  to  the  next  town  with  it,  to  dispose  of  it 
to  the  best  advantage.  Going  along  the  road  a magpie 
flew  on  the  top  of  the  hide,  and  began  picking  it,  chatter- 
ing all  the  time.  This  bird  had  been  taught  to  speak 
and  imitate  the  human  voice,  and  Donald,  thinking  he 
understood  some  words  it  was  saying,  put  round  his  hand 
and  caught  hold  of  it.  Having  got  possession  of  it,  he  put  it 
under  his  great  coat,  and  so  went  on  to  the  town.  Having  sold 
the  hide,  he  went  into  an  inn  to  take  a dram;  and,  following 
the  landlady  into  the  cellar,  he  gave  the  bird  a squeeze, 
which  caused  it  to  chatter  some  broken  accents  that  sur- 
prised her  very  much.  ‘What  is  that  I hear  ? ’ said  she  to 
Donald : ‘ I think  it  is  talk,  and  yet  I do  not  understand.’ 
‘Indeed,’  said  Donald,  ‘it  is  a bird  I have  that  tells  me 
everything,  and  I always  carry  it  with  me  to  know  when 
there  is  any  danger.  Faith,’  says  he,  ‘it  says  you  have 
far  better  liquor  than  you  are  giving  me.’  ‘That  is 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


197 


strange/  said  she,  going  to  another  cask  of  better  quality, 
and  asking  him  if  he  would  sell  the  bird.  6I  will/  said 
Donald,  6 if  I get  enough  for  it/  ‘ I will  fill  your  hat  with 
silver  if  you  will  leave  it  with  me/  Donald  was  glad  to 
hear  the  news,  and,  taking  the  silver,  set  off,  rejoicing  at 
his  good  luck.  He  had  not  been  long  home  when  he  met 
with  Hudden  and  Dudden.  ‘ Ha ! ’ said  he,  6 you  thought 
you  did  me  a bad  turn,  but  you  could  not  have  done 
me  a better : for  look  here  what  I have  got  for  the  hide/ 
showing  them  the  hatful  of  silver.  ‘ You  never  saw  such 
a demand  for  hides  in  your  life  as  there  is  at  present/ 
Hudden  and  Dudden  that  very  night  killed  their  bullocks, 
and  set  out  the  next  morning  to  sell  their  hides.  On 
coming  to  the  place  they  went  to  all  the  merchants, 
but  could  only  get  a trifie  for  them.  At  last  they  had 
to  take  what  they  could  get,  and  came  home  in  a great 
rage  and  vowing  revenge  on  poor  Donald.  He  had  a 
pretty  good  guess  how  matters  would  turn  out,  and  his 
bed  being  under  the  kitchen-window,  he  was  afraid  they 
would  rob  him,  or  perhaps  kill  him  when  asleep;  and 
on  that  account,  when  he  was  going  to  bed,  he  left  his  old 
mother  in  his  bed,  and  lay  down  in  her  place  which  was  in 
the  other  side  of  the  house,  and  they,  taking  the  old  woman 
for  Donald,  choked  her  in  the  bed;  but  he  making  some 
noise,  they  had  to  retreat  and  leave  the  money  behind 
them,  which  grieved  them  very  much.  However,  by  day- 
break, Donald  got  his  mother  on  his  back,  and  carried  her 
to  town.  Stopping  at  a well,  he  fixed  his  mother  with  her 
staff  as  if  she  was  stooping  for  a drink,  and  then  went  into 
a public-house  convenient  and  called  for  a dram.  ‘ I wish/ 
said  he  to  a woman  that  stood  near  him,  i you  would  tell 
my  mother  to  come  in.  She  is  at  yon  well  trying  to  get  a 
drink,  and  she  is  hard  in  hearing  : if  she  does  not  observe 
you,  give  her  a little  shake,  and  tell  her  that  I want  her/ 
The  woman  called  her  several  times,  but  she  seemed  to 
take  no  notice : at  length  she  went  to  her  and  shook  her 
by  the  arm ; but  when  she  let  go  again,  she  tumbled  on 
her  head  into  the  well,  and,  as  the  woman  thought,  was 
drowned.  She,  in  great  fear  and  surprise  at  the  accident, 
told  Donald  what  had  happened.  ‘O  mercy/  said  he, 

( what  is  this  ? ? He  ran  and  pulled  her  out  of  the  well, 
weeping  and  lamenting  all  the  time,  and  acting  in  such  a 
manner  that  you  would  imagine  that  he  had  lost  his 
senses.  The  woman,  on  the  other  hand,  was  far  worse 


198 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


than  Donald : for  his  grief  was  only  feigned,  but  she 
imagined  herself  to  be  the  cause  of  the  old  woman’s 
death.  The  inhabitants  of  the  town,  hearing  what  had 
happened,  agreed  to  make  Donald  up  a good  sum  of  money 
for  his  loss,  as  the  accident  happened  in  their  place ; 
and  Donald  brought  a greater  sum  home  with  him  than  he 
got  for  the  magpie.  They  buried  Donald’s  mother ; and 
as  soon  as  he  saw  Hudden  and  Dudden  he  showed 
them  the  last  purse  of  money  he  had  got.  ‘You  thought 
to  kill  me  last  night,’  said  he;  ‘but  it  was  good  for  me 
it  happened  on  my  mother,  for  I got  all  that  purse  for  her 
to  make  gunpowder.’ 

“That  very  night  Hudden  and  Dudden  killed  their 
mothers,  and  the  next  morning  set  off  with  them  to  town. 
On  coming  to  the  town  with  their  burden  on  their  backs, 
they  went  up  and  down  crying,  ‘Who  will  buy  old  wives 
for  gunpowder  ? ’ so  that  every  one  laughed  at  them,  and  the 
boys  at  last  clodded  them  out  of  the  place.  They  then  saw 
the  cheat,  and  vowing  revenge  on  Donald,  buried  the  old 
women  and  set  off  in  pursuit  of  him.  Coming  to  his  house, 
they  found  him  sitting  at  his  breakfast,  and,  seizing  him, 
put  him  in  a sack  and  went  to  drown  him  in  a river  at  some 
distance.  As  they  were  going  along  the  highway  they 
raised  a hare,  which  they  saw  had  but  three  feet,  and,  throw- 
ing off  the  sack,  ran  after  her,  thinking  by  appearance 
she  would  be  easily  taken.  In  their  absence  there  came  a 
drover  that  way,  and  hearing  Donald  singing  in  the  sack, 
wondered  greatly  what  could  be  the  matter.  ‘ What  is  the 
reason,’  said  he,  ‘ that  you  are  singing,  and  you  confined  ? ’ 
‘ Oh,  I am  going  to  heaven,’  said  Donald : ‘ and  in  a short 
time  I expect  to  be  free  from  trouble.’  ‘ Oh,  dear,’  said  the 
drover,  ‘ what  will  I give  you  if  you  let  me  to  your  place  ? ’ 
‘ Indeed  I do  not  know,’  said  he  : ‘it  would  take  a good 
sum.’  ‘ I have  not  much  money,’  said  the  drover  ; ‘ but  I 
have  twenty  head  of  fine  cattle,  which  I will  give  you  to 
exchange  places  with  me.’  ‘ Well,  well,’  says  Donald,  ‘ I 
don’t  care  if  I should : loose  the  sack  and  I will  come  out.’ 
In  a moment  the  drover  liberated  him,  and  went  into  the 
sack  himself : and  Donald  drove  home  the  fine  heifers  and 
left  them  in  his  pasture. 

“ Hudden  and  Dudden  having  caught  the  hare,  returned, 
and  getting  the  sack  on  one  of  their  backs,  carried  Donald,  as 
they  thought,  to  the  river,  and  threw  him  in,  where  he  imme- 
diately sank.  They  then  marched  home,  intending  to  take 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


199 


immediate  possession  of  Donald’s  property ; but  how  great 
was  their  surprise,  when  they  found  him  safe  at  home  before 
them,  with  such  a tine  herd  of  cattle,  whereas  they  knew 
he  had  none  before  ! ‘ Donald,’  said  they,  ‘ what  is  all  this  ? 

We  thought  you  were  drowned,  and  yet  you  are  here  before 
us  ! ’ ‘ Ah ! ’ said  he,  ‘ if  I had  but  help  along  with  me 

when  you  threw  me  in,  it  would  have  been  the  best  job 
ever  I met  with ; for  of  all  the  sight  of  cattle  and  gold  that 
ever  was  seen,  is  there,  and  no  one  to  own  them  ; but  I was 
not  able  to  manage  more  than  what  you  see,  and  I could 
show  you  the  spot  where  you  might  get  hundreds.’  They 
both  swore  they  would  be  his  friends,  and  Donald  accord- 
ingly led  them  to  a very  deep  part  of  the  river,  and  lifting 
up  a stone,  ‘Now,’  said  he,  ‘watch  this,’  throwing  it  into 
the  stream.  ‘ There  is  the  very  place,  and  go  in,  one  of 
you,  first,  and  if  you  want  help  you  have^  nothing  to  do  but 
call.’  Hudden  jumping  in,  and  sinking  to  the  bottom,  rose 
up  again,  and  making  a bubbling  noise  as  those  do  that  are 
drowning,  seemed  trying  to  speak  but  could  not.  ‘ What  is 
that  he  is  saying  now  ? ’ says  Dudden.  ‘ Faith,’  says 
Donald,  ‘ he  is  calling  for  help  — don’t  you  hear  him  ? 
Stand  about,’  continued  he,  running  back,  ‘ till  I leap  in.  I 
know  how  to  do  better  than  any  of  you.’  Dudden,  to  have 
the  advantage  of  him,  jumped  in  oft  the  bank,  and  was 
drowned  along  with  Hudden.  And  this  was  the  end  of 
Hudden  and  Dudden.” 

THE  SPAEMAK 

“A  poor  man  in  the  north  of  Ireland  was  under  the 
necessity  of  selling  his  cow  to  help  to  support  his  family. 
Having  sold  his  cow,  he  went  into  an  inn  and  called  for 
some  liquor.  Having  drunk  pretty  heartily,  he  fell  asleep, 
and  when  he  awoke  he  found  he  had  been  robbed  of  his  money. 
Poor  Roger  was  at  a loss  to  know  how  to  act ; and,  as  is 
often  the  case,  when  the  landlord  found  that  his  money  was 
gone,  he  turned  him  out  of  doors.  The  night  was  extremely 
dark,  and  the  poor  man  was  compelled  to  take  up  his  lodg- 
ing in  an  old  uninhabited  house  at  the  end  of  the  town. 

“Roger  had  not  remained  long  here  until  he  was  sur- 
prised by  the  noise  of  three  men,  whom  he  observed  making 
a hole,  and,  having  deposited  something  therein,  closing  it 
carefully  up  again  and  then  going  away.  The  next  morning, 
as  Roger  was  walking  towards  the  town,  he  heard  that  a 


200 


THE  ] R IS  II  SKETCH  BOOK . 


cloth-shop  had  been  robbed  to  a great  amount,  and  that  a 
reward  of  thirty  pounds  was  offered  to  any  person  who  could 
discover  the  thieves.  This  was  joyful  news  to  Roger,  who 
recollected  what  he  had  been  witness  to  the  night  before. 
He  accordingly  went  to  the  shop  and  told  the  gentlemen 
that  for  the  reward  he  would  recover  the  goods,  and  secure 
the  robbers,  provided  he  got  six  stout  men  to  attend  him. 
All  which  was  thankfully  granted  him. 

“At  night  Roger  and  his  men  concealed  themselves  in 
the  old  house,  and  in  a short  time  after  the  robbers  came  to 
the  spot  for  the  purpose  of  removing  their  booty  ; but  they 
were  instantly  seized  and  carried  into  the  town  prisoners, 
with  the  goods.  Roger  received  the  reward  and  returned 
home,  well  satisfied  with  his  good  luck.  Not  many  days 
after,  it  was  noised  over  the  country  that  this  robbery  was 
discovered  by  the  help  of  one  of  the  best  Spaemen  to  be 
found  — insomuch  that  it  reached  the  ears  of  a worthy  gen- 
tleman of  the  county  of  Derry,  who  made  strict  inquiry  to 
find  him  out.  Having  at  length  discovered  his  abode,  he 
sent  for  Roger,  and  told  him  he  was  every  day  losing  some 
valuable  article,  and  as  he  was  famed  for  discovering  lost 
things,  if  he  could  find  out  the  same,  he  should  be  hand- 
somely rewarded.  Poor  Roger  was  put  to  a stand,  not 
knowing  what  answer  to  make,  as  he  had  not  the  smallest 
knowledge  of  the  like.  But  recovering  himself  a little,  he 
resolved  to  humor  the  joke  ; and,  thinking  he  would  make 
a good  dinner  and  some  drink  of  it,  told  the  gentleman  he 
would  try  what  he  could  do,  but  that  he  must  have  a room 
to  himself  for  three  hours,  during  which  time  he  must  have 
three  bottles  of  strong  ale  and  his  dinner.  All  of  which 
the  gentleman  told  him  he  should  have.  No  sooner  was  it 
made  known  that  the  Spaeman  was  in  the  house  than  the 
servants  were  all  in  confusion,  wishing  to  know  what  would 
be  said. 

“As  soon  as  Roger  had  taken  his  dinner,  he  was  shown 
into  an  elegant  room,  where  the  gentleman  sent  him  a quart 
of  ale  by  the  butler.  No  sooner  had  he  set  down  the  ale 
than  Roger  said,  6 There  comes  one  of  them  ’ (intimating 
the  bargain  he  had  made  with  the  gentleman  for  the  three 
quarts),  which  the  butler  took  in  a wrong  light  and  imagined 
it  was  himself.  He  went  away  in  great  confusion,  and  told 
his  wife.  ‘ Poor  fool/  said  she,  ‘ the  fear  makes  you  think 
it  is  you  he  means  ; but  I will  attend  in  your  place,  and 
hear  what  he  will  say  to  me.?  Accordingly  she  carried  the 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK . 


201 


second  quart : but  no  sooner  bad  she  opened  the  door  than 
Roger  cried,  4 There  comes  two  of  them/  The  woman,  no 
less  surprised  than  her  husband,  told  him  the  Spaeman 
knew  her  too.  4 And  what  will  we  do  ? 9 said  he.  4 We  will 
be  hanged/  4 1 will  tell  you  what  we  must  do/  said  she  : 
4 we  must  send  the  groom  the  next  time  ; and  if  he  is  known, 
we  must  offer  him  a good  sum  not  to  discover  on  us/  The 
butler  went  to  William  and  told  him  the  whole  story,  and 
that  he  must  go  next  to  see  what  the  Spaeman  would  say  to 
him,  telling  him  at  the  same  time  what  to  do  in  case  he  was 
known  also.  When  the  hour  was  expired,  William  was  sent 
with  the  third  quart  of  ale  — which  when  Roger  observed, 
he  cried  out,  4 There  is  the  third  and  last  of  them  ! ’ At 
which  the  groom  changed  color,  and  told  him  4 that  if  he 
would  not  discover  on  them,  they  would  show  him  whore 
the  goods  were  all  concealed  and  give  him  five  pounds 
besides/  Roger,  not  a little  surprised  at  the  discovery  he 
had  made,  told  him,  4 if  he  recovered  the  goods,  he  would 
follow  them  no  further/ 

44  By  this  time  the  gentleman  called  Roger  to  know  how 
he  had  succeeded.  He  told  him  4 he  could  find  the  goods, 
but  that  the  thief  was  gone/  4 1 will  be  well  satisfied/ 
said  he,  4 with  the  goods,  for  some  of  them  are  very  valua- 
ble/ 4 Let  the  butler  come  along  with  me,  and  the  whole 
shall  be  recovered/  Roger  was  accordingly  conducted  to 
the  back  of  the  stables,  where  the  articles  were  concealed, 
— such  as  silver  cups,  spoons,  bowls,  knives,  forks,  and  a 
variety  of  other  articles  of  great  value. 

44  When  the  supposed  Spaeman  brought  back  the  stolen 
goods,  the  gentleman  was  so  highly  pleased  with  Roger  that 
he  insisted  on  his  remaining  with  him  always,  as  he  sup- 
posed he  would  be  perfectly  safe  as  long  as  he  was  about 
his  house.  Roger  gladly  embraced  the  offer,  and  in  a 
few  days  took  possession  of  a piece  of  land  which  the  gen- 
tleman had  given  to  him  in  consideration  of  his  great  abili- 
ties. 

44  Some  time  after  this  the  gentleman  was  relating  to  a 
large  company  the  discovery  Roger  had  made,  and  that  he 
could  tell  anything.  One  of  the  gentlemen  said  he  would 
dress  a dish  of  meat,  and  bet  fifty  pounds  that  he  could  not 
tell  what  was  in  it,  though  he  would  allow  him  to  taste  it. 
The  bet  being  taken  and  the  dish  dressed,  the*  gentleman 
sent  for  Roger  and  told  him  the  bet  that  was  depending  on 
him.  Boor  Roger  did  not  know  what  to  do  ; but  at  last  he 


202 


THE  TRISTI  SKETCH  BOOK. 


consented  to  the  trial.  The  dish  being  produced,  he  tasted  it, 
but  could  not  tell  what  it  was.  At  last,  seeing  he  was  fairly 
beat,  he  said,  ‘ Gentlemen,  it  is  folly  to  talk : the  fox  may 
run  a while,  but  he  is  caught  at  last/  — allowing  with  him- 
self that  he  was  found  out.  The  gentleman  that  had  made 
the  bet  then  confessed  that  it  was  a fox  he  had  dressed  in 
the  dish : at  which  they  all  shouted  out  in  favor  of  the 
Spaemen,  — particularly  his  master,  who  had  more  confi- 
dence in  him  than  ever. 

“ Koger  then  went  home,  and  so  famous  did  he  become, 
that  no  one  dared  take  anything  but  what  belonged  to  them, 
fearing  that  the  Spaeman  would  discover  on  them.” 


And  so  we  shut  up  the  Hedge-school  Library,  and  close 
the  Galway  Nights’  Entertainments.  They  are  not  quite  so 
genteel  as  Almack’s  to  be  sure  ; but  many  a lady  who  has 
her  opera-box  in  London  has  listened  to  a piper  in  Ireland. 

Apropos  of  pipers,  here  is  a young 
one  that  I caught  and  copied  to-day. 
He  was  paddling  in  the  mud,  shining 
in  the  sun  careless  of  his  rays,  and 
playing  his  little  tin  music  as  happy  as 
Mr.  Cooke  with  his  oboe. 

Perhaps  the  above  verses  and  tales 
are  not  unlike  my  little  Galway  musi- 
cian. They  are  grotesque  and  rugged ; 
but  they  are  pretty  and  innocent  heart- 
ed too  ; and  as  such,  polite  persons  may 
deign  to  look  at  them  for  once  in  a way.  While  we  have 
Signor  Costa  in  a white  neck-cloth  ordering  opera-bands  to 
play  for  us  the  music  of  Donizetti,  which  is  not  only  sub- 
lime but  genteel,  of  course  such  poor  little  operatives  as  he 
who  plays  the  wind  instrument  yonder  cannot  expect  to  be 
heard  often.  But  is  not  this  Galway  ? and  how  far  is  Gal- 
way from  the  Haymarket  ? 


CHAPTER  XVIL 


FROM  GALWAY  TO  BALLINAHINCH. 

HE  Clifden  car,  which 
carries  the  Dublin  letters 
into  the  heart  of  Conne- 
mara, conducts  the  pas- 
senger over  one  of  the 
most  wild  and  beautiful 
districts  that  it  is  ever 
the  fortune  of  a traveller 
to  examine  ; and  I could 
not  help  thinking,  as  we 
passed  through  it,  at  how 
much  pains  and  expense 
honest  English  cockneys 
are  to  go  and  look  after 
natural  beauties  far  in- 
ferior, in  countries 
which,  though  more  distant,  are  not  a whit  more  strange 
than  this  one.  No  doubt,  ere  long,  when  people  know  how 
easy  the  task  is,  the  rush  of  London  tourism  will  come  this 
way  : and  I shall  be  very  happy  if  these  pages  shall  be  able 
to  awaken  in  one  bosom  beating  in  Tooley  Street  or  the 
Temple  the  desire  to  travel  towards  Ireland  next  year. 

After  leaving  the  quaint  old  town  behind  us,  and  ascend- 
ing one  or  two  small  eminences  to  the  north-westward,  the 
traveller,  from  the  car,  gets  a view  of  the  wide  sheet  of 
Lough  Corrib  shining  in  the  sun,  as  we  saw  it,  with  its  low 
dark  banks  stretching  round  it.  If  the  view  is  gloomy,  at 
least  it  is  characteristic : nor  are  we  delayed  by  it  very 
long ; for  though  the  lake  stretches  northwards  into  the 
very  midst  of  the  Joyce  country  (and  is  there  in  the  close 
neighborhood  of  another  huge  lake,  Lough  Mask,  which 
again  is  near  to  another  sheet  of  water),  yet  from  this  road 
henceforth,  after  keeping  company  with  it  for  some  five 
miles,  we  only  get  occasional  views  of  it,  passing  over  hills 

203 


204 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


and  through  trees,  by  many  rivers  and  smaller  lakes,  which 
are  dependent  upon  that  of  Corrib.  Gentlemens’  seats,  on 
the  road  from  Galway  to  Moycullen,  are  scattered  in  great 
profusion.  Perhaps  there  is  grass  growing  on  the  gravel- 
walk,  and  the  iron  gates  of  the  tumble-down  old  lodges  are 
rather  rickety  ; but,  for  all  that,  the  places  look  comforta- 
ble, hospitable,  and  spacious.  As  for  the  shabbiness  and 
want  of  finish  here  and  there,  the  English  eye  grows  quite 
accustomed  to  it  in  a month : and  I find  the  bad  condition 
of  the  Galway  houses  by  no  means  so  painful  as  that  of  the 
places  near  Dublin.  At  some  of  the  lodges,  as  we  pass,  the 
mail-carman,  with  a warning  shout,  flings  a bag  of  letters. 
I saw  a little  party  looking  at  one  which  lay  there  in  the 
road  crying,  “ Come,  take  me  ! ” but  nobody  cares  to  steal  a 
bag  of  letters  in  this  country,  I suppose,  and  the  car-man 
drove  on  without  any  alarm.  Two  days  afterwards  a gen- 
tleman with  whom  I was  in  company  left  on  a rock  his 
book  of  fishing-flies  ; and  I can  assure  you  there  was  a very 
different  feeling  expressed  about  the  safety  of  that. 

In  the  first  part  of  the  journey,  the  neighborhood  of  the 
road  seemed  to  be  as  populous  as  in  other  parts  of  the  coun- 
try : troops  of  red-petticoated  peasantry  peering  from  their 
stone-cabins  ; yelling  children  following  the  car,  and  crying, 
“ Lash,  lash  ! ” It  was  Sunday,  and  you  would  see  many  a 
white  chapel  among  the  green  bare  plains  to  the  right  of 
the  road,  the  court-yard  blackened  with  a swarm  of  cloaks. 
The  service  seems  to  continue  (on  the  part  of  the  people) 
all  day.  Troops  of  people  issuing  from  the  chapel  met  us 
at  Moycullen ; and  ten  miles  further  on,  at  Oughterard, 
their  devotions  did  not  yet  seem  to  be  concluded. 

A more  beautiful  village  can  scarcely  be  seen  than  this. 
It  stands  upon  Lough  Corrib,  the  banks  of  which  are  here, 
for  once  at  least,  picturesque  and  romantic  : and  a pretty 
river,  the  Eeogh,  comes  rushing  over  rocks  and  by  woods 
until  it  passes  the  town  and  meets  the  lake.  Some  pretty 
buildings  in  the  village  stand  on  each  bank  of  this  stream  : 
a Roman  Catholic  chapel  with  a curate’s  neat  lodge  ; a lit- 
tle church  on  one  side  of  it,  a fine  court-house  of  gray  stone 
on  the  other.  And  here  it  is  that  we  get  into  the  famous 
district  of  Connemara,  so  celebrated  in  Irish  stories,  so  mys- 
terious to  the  London  tourist.  “ It  presents  itself,”  says 
the  Guide-book,  “ under  every  possible  combination  of 
healthy  moor,  bog,  lake,  and  mountain.  Extensive  mossy 
plains  and  wild  pastoral  valleys  lie  embosomed  among  the 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK . 


205 


mountains,  and  support  numerous  herds  of  cattle  and  horses, 
for  which  the  district  has  been  long  celebrated.  These  wild 
solitudes,  which  occupy  by  far  the  greater  part  of  the  cen- 
tre of  the  country,  are  held  by  a hardy  and  ancient  race  of 
grazing  farmers,  who  live  in  a very  primitive  state,  and, 
generally  speaking,  till  little  beyond  what  supplies  their 
immediate  wants.  For  the  first  ten  miles  the  country  is 
comparatively  open  ; and  the  mountains  on  the  left,  which 
are  not  of  great  elevation,  can  be  distinctly  traced  as  they 
rise  along  the  edge  of  the  healthy  plain. 

“ Our  road  continues  along  the  Feogh  river,  which  ex- 
pands itself  into  several  considerable  lakes,  and  at  five 
miles  from  Oughterard  we  reach  Lough  Bohn,  which  the 
road  also  skirts.  Passing  in  succession  Lough-a-Preaghan, 
the  lakes  of  Anderran  and  Shindella,  at  ten  miles  from 
Oughterard  we  reach  Slyme  and  Lynn’s  Inn,  or  Half-way 
House,  which  is  near  the  shore  of  Loughonard.  Now,  as 
we  advance  towards  the  group  of  Binabola,  or  the  Twelve 
Pins,  the  most  gigantic  scenery  is  displayed.” 

But  the  best  guide-book  that  ever  was  written  cannot  set 
the  view  before  the  mind’s  eye  of  the  reader,  and  I wont 
attempt  to  pile  up  big  words  in  place  of  these  wild  moun- 
tains, over  which  the  clouds  as  they  passed,  or  the  sunshine 
as  it  went  and  came,  cast  every  variety  of  tint,  light,  and 
shadow ; nor  can  it  be  expected  that  long,  level  sentences, 
however  smooth  and  shining,  can  be  made  to  pass  as  repre- 
sentations of  those  calm  lakes  by  which  we  took  our  way. 
All  one  can  do  is  to  lay  down  the  pen  and  ruminate,  and 
cry,  “ Beautiful ! ” once  more ; and  to  the  reader  say, 
“ Come  and  see  ! ” 

Wild  and  wide  as  the  prospect  around  us  is,  it  has  some- 
how a kindly,  friendly  look;  differing  in  this  from  the 
fierce  loneliness  of  some  similar  scenes  in  Wales  that  I 
have  viewed.  Ragged  women  and  children  come  out  of 
rude  stone-huts  to  see  the  car  as  it  passes.  But  it  is  impos- 
sible for  the  pencil  to  give  due  raggedness  to  the  rags,  or 
to  convey  a certain  picturesque  mellowness  of  color  that 
the  garments  assume.  The  sexes,  with  regard  to  raiment, 
do  not  seem  to  be  particular.  There  were  many  boys  on 
the  road  in  the  national  red  petticoat,  having  no  other  cov- 
ering for  their  lean  brown  legs.  As  for  shoes,  the  women 
eschew  them  almost  entirely  ; and  I saw  a peasant  trudg- 
ing from  mass  in  a handsome  scarlet  cloak,  a fine  blue-cloth 
gown,  turned  up  to  show  a new  lining  of  the  same  color, 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


206 

and  a petticoat  quite  wliite  and  neat  — in  a dress  of  which 
the  cost  must  have  been  at  least  10/.  ; and  her  husband 
walked  in  front  carrying  her  shoes  and  stockings. 

The  road  had  conducted  us  for  miles  through  the  vast 
property  of  the  gentleman  to  whose  house  I was  bound,  Mr. 
Martin,  the  Member  for  the  county  ; and  the  last  and  pret- 
tiest part  of  the  journey  was  round  the  Lake  of  Ballina- 
hinch,  with  tall  mountains  rising  immediately  above  us  on 
the  right,  pleasant  woody  hills  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
lake,  with  the  roofs  of  the  houses  rising  above  the  trees ; 
and  in  an  island  in  the  midst  of  the  water  a ruined  old  cas- 
tle cast  a long  white  reflection  into  the  blue  waters  where 
it  lay.  A land-pirate  used  to  live  in  that  castle,  one  of  the 
peasants  told  me,  in  the  time  of  “ Oliver  Cromwell.”  And 
a fine  fastness  it  was  for  a robber,  truly  ; for  there  was  no 
road  through  these  wild  countries  in  his  time  — nay,  only 
thirty  years  since,  this  lake  was  at  three  days’  distance  of 
Galway.  Then  comes  the  question,  What,  in  a country 
where  there  were  no  roads  and  no  travellers,  and  where  the 
inhabitants  have  been  wretchedly  poor  from  time  imme- 
morial,— what  was  there  for  the  land-pirate  to  rob  ? But 
let  us  not  be  too  curious  about  times  so  early  as  those  of 
Oliver  Cromwell.  I have  heard  the  name  many  times  from 
the  Irish  peasant,  who  still  has  an  awe  of  the  grim,  reso- 
lute Protector. 

The  builder  of  Ballinahinch  House  has  placed  it  to  com- 
mand a view  of  a pretty  melancholy  river  that  runs  by  it, 
through  many  green  flats  and  picturesque  rocky  grounds ; 
but  from  the  lake  it  is  scarcely  visible.  And  so,  in  like 
manner,  I fear  it  must  remain  invisible  to  the  reader  too, 
with  all  its  kind  inmates,  and  frank,  cordial  hospitality ; 
unless  he  may  take  a fancy  to  visit  Galway  himself,  when, 
as  I can  vouch,  a very  small  pretext  will  make  him  enjoy 
both. 

It  will,  however,  be  only  a small  breach  of  confidence  to 
say  that  the  major-domo  of  the  establishment  (who  has 
adopted  accurately  the  voice  and  manner  of  his  master,  with 
a severe  dignity  of  his  own  which  is  quite  original)  ordered 
me  on  going  to  bed  “ not  to  move  in  the  morning  till  he 
called  me,”  at  the  same  time  expressing  a hearty  hope  that 
I should  “ want  nothing  more  that  evening.”  Who  would 
dare,  after  such  peremptory  orders,  not  to  fall  asleep  imme- 
diately, and  in  this  way  disturb  the  repose  of  Mr.  J — n 
M-ll-y? 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  ROOK 


207 


There  may  be  many  comparisons  drawn  between  English 
and  Irish  gentlemen’s  houses ; but  perhaps  the  most  strik- 
ing point  of  difference  between  the  two  is  the  im  ^nse 
following  of  the  Irish  house,  such  as  would  make  an  Eng- 
lish housekeeper  crazy  almost.  Three  comfortable,  well- 
clothed,  good-humored  fellows  walked  down  with  me  from 
the  car,  persisting  in  carrying  one  a bag,  another  a sketch- 
ing-stool, and  so  on.  Walking  about  the  premises  in  the 
morning,  sundry  others  were  visible  in  the  court-yard  and 
near  the  kitchen-door.  In  the  grounds  a gentleman,  by 
name  Mr.  Marcus  C-rr,  began  discoursing  to  me  regarding 
the  place,  the  planting,  the  fish,  the  grouse,  and  the  Master; 
being  himself,  doubtless,  one  of  the  irregulars  of  the 
house.  As  for  maids,  there  were  half  a score  of  them 
skurrying  about  the  house ; and  I am  not  ashamed  to 
confess  that  some  of  them  were  exceedingly  good-looking. 
And  if  I might  venture  to  say  a word  more,  it  would  be 
respecting  Connemara  breakfasts ; but  this  would  be  an 
entire  and  flagrant  breach  of  con  Aden  ce,  and,  to  be  sure,  the 
dinners  were  just  as  good. 

One  of  the  days  of  my  three  days’  visit  was  to  be  devoted 
to  the  lakes ; and,  as  a party  had  been  arranged  for  the 
second  day  after  my  arrival,  I was  glad  to  take  advantage 
of  the  society  of  a gentleman  staying  in  the  house,  and  ride 
with  him  to  the  neighboring  town  of  Clifden. 

The  ride  thither  from  Ballinahinch  is  surprisingly  beau- 
tiful ; and  as  you  ascend  the  high  ground  from  the  two  or 
three  rude  stone  huts  which  face  the  entrance-gates  of  the 
house,  there  are  views  of  the  lakes  and  the  surrounding 
country  which  the  best  parts  of  Killarney  do  not  surpass,  I 
think;  although  the  Connemara  lakes  do  not  possess  the 
advantage  of  wood  which  belongs  to  the  famous  Kerry 
landscape. 

But  the  cultivation  of  the  country  is  only  in  its  infancy 
as  yet,  and  it  is  easy  to  see  how  vast  its  resources  are,  and 
what  capital  and  cultivation  may  do  for  it.  In  the  green 
patches  among  the  rocks,  and  on  the  mountain-sides,  where- 
ever  crops  were  grown,  they  flourished ; plenty  of  natural 
wood  is  springing  up  in  various  places  ; and  there  is  no 
end  to  what  the  planter  may  do,  and  to  what  time  and  care 
may  effect.  The  carriage-road  to  Clifden  is  but  ten  years 
old : as  it  has  brought  the  means  of  communication  into 
the  country,  the  commerce  will  doubtless  follow  it ; and  in 
fact,  in  going  through  the  whole  kingdom,  one  can’t  but  be 


208 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


struck  with  the  idea  that  not  one  hundredth  part  of  its 
capabilities  are  yet  brought  into  action,  or  even  known 
perhaps,  and  that,  by  the  easy  and  certain  progress  of  time, 
Ireland  will  be  poor  Ireland  no  longer. 

For  instance,  we  rode  by  a vast  green  plain,  skirting  a 
lake  and  river,  which  is  now  useless  almost  for  pasture, 
and  which  a little  draining  will  convert  into  thousands  of 
acres  of  rich  productive  land.  Streams  and  falls  of  water 
dash  by  everywhere  — they  have  only  to  utilize  this  water- 
power for  mills  and  factories  — and  hard  by  are  some  of 
the  finest  bays  in  the  world,  where  ships  can  deliver  and 
receive  foreign  and  home  produce.  At  Roundstone  espec- 
ially, where  a little  town  has  been  erected,  the  bay  is  said 
to  be  unexampled  for  size,  depth,  and  shelter ; and  the 
Government  is  now,  through  the  rocks  and  hills  on  their 
wild  shore,  cutting  a coast-road  to  Bunown,  the  most 
westerly  part  of  Connemara,  whence  there  is  another  good 
road  to  Clifden.  Among  the  charges  which  the  “ Re- 
pealers” bring  against  the  Union,  they  should  include  at 
least  this : they  would  never  have  had  these  roads  but  for 
the  Union:  roads  which  are  as  much  at  the  charge  of  the 
London  tax-payer  as  of  the  most  ill-used  Milesian  in  Con- 
naught. 

A string  of  small  lakes  follow  the  road  to  Clifden,  with 
mountains  on  the  right  of  the  traveller  for  the  chief  part 
of  the  way.  A few  figures  at  work  in  the  bog-lands,  a red 
petticoat  passing  here  and  there,  a goat  or  two  browsing 
among  the  stones,  or  a troop  of  ragged  wliity-brown  chil- 
dren who'  came  out  to  gaze  at  the  car,  form  the  chief 
society  on  the  road.  The  first  house  at  the  entrance  to 
Clifden  is  a gigantic  poor-house  — tall,  large,  ugly,  com- 
fortable ; it  commands  the  town,  and  looks  almost  as  big  as 
every  one  of  the  houses  therein.  The  town  itself  is  but  of 
a few  years’  date,  and  seems  to  thrive  in  its  small  way. 
Clifden  Castle  is  a fine  chateau  in  the  neighborhood,  and 
belongs  to  another  owner  of  immense  lands  in  Galway — * 
Mr.  D’Arcy. 

Here  a drive  was  proposed  along  the  coast  to  Bunown, 
and  I was  glad  to  see  some  more  of  the  country,  and  its 
character.  Nothing  can  be  wilder.  We  passed  little  lake 
after  lake,  lying  a few  furlongs  inwards  from  the  shore. 
There  were  rocks  everywhere,  some  patches  of  cultivated 
land  here  and  there,  nor  was  there  any  want  of  inhabitants 
along  this  savage  coast.  There  were  numerous  cottages,  if 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


209 


cottages  they  may  be  called,  and  women,  and  above  all, 
children  in  plenty.  Here  is  one  of  the  former  — her  atti- 
tude as  she  stood  gazing  at  the  car.  To  depict  the  multi- 
plicity of  her  rags  would  require  a month’s  study. 

At  length  we  came  in  sight  of  a half-built  edifice  which 
is  approached  by  a rocky,  dismal,  gray  road,  guarded  by 
two  or  three  broken  gates,  against  which  rocks  and  stones 
were  piled,  which  had  to  be  removed  to  give  an  entrance  to 
our  car.  The  gates  were  closed  so  laboriously,  I presume, 
to  prevent  the  egress  of  a single  black  consumptive  pig,  far 


gone  in  the  family-way  — a teeming  skeleton  — that  was 
cropping  the  thin,  dry  grass  that  grew  upon  a round  hill 
which  rises  behind  this  most  dismal  castle  of  Bunown. 

If  the  traveller  only  seeks  for  strange  sights,  this  place 
will  repay  his  curiosity.  Such  a dismal  house  is  not  to  be 
seen  in  England : or,  perhaps,  such  a dismal  situation. 
The  sea  lies  before  and  behind ; and  on  each  side,  likewise, 
are  rocks  and  copper-colored  meadows,  by  which  a few 
trees  have  made  an  attempt  to  grow.  The  owner  of  the 
house  had,  however,  begun  to  add  to  it ; and  there,  unfin- 
ished, is  a whole  apparatus  of  turrets,  and  staring  raw 
stone  and  mortar,  and  fresh  ruinous  carpenters’  work. 
And  then  the  court-yard!  — tumbled-down  out-houses,  star- 
ing empty  pointed  windows,  and  new-smeared  plaster  crack- 
ing from  the  walls  — a black  heap  of  turf,  a mouldy  pump, 
a wretched  old  coal-scuttle,  emptily  sunning  itself  in  the 
VOL.  it.  — 14 


210 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK 


midst  of  this  cheerful  scene ! There  was  an  old  Gorgon 
who  kept  the  place,  and  who  was  in  perfect  unison  with 
it : Venus  herself  would  become  bearded,  blear-eyed,  and 
haggard,  if  left  to  be  the  housekeeper  of  this  dreary  place. 

In  the  house  was  a comfortable  parlor,  inhabited  by  the 
priest,  who  has  the  painful  charge  of  the  district.  Here 
were  his  books  and  his  breviaries,  his  reading-desk  with 
the  cross  engraved  upon  it,  and  his  portrait  of  Daniel 
O'Connell  the  Liberator  to  grace  the  walls  of  his  lonely 
cell.  There  was  a dead  crane  hanging  at  the  door  on  a 
gaff : his  red  fish-like  eyes  were  staring  open,  and  his  eager 
grinning  bill.  A rifle-ball  had  passed  through  his  body. 
And  this  was  doubtless  the  only  game  about  the  place ; 
for  we  saw  the  sportsman  who  had  killed  the  bird  hunting 
vainly  up  the  round  hill  for  other  food  for  powder.  This 
gentleman  had  had  good  sport,  he  said,  shooting  seals  upon 
a neighboring  island,  four  of  which  animals  he  had  slain. 

Mounting  up  the  round  hill,  we  had  a view  of  the  Sline 
Lights  — the  most  westerly  point  in  Ireland. 

Here  too  was  a ruined  sort  of  summer-house,  dedicated 
“Deo  Hibernije  Liberators”  When  these  lights  were 
put  up,  I am  told  the  proprietor  of  Bunown  was  recom- 
mended to  apply  for  compensation  to  Parliament,  inasmuch 
as  there  would  be  no  more  wrecks  on  the  coast : from  which 
branch  of  commerce  the  inhabitants  of  the  district  used 
formerly  to  derive  a considerable  profit.  Between  these 
Sline  Lights  and  America  nothing  lies  but  the  Atlantic. 
It  was  beautifully  blue  and  bright  on  this  day,  and  the  sky 
almost  cloudless ; but  I think  the  brightness  only  made  the 
scene  more  dismal,  it  being  of  that  order  of  beauties  which 
cannot  bear  the  full  light,  but  require  a cloud  or  a curtain 
to  set  them  off  to  advantage.  A pretty  story  was  told  me 
by  the  gentleman  who  had  killed  the  seals.  The  place 
where  he  had  been  staying  for  sport  was  almost  as  lonely 
as  this  Bunown,  and  inhabited  by  a priest  too  — a young, 
lively,  well-educated  man.  “When  I came  here  first,”  the 
priest  said,  “ I cried  for  two  days : ” but  afterwards  he  grew 
to  like  the  place  exceedingly,  his  whole  heart  being  directed 
towards  it,  his  chapel,  and  his  cure.  Who  would  not  honor 
such  missionaries  — the  virtue  they  silently  practise,  and 
the  doctrines  they  preach  ? After  hearing  that  story,  I 
think  Bunown  looked  not  quite  so  dismal,  as  it  is  inhabited, 
they  say,  by  such  another  character.  What  a pity  it  is 
that  John  Tuam,  in  the  next  county  of  Mayo,  could  not 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK . 


211 


find  such  another  hermitage  to  learn  modesty  in,  and  forget 
his  Graceship,  his  Lordship,  and  the  sham  titles  by  which 
he  sets  such  store. 

A moon  as  round  and  bright  as  any  moon  that  ever 
shone,  and  riding  in  a sky  perfectly  cloudless,  gave  us  a 
good  promise  of  a fine  da}^  for  the  morrow,  which  was  to  be 
devoted  to  the  lakes  in  the  neighborhood  of  Ballinahinch  : 
one  of  which,  Lough  Ina,  is  said  to  be  of  exceeding  beauty. 
But  no  man  can  speculate  upon  Irish  weather.  I have  seen 
a day  beginning  with  torrents  of  rain  that  looked  as  if  a 
deluge  was  at  hand,  clear  up  in  a few  minutes,  without  any 
reason  and  against  the  prognostications  of  the  glass  and  all 
other  weather-prophets.  So  in  like  manner,  after  the 
astonishingly  fine  night,  there  came  a villanous  dark  day : 
which,  however,  did  not  set  in  fairly  for  rain,  until  we  were 
an  hour  on  our  journey,  with  a couple  of  stout  boatman 
rowing  us  over  Ballinahinch  Lake.  Being,  however,  thus 
fairly  started,  the  water  began  to  come  down,  not  in 
torrents  certainly,  but  in  that  steady,  creeping,  insinuating 
mist  of  which  we  scarce  know  the  luxury  in  England ; and 
which,  I am  bound  to  say,  will  wet  a man’s  jacket  as  satis- 
factorily as  a cataract  would  do. 

It  was  just  such  another  day  as  that  of  the  famous  stag- 
hunt  at  Killarney,  in  a word ; and  as,  in  the  first  instance, 
we  went  to  see  the  deer  killed,  and  saw  nothing  thereof,  so, 
in  the  second  case,  we  went  to  see  the  landscape,  with  pre- 
cisely the  same  good  fortune.  The  mountains  covered 
their  modest  beauties  in  impenetrable  veils  of  clouds ; and 
the  only  consolation  to  the  boat’s  crew  was,  that  it  was  a 
remarkably  good  day  for  trout-fishing  — which  amusement 
some  people  are  said  to  prefer  to  the  examination  of  land- 
scapes, however  beautiful. 

O you  who  laboriously  throw  flies  in  English  rivers,  and 
catch,  at  the  expiration  of  a hard  day’s  walking,  easting, 
and  wading,  two  or  three  feeble  little  brown  trouts  of  two 
or  three  ounces  in  weight,  how  would  you  rejoice  to  have 
but  an  hour’s  sport  in  Derryclear  or  Ballinahinch ; where 
you  have  but  to  cast,  and  lo  ! a big  trout  springs  at  your  fly, 
and,  after  making  a vain  struggling,  splashing,  and  plunging 
for  a while,  is  infallibly  landed  in  the  net  and  thence  into 
the  boat.  The  single  rod  in  the  boat  caught  enough  fish  in 
an  hour  to  feast  the  crew,  consisting  of  five  persons,  and 
the  family  of  a herd  of  Mr.  Martin’s,  who  has  a pretty  cot- 
tage on  Derryclear  Lake,  inhabited  by  a cow  and  its  calf, 


212 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


a score  of  fowls,  and  I don’t  know  liow  many  sons  and 
daughters. 

Having  caught  enough  trout  to  satisfy  any  moderate 
appetite,  like  true  sportsmen  the  gentlemen  on  board  our 
boat  became  eager  to  hook  a salmon.  Had  they  hooked  a 
few  salmon,  no  doubt  they  would  have  trolled  for  whales, 
or  for  a mermaid ; one  of  which  finny  beauties  the  water- 
man swore  he  had  seen  on  the  shore  of  Derryclear — he 
with  Jim  Mullen  being  above  on  a rock,  the  mermaid  on 
the  shore  directly  beneath  them,  visible  to  the  middle,  and 
as  usual  “ racking  her  hair.”  It  was  fair  hair,  the  boatman 
said ; and  he  appeared  as  convinced  of  the  existence  of  the 
mermaid  as  he  was  of  the  trout  just  landed  in  the  boat. 

In  regard  of  mermaids,  there  is  a gentleman  living  near 
Killala  Bay,  whose  name  was  mentioned  to  me,  and  who  de- 
clares solemnly  that  one  day,  shooting  on  the  sands  there, 
he  saw  a mermaid,  and  determined  to  try  her  with  a shot. 
So  he  drew  the  small  charge  from  his  gun  and  loaded  it 
with  ball  — that  he  always  had  by  him  for  seal-shooting 
— fired,  and  hit  the  mermaid  through  the  breast.  The 
screams  and  moans  of  the  creature  — whose  person  he  de- 
scribes most  accurately  — were  the  most  horrible,  heart- 
rending noises  that  he  ever,  he  said,  heard ; and  not  only 
were  they  heard  by  him,  but  by  the  fishermen  along  the  coast, 

who  were  furiously  angry  against  Mr.  A n,  because,  they 

said,  the  injury  done  to  the  mermaid  would  cause  her  to 
drive  all  the  fish  away  from  the  bay  for  years  to  come. 

But  we  did  not,  to  my  disappointment,  catch  a glimpse  of 
one  of  these  interesting  beings,  nor  of  the  great  sea-horse 
which  is  said  to  inhabit  these  waters,  nor  any  fairies  (of 
whom  the  stroke-oar,  Mr.  Marcus,  told  us  not  to  speak,  for 
they  didn’t  like  bein’  spoken  of)  ; nor  even  of  a salmon, 
though  the  fishermen  produced  the  most  tempting  flies. 
The  only  animal  of  any  size  that  was  visible  we  saw  while 
lying  by  a swift  black  river  that  comes  jumping  with  in- 
numerable little  waves  into  Derryclear,  and  where  the  sal- 
mon are  especially  suffered  to  “ stand  ” : this  animal  was  an 
eagle  — a real  wild  eagle,  with  gray  wings  and  a white  head 
and  belly : it  swept  round  us,  within  gunshot  reach,  once  or 
twice,  through  the  leaden  sky,  and  then  settled  on  a gray 
rock  and  began  to  scream  its  shrill,  ghastly  aquiline  note. 

The  attempts  on  the  salmon  having  failed,  the  rain  con- 
tinuing to  fall  steadily,  the  herd’s  cottage  before  named  was 
resorted  to : when  Marcus,  the  boatman,  commenced  forth- 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK 


213 


with  to  gut  the  fish,  and  taking  down  some  charred  turf- 
ashes  from  the  blazing  fire,  on  which  about  a hundred- 
weight of  potatoes  were  boiling,  he  — Marcus  — proceeded 
to  grill  on  the  floor  some  of  the  trout,  which  we  afterwards 
ate  with  immeasurable  satisfaction.  They  were  such  trouts 
as,  when  once  tasted,  remain  forever  in  the  recollection  of 
a commonly  grateful  mind  — rich,  flaky,  creamy,  full  of 
flavor.  A Parisian  gourmand  would  have  paid  ten  francs 
for  the  smallest  cooleen  among  them  ; and,  when  transported 
to  this  capital,  how  different  in  flavor  would  they  have 
been  ! — how  inferior  to  what  they  were  as  we  devoured 
them  fresh  from  the  fresh  waters  of  the  lake,  and  jerked  as 
it  were  from  the  water  to  the  gridiron  ! The  world  had 
not  had  time  to  spoil  those  innocent  beings  before  they 
were  gobbled  up  with  pepper  and  salt,  and  missed,  no 
doubt,  by  their  friends.  I should  like  to  know  more  of 
their  “set.”  But  enough  of  this:  my  feelings  overpower 
me : suffice  it  to  say,  they  were  red  or  salmon  trouts  — 
none  of  your  white- fleshed  brown-skinned  river  fellows. 

When  the  gentlemen  had  finished  their  repast,  the  boat- 
man and  the  family  set  to  work  upon  the  ton  of  potatoes, 
a number  of  the  remaining  fish,  and  a store  of  other  good 
things ; then  we  all  sat  round  the  turf-fire  in  the  dark  cot- 
tage, the  rain  coming  down  steadily  outside,  and  veiling 
everything  except  the  shrubs  and  verdure  immediately 
about  the  cottage.  The  herd,  the  herd’s  wife,  and  a nonde- 
script female  friend,  two  healthy  young  herdsmen  in  cor- 
duroy rags,  the  herdsman’s  daughter  paddling  about  with 
bare  feet,  a stout  black-eyed  wench  with  her  gown  over  her 
head  and  a red  petticoat  not  quite  so  good  as  new,  the  two 
boatmen,  a badger  just  killed  and  turned  inside  out,  the 
gentlemen,  some  hens  cackling  and  flapping  about  among 
the  rafters,  a calf  in  a corner  cropping  green  meat  and  oc- 
casionally visited  by  the  cow  her  mamma,  formed  the  soci- 
ety of  the  place.  It  was  rather  a strange  picture;  but  as 
for  about  two  hours  we  sat  there,  and  maintained  an  almost 
unbroken  silence,  and  as  there  was  no  other  amusement 
but  to  look  at  the  rain,  I began,  after  the  enthusiasm  of  the 
first  half-hour,  to  think  that  after  all  London  was  a bear- 
able place,  and  that  for  want  of  a turf-fire  and  a bench  in 
Connemara,  one  might  put  up  with  a sofa  and  a newspaper 
in  Pall  Mall. 

This,  however,  is  according  to  tastes  ; and  I must  say  that 
Mr.  Marcus  betrayed  a most  bitter  contempt  for  all  cockney 


214 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


tastes,  awkwardness,  and  ignorance : and  very  right  too. 
The  night,  on  our  return  home,  all  of  a sudden  cleared ; but 
though  the  fishermen,  much  to  my  disgust — at  the  expres- 
sion of  which,  however,  the  rascals  only  laughed  — persisted 
in  making  more  casts  for  trout,  and  trying  back  in  the 
dark  upon  the  spots  which  we  had  visited  in  the  morning, 
it  appeared  the  fish  had  been  frightened  off  by  the  rain  ; 
and  the  sportsmen  met  with  such  indifferent  success  that 
at  about  ten  o’clock  we  found  ourselves  at  Ballinahinch. 
Dinner  was  served  at  eleven,  and,  I believe,  there  was  some 
whiskey-punch  afterwards,  recommended  medicinally  and 
to  prevent  the  ill  effects  of  the  wetting : but  that  is  neither 
here  nor  there. 

The  next  day  the  petty  sessions  were  to  be  held  at 
Rounds  tone,  a little  town  which  has  lately  sprung  up  near 
the  noble  bay  of  that  name.  I was  glad  to  see  some  spec- 
imens of  Connemara  litigation,  as  also  to  behold  at  least 
one  thousand  beautiful  views  that  lie  on  the  five  miles  of 
road  between  the  town  and  Ballinahinch.  Rivers  and  rocks, 
mountains  and  sea,  green  plains  and  bright  skies,  how  (for 
the  hundred-and-fiftieth  time)  can  pen-and-ink  set  you 
down  ? But  if  Berghem  could  have  seen  those  blue  moun- 
tains, and  Karel  Dujardin  could  have  copied  some  of  these 
green,  airy  plains,  with  their  brilliant  little  colored  groups 
of  peasants,  beggars,  horsemen,  many  an  Englishman  would 
know  Connemara  upon  canvas  as  he  does  Italy  or  Elanders 
now. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 


ROUNDSTONE  PETTY  SESSIONS. 

[E  temple  of  august  The- 
mis/’ as  a Frenchman 
would  call  the  sessions- 
room  at  Roundstone,  is  an 
apartment  of  some  twelve 
feet  square,  with  a deal 
table  and  a couple  of 
chairs  for  the  accommo- 
dation of  the  magistrates, 
and  a Testament  with  a 
paper  cross  pasted  on  it 
to  be  kissed  by  the  wit- 
nesses and  complainants 
who  frequent  the  courts. 
The  law-papers,  warrants, 
&c.,  are  kept  on  the  ses- 
sions-clerk’s  bed  in  an 
adjoining  apartment, 
which  commands  a fine 
view  of  the  court-yard  — where  there  is  a stack  of  turf,  a 
pig,  and  a shed  beneath  which  the  magistrates’  horses  were 
sheltered  during  the  sitting.  The  sessions-clerk  is  a gentle- 
man “ having,”  as  the  phrase  is  here,  both  the  English  and 
Irish  languages,  and  interpreting  for  the  benefit  of  the 
worshipful  bench. 

And  if  the  cockney  reader  supposes  that  in  this  remote 
country  spot,  so  wild,  so  beautiful,  so  distant  from  the  hum 
and  vice  of  cities,  quarrelling  is  not,  and  litigation  never 
shows  her  snaky  head,  he  is  very  much  mistaken.  From 
what  I saw,  I would  recommend  any  ingenious  young  attor- 
ney whose  merits  are  not  appreciated  in  the  metropolis,  to 
make  an  attempt  upon  the  village  of  Roundstone ; where 
as  yet,  I believe,  there  is  no  solicitor,  and  where  an  immense 
and  increasing  practice  might  speedily  be  secured.  Mr, 

215 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


21 6 

O’Connell,  who  is  always  crying  out  “ Justice  for  Ireland,” 
finds  strong  supporters  among  the  Roundstonians,  whose 
love  of  justice  for  themselves  is  inordinate.  I took  down 
the  plots  of  the  five  first  little  litigious  dramas  which  were 
played  before  Mr.  Martin  and  the  stipendiary  magis- 
trate. 

Case  1. — A boy  summoned  a young  man  for  beating 
him  so  severely  that  he  kept  his  bed  for  a week,  thereby 
breaking  an  engagement  with  his  master,  and  losing  a 
quarter’s  wages. 


SWAfN  6* 


The  defendant  stated  in  reply,  that  the  plaintiff  was 
engaged  — in  a field  through  which  defendant  passed  with 
another  person  — setting  two  little  boys  to  fight ; on  which 
defendant  took  plaintiff*  by  the  collar  and  turned  him  out 
of  the  field.  A witness  who  was  present  swore  that  defend- 
ant never  struck  plaintiff  at  all,  nor  kicked  him,  nor  ill- 
used  him,  further  than  by  pushing  him  out  of  the  field. 

As  to  the  loss  of  his  quarter’s  wages,  the  plaintiff  ingen- 
iously proved  that  he  had  afterwards  returned. to  his  mas- 
ter, that  he  had  worked  out  his  time,  and  that  he  had  in  fact 
received  already  the  greater  part  of  his  hire.  Upon  which 
the  case  was  dismissed,  the  defendant  quitting  court  with- 
out a stain  upon  his  honor. 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


217 


Case  2 was  a most  piteous  and  lamentable  case  of  killing 
a cow.  The  plaintiff  stepped  forward  with  many  tears  and 
much  gesticulation  to  state  the  fact,  and  also  to  declare 
that  she  was  in  danger  of  her  life  from  the  defendant’s 
family. 

It  appeared  on  the  evidence  that  a portion  of  the  defend- 
ant’s respectable  family  are  at  present  undergoing  the 
rewards  which  the  law  assigns  to  those  who  make  mistakes 
in  fields  with  regard  to  the  ownership  of  sheep  which  some- 
times graze  there.  The  defendant’s  father,  O’Damon,  foi 
having  appropriated  one  of  the  fleecy  bleaters  of  O’Meli- 
Jxbus,  was  at  present  passed  beyond  sea  to  a country  where 
wool,  and  consequently  mutton,  is  so  plentiful,  that  he  will 
have  the  less  temptation.  Defend- 
ant’s brothers  tread  the  Ixionic 
wheel  for  the  same  offence.  Plain- 
tiff’s son  had  been  the  informer  in 
the  case  : hence  the  feud  between  the 
families,  the  threats  on  the  part  of 
the  defendant,  the  murder  of  the  in- 
nocent cow. 

But  upon  investigation  of  the  busi- 
ness, it  was  discovered,  and  on  the 
plaintiff’s  own  testimony,  that  the 
cow  had  not  been  killed,  nor  even 
been  injured ; but  that  the  defendant 
had  flung  two  stones  at  it,  which 
might  have  inflicted  great  injury  had 
they  hit  the  animal  with  greater  force 
in  the  eye  or  in  any  delicate  place. 

Defendant  admitted  flinging  the  stones,  but  alleged  as  a 
reason  that  the  cow  was  trespassing  on  his  grounds ; which 
plaintiff  did  not  seem  inclined  to  deny.  Case  dismissed.  — 
Defendant  retires  with  unblemished  honor ; on  which  his 
mother  steps  forward,  and  lifting  up  her  hands  with  tears 
and  shrieks,  calls  upon  God  to  witness  that  the  defendant’s 
own  brother-in-law  had  sold  to  her  husband  the  very  sheep 
on  account  of  which  he  had  been  transported. 

Not  wishing  probably  to  doubt  the  justice  of  the  verdict 
of  an  Irish  jury,  the  magistrate  abruptly  put  an  end  to 
the  lamentation  and  oaths  of  the  injured  woman  by  causing 
her  to  be  sent  out  of  court,  and  called  the  third  cause  on. 

This  was  a case  of  thrilling  interest  and  a complicated 
nature,  involving  two  actions,  which  ought  each  perhaps  to 


218 


THE  HUSH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


have  been  gone  into  separately,  but  were  taken  together. 
In  the  first  place  Timothy  Horgan  brought  an  action  against 
Patrick  Dolan  for  breach  of  contract  in  not  remaining  with 
him  for  the  whole  of  six  months  during  which  Dolan  had 
agreed  to  serve  Horgan.  Then  Dolan  brought  an  action 
against  Horgan  for  not  paying  him  his  wages  for  six  months’ 
labor  done  — the  wages  being  two  guineas. 

Horgan  at  once,  and  with  much  candor,  withdrew  his 
charge  against  Dolan,  that  the  latter  had  not  remained  with 
him  for  six  months : nor  can  I understand  to  this  day  why 
in  the  first  place  he  swore  to  the  charge,  and  why  after- 
wards he  withdrew  it.  But  immediately  advancing  another 
charge  against  his  late  servant,  he  pleaded  that  he  had  given 
him  a suit  of  clothes,  which  should  be  considered  as  a set- off 
against  part  of  the  money  claimed. 

Now  such  a suit  of  clothes  as  poor  Dolan  had  was  never 
seen  — I will  not  say  merely  on  an  English  scarecrow,  but 
on  an  Irish  beggar.  Strips  of  rags  fell  over  the  honest  fel- 
low’s great  brawny  chest,  and  the  covering  on  his  big  brown 
legs  hung  on  by  a wonder.  He  held  out  his  arms  with  a 
grim  smile,  and  told  his  worship  to  look  at  the  clothes  ! 
The  argument  was  irresistible  : Horgan  was  ordered  to  pay 
forthwith.  He  ought  to  have  been  made  to  pay  another 
guinea  for  clothing  a fellow-creature  in  rags  so  abominable. 

And  now  came  a case  of  trespass,  in  which  there  was 
nothing  interesting  but  the  attitude  of  the  poor  woman  who 
trespassed,  and  who  meekly  acknowledged  the  fact.  She 
stated,  however,  that  she  only  got  over  the  wall  as  a short 
cut  home ; but  the  wall  was  eight  feet  high,  with  a ditch 
too ; and  I fear  there  were  cabbages  or  potatoes  in  the  in- 
closure. They  fined  her  a sixpence,  and  she  could  not  pay 
it,  and  went  to  jail  for  three  days  — where  she  and  her 
baby  at  any  rate  will  get  a meal. 

Last  on  the  list  which  1 took  down  came  a man  who  will 
make  the  fortune  of  the  London  attorney  that  I hope  is  on 
his  way  hither : a rather  old,  curly-headed  man,  with  a sly 
smile  perpetually  lying  on  his  face  (the  reader  may  give 
whatever  interpretation  he  please  to  the  “ lying”).  He 
comes  before  the  court  almost  every  fortnight,  they  say, 
with  a complaint  of  one  kind  or  other.  His  present  charge 
was  against  a man  for  breaking  into  his  court-yard,  and 
wishing  to  take  possession  of  the  same.  It  appeared  that 
he,  the  defendant,  and  another  lived  in  a row  of  houses : 
the  plaintiff’s  house  was,  however,  first  built ; and  as  his 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


219 


agreement  specified  that  the  plot  of  ground  behind  his 
house  should  be  his  likewise,  he  chose  to  imagine  that  the 
plot  of  ground  behind  all  the  three  houses  was  his,  and 
built  his  turf-stack  against  his  neighbor’s  window.  The 
magistrates  of  course  pronounced  against  this  ingenious 
discoverer  of  wrongs,  and  he  left  the  court  still  smiling  and 
twisting  round  his  little  wicked  eyes,  and  declaring  sol- 
emnly that  he  would  put  in  an  apjpale.  If  one  could  have 
purchased  a kicking  at  a moderate  price  off  that  fellow’s 
back,  it  would  have  been  a pleasant  little  piece  of  self- 
indulgence,  and  I confess  I longed  to  ask  him  the  price  of 
the  article. 

And  so,  after  a few  more  such  great 
cases,  the  court  rose,  a’lid  I had  leisure 
to  make  moral  reflections,  if  so  minded: 
sighing  to  think  that  cruelty  and  false- 
hood, selfishness  and  rapacity,  dwell  not 
in  crowds  alone,  but  flourish  all  the 
world  over  — sweet  flowers  of  human 
nature,  they  bloom  in  all  climates  and 
seasons,  and  are  just  as  much  at  home 
in  a hot-house  in  Thavies’  Inn  as  on  a 
lone  mountain  or  a rocky  sea-coast  in 
Ireland,  where  never  a tree  will  grow ! 

We  walked  along  this  coast,  after 
the  judicial  proceedings  were  over,  to 
see  the  country,  and  the  new  road  that 
the  Board  of  Works  is  forming.  Such  a wilderness  of  rocks 
I never  saw ! The  district  for  miles  is  covered  with  huge 
stones,  shining  white  in  patches  of  green,  with  the  Binabola 
on  one  side  of  the  spectator,  and  the  Atlantic  running  in 
and  out  of  a thousand  little  bays  on  the  other.  The  coun- 
try is  very  hilly,  or  wavy  rather,  being  a sort  of  ocean  pet- 
rified ; and  the  engineers  have  hard  work  with  these 
numerous  abrupt  little  ascents  and  descents,  which  they 
equalize  as  best  they  may  — by  blasting,  cutting,  filling 
cavities,  and  levelling  eminences.  Some  hundreds  of  men 
were  employed  at  this  work,  busy  with  their  hand-barrows, 
their  picking  and  boring.  Their  pay  is  eighteenpence  a 
dsiy. 

There  is  little  to  see  in  the  town  of  Boundstone,  except 
a Presbyterian  chapel  in  process  of  erection  — that  seems 
big  enough  to  accommodate  the  Presbyterians  of  the  county 
— and  a sort  of  lay  convent,  being  a community  of  brothers 


220 


THE  IRISH'  SKETCH  BOOK. 


of  the  third  order  of  Saint  Francis.  They  are  all  artisans 
and  workmen,  taking  no  vows,  but  living  together  in  com- 
mon, and  undergoing  a certain  religious  regimen.  Their 
work  is  said  to  be  very  good,  and  all  are  employed  upon 
some  labor  or  other.  On  the  front  of  this  unpretending 
little  dwelling  is  an  inscription  with  a great  deal  of  pre- 
tence, stating  that  the  establishment  was  founded  with  the 
approbation  of  “ His  Grace  the  Most  Eeverend  the  Lord 
Archbishop  of  Tuam.” 

The  Most  Eeverend  Dr.  MacHale  is  a clergyman  of  great 
learning,  talents,  and  honesty,  but  his  Grace  the  Lord 
Archbishop  of  Tuani  strikes  me  as  being  no  better  than  a 
mountebank ; and  some  day  I hope  even  his  own  party  will 
laugh  this  humbug  down.  It  is  bad  enough  to  be  awed  by 
big  titles  at  all ; but  to  respect  sham  ones  ! — 0 stars  and 
garters  ! We  shall  have  his  Grace  the  Lord  Chief  Eabbi 
next,  or  his  Lordship  the  Arch-Imaum ! 


CHAPTER.  XIX. 


CLIFDEN  TO  WESTPORT. 

LEAVING  B all  ina- 
hinch  (with  sincere  re- 
gret, as  any  lonely 
tourist  may  imagine, 
who  is  called  upon  to 
quit  the  hospitable 
friendliness  of  such  a 
place  and  society),  my 
way  lay  back  to  Clifden 
again,  and  thence 
through  the  Joyce 
country,  by  the  Killery 
mountains,  to  Westport 
in  Mayo.  The  road,  amounting  in  all  to  four-and-forty 
Irish  miles,  is  performed  in  cars,  in  different  periods  of 
time,  according  to  your  horse  and  your  luck.  Sometimes, 
both  being  bad,  the  traveller  is  two  days  on  the  road ; some- 
times a dozen  hours  will  suffice  for  the  journey  — which 
was  the  case  with  me,  though  I confess  to  having  found  the 
twelve  hours  long  enough.  After  leaving  Clifden,  the 
friendly  look  of  the  country  seemed  to  vanish;  and  though 
picturesque  enough,  was  a thought  too  wild  and  dismal  for 
eyes  accustomed  to  admire  a hop-garden  in  Kent,  or  a view 
of  rich  meadows  in  Surrey,  with  a clump  of  trees  and  a 
comfortable  village  spire.  “ Inglis,”  the  Guide-book  says, 
“ compares  the  scenes  to  the  Norwegian  Fiords.”  Well,  the 
Norwegian  Fiords  must,  in  this  case,  be  very  dismal  sights  ! 
and  I own  that  the  wildness  of  Hampstead  Heath  (with  the 
imposing  walls  of  “Jack  Straw’s  Castle”  rising  stern  in 
the  midst  of  the  green  wilderness)  is  more  to  my  taste  than 
the  general  views  of  yesterday. 

We  skirted  by  lake  after  lake,  lying  lonely  in  the  midst 
of  lonely  boglands,  or  bathing  the  sides  of  mountains  robed 
in  sombre  rifle  green.  Two  or  three  men,  and  as  many  huts, 

221 


222 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


you  see  in  the  course  of  each  mile  perhaps,  as  toiling  up  the 
bleak  hills,  or  jingling  more  rapidly  down  them,  you  pass 
through  this  sad  region.  In  the  midst  of  the  wilderness  a 
chapel  stands  here  and  there,  solitary,  on  the  hillside ; or  a 
ruinous,  useless  school-house,  its  pale  walls  contrasting  with 
the  general  surrounding  hue  of  sombre  purple  and  green. 
But  though  the  country  looks  more  dismal  than  Connemara, 
it  is  clearly  more  fertile : we  passed  miles  of  ground  that 
evidently  wanted  but  little  cultivation  to  make  them  profit- 
able ; and  along  the  mountain-sides,  in  many  places,  and 
over  a great  extent  of  Mr.  Blake’s  country  especially,  the 
hills  were  covered  with  a thick  natural  plantation,  that  may 
yield  a little  brushwood  now,  but  might  in  fifty  years’  time 
bring  'thousands  of  pounds  of  revenue  to  the  descendants  of 
the  Blakes.  This  spectacle  of  a country  going  to  waste  is 
enough  to  make  the  cheerfullest  landscape  look  dismal : it 
gives  this  wild  district  a woful  look  indeed.  The  names  of 
the  lakes  by  which  we  came  I noted  down  in  a pocketbook 
as  we  passed  along;  but  the  names  were  Irish,  the  car  was 
rattling,  and  the  only  name  readable  in  the  catalogue  is 
Letterfrack. 

The  little  hamlet  of  Leenane  is  at  twenty  miles’  distance 
from  Clifden ; and  to  arrive  at  it,  you  skirt  the  mountain 
along  one  side  of  a vast  pass,  through  which  the  ocean  runs 
from  Killery  Bay,  separating  the  mountains  of  Mayo  from 
the  mountains  of  Galway.  Nothing  can  be  more  grand  and 
gloomy  than  this  pass ; and  as  for  the  character  of  the 
scenery,  it  must,  as  the  Guide-book  says,  “ be  seen  to  be 
understood.”  Meanwhile,  let  the  reader  imagine  huge 
dark  mountains  in  their  accustomed  livery  of  purple  and 
green,  a dull  gray  sky  above  them,  an  estuary  silver-bright 
below : in  the  water  lies  a fisherman’s  boat  or  two ; a pair 
of  seagulls  undulating  with  the  little  waves  of  the  water ; 
a pair  of  curlews  wheeling  overhead  and  piping  on  the 
wing ; and  on  the  hillside  a jingling  car,  with  a cockney  in 
it,  oppressed  by  and  yet  admiring  all  these  things.  Many 
a sketcher  and  tourist,  as  I found,  has  visited  this  pictu- 
resque spot : for  the  hostess  of  the  inn  had  stories  of  Eng- 
lish and  American  painters,  and  of  illustrious  book-writers 
too,  travelling  in  the  service  of  our  Lords  of  Paternoster 
Bow. 

The  landlord’s  son  of  Clifden,  a very  intelligent  young 
fellow,  was  here  exchanged  for  a new  carman  in  the  person 
of  a raw  Irisher  of  twenty  years  of  age,  “ having  ” little 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK.  223 

English,  and  dressed  in  that  very  pair  of  pantaloons  which 
Humphrey  Clinker  was  compelled  to  cast  off  some  years 
since  on  account  of  the  offence  which  they  gave  to  Mrs. 
Tabitha  Bramble.  This  fellow,  emerging  from  among  the 
boats,  went  off  to  a field  to  seek 
for  the  black  horse,  which  the  land- 
lady assured  me  was  quite  fresh 
and  had  not  been  out  all  day,  and 
would  carry  me  to  Westport  in 
three  hours.  Meanwhile  I was 
lodged  in  a neat  little  parlor,  sur- 
veying the  Mayo  side  of  the  water, 
with  some  cultivated  fields  and  a 
show  of  a village  at  the  spot  where 
the  estuary  ends,  and  above  them 
lodges  and  fine  dark  plantations 
climbing  over  the  dark  hills  that 
lead  to  Lord  Sligo’s  seat  of  Delphi. 

Presently,  with  a courtesy,  came  a 
young  woman  who  sold  worsted 
socks  at  a shilling  a pair,  and 
whose  portrait  is  here  given. 

It  required  no  small  pains  to  entice  this  rustic  beauty  to 
stand  while  a sketch  should  be  made  of  her.  i^or  did  any 
compliments  or  cajolements,  on  my  part  or  the  landlady’s, 
bring  about  the  matter  : it  was  not  until  money  was  offered 
that  the  lovely  creature  consented.  I offered  (such  is  the 
ardor  of  the  real  artist)  either  to  give  her  sixpence,  or  to 
purchase  two  pairs  of  her  socks,  if  she  would  stand  still  for 
five  minutes.  On  which  she  said  she  would  prefer  selling 
the  socks.  Then  she  stood  still  for  a moment  in  the  corner 
of  the  room  ; then  she  turned  her  face  towards  the  corner 
and  the  other  part  of  her  person  towards  the  artist,  and  ex- 
claimed in  that  attitude,  “ I must  have  a shilling  more.” 
Then  I told  her  to  go  to  the  deuce.  Then  she  made  a 
proposition,  involving  the  stockings  and  sixpence,  which 
was  similarly  rejected ; and,  finally,  the  above  splendid 
design  was  completed  at  the  price  first  stated. 

However,  as  we  went  off,  this  timid  little  dove  barred  the 
door  for  a moment,  and  said  that  “ I ought  to  give  her 
another  shilling ; that  a gentleman  would  give  her  another 
shilling,”  and  so  on.  She  might  have  trod  the  London 
streets  for  ten  years  and  not  have  been  more  impudent  and 
more  greedy. 


224 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK 


By  this  time  the  famous  fresh  horse  was  produced,  and 
the  driver,  by  means  of  a wrapraseal,  had  covered  a great 
part  of  the  rags  of  his  lower  garment.  He  carried  a whip 
and  a stick,  the  former  lying  across  his  knees  ornamentally, 
the  latter  being  for  service ; and  as  his  feet  were  directly 
under  the  horse’s  tail,  he  had  full  command  of  the  brute’s 
back,  aiid  belabored  it  for  six  hours  without  ceasing. 

What  little  English  the  fellow  knew  he  uttered  with  a 
howl,  roaring  into  my  ear  answers  — which,  for  the  most 
part,  were  wrong  — to  various  questions  put  to  him.  The 
lad’s  voice  was  so  hideous,  that  I asked  him  if  he  could 
sing ; on  which  forthwith  he  began  yelling  a most  horrible 
Irish  ditty  — of  which  he  told  me  the  title,  that  I have 
forgotten.  He  sang  three  stanzas,  certainly  keeping  a kind 
of  tune,  and  the  latter  lines  of  each  verse  were  in  rhyme  ; 
but  when  I asked  him  the  meaning  of  the  song,  he  only 
roared  out  its  Irish  title. 

On  questioning  the  driver  further,  it  turned  out  that  the 
horse,  warranted  fresh,  had  already  performed  a journey  of 
eighteen  miles  that  morning,  and  the  consequence  was  that 
I had  full  leisure  to  survey  the  country  through  which  we 
passed.  There  were  more  lakes,  more  mountains,  more  bog, 
and  an  excellent  road  through  this  lonely  district,  though 
few  only  of  the  human  race  enlivened  it.  At  ten  miles 
from  Leenane,  we  stopped  at  a roadside  hut,  where  the 
driver  pulled  out  a bag  of  oats,  and  borrowing  an  iron  pot 
from  the  good  people,  half  filled  it  with  corn,  which  the 
poor  tired,  galled,  bewhipped  black  horse  began  eagerly  to 
devour.  The  young  charioteer  himself  hinted  very  broadly 
his  desire  for  a glass  of  whiskey,  which  was  the  only  kind 
of  refreshment  that  this  remote  house  of  entertainment 
supplied. 

In  the  various  cabins  I have  entered,  I have  found  talk- 
ing a vain  matter  : the  people  are  suspicious  of  the  stranger 
within  their  wretched  gates,  and  are  shy,  sly,  and  silent.  I 
have,  commonly,  only  been  able  to  get  half-answers  in  reply 
to  my  questions,  given  in  a manner  that  seemed  plainly  to 
intimate  that  the  visit  was  unwelcome.  In  this  rude  hostel, 
however,  the  landlord  was  a little  less  reserved,  offered  a 
seat  at  the  turf-fire,  where  a painter  might  have  had  a good 
subject  for  his  skill.  There  was  no  chimney,  but  a hole  in 
the  roof,  up  which  a small  portion  of  the  smoke  ascended 
(the  rest  preferring  an  egress  by  the  door,  or  else  to  remain 
in  the  apartment  altogether)  ; and  this  light  from  above 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK . 


225 


lighted  up  as  rude  a set  of  figures  as  ever  were  seen.  There 
were  two  brown  women  with  black  eyes  aird  locks,  the  one 
knitting  stockings  on  the  floor,  the  other  “ racking  ” (with 
that  natural  comb  which  five  horny  fingers  supply)  the  elf- 
locks  of  a dirty  urchin  between  her  knees.  An  idle  fellow 
was  smoking  his  pipe  by  the  fire ; and  by  his  side  sat  a 
stranger,  who  had  been  made  welcome  to  the  shelter  of  the 
place  — a sickly,  well-looking  man,  whom  I mistook  for  a 
deserter  at  first,  for  he  had  evidently  been  a soldier. 

But  there  was  nothing  so  romantic  as  desertion  in  his 
history.  He  had  been  in  the  Dragoons,  but  his  mother  had 
purchased  his  discharge : he  was  married,  and  had  lived 
comfortably  in  Cork  for  some  time,  in  the  glass-blowing 
business.  Trade  failing  at  Cork,  he  had  gone  to  Belfast  to 
seek  for  work.  There  was  no  work  at  Belfast ; and  he  was 
so  far  on  his  road  home  again  : sick,  without  a penny  in  the 
world,  a hundred  and  fifty  miles  to  travel,  and  a starving 
wife  and  children  to  receive  him  at  his  journey’s  end.  He 
had  been  thrown  off  a caravan  that  day,  and  had  almost 
broken  his  back  in  the  fall.  Here  was  a cheering-story  ! I 
wonder  where  he  is  now : how  far  has  the  poor  starving 
lonely  man  advanced  over  that  weary  desolate  road,  that  in 
good  health,  and  with  a horse  to  carry  me,  I thought  it  a 
penalty  to  cross  ? What  would  one  do  under  such  circum- 
stances, with  solitude  and  hunger  for  present  company, 
despair  and  starvation  at  the  end  of  the  vista  ? There  are 
a score  of  lonely  lakes  along  the  road  which  he  has  to  pass  : 
would  it  be  well  to  stop  at  one  of  them,  and  fling  into  it  the 
wretched  load  of  cares  which  that  poor  broken  back  has  to 
carry  ? Would  the  world  he  would  light  on  then  be  worse 
for  him  than  that  he  is  pining  in  now  ? Heaven  help  us  ! 
and  on  this  very  day,  throughout  the  three  kingdoms, 
there  are  a million  such  stories  to  be  told.  Who  dare 
doubt  of  heaven  after  that  ? of  a place  where  there  is  at 
last  a welcome  to  the  heart-stricken  prodigal  and  a happy 
home  to  the  wretched? 

The  crumbs  of  oats  which  fell  from  the  mouth  of  the 
feasting  Dives  of  a horse  were  battled  for  outside  the  door 
by  a dozen  Lazaruses  in  the  shape  of  fowls ; and  a lanky 
young  pig,  who  had  been  grunting  in  an  old  chest  in  the 
cabin,  or  in  a miserable  recess  of  huddled  rags  and  straw 
which  formed  the  couch  of  the  family,  presently  came  out 
and  drove  the  poultry  away,  picking  up,  with  great  accuracy, 
the  solitary  grains  lying  about,  and  more  than  once  trying 

VOL.  ir.  — is 


226 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


to  shove  his  snout  into  the  corn-pot,  and  share  with  the 
wretched  old  galled  horse.  Whether  it  was  that  he  was 
refreshed  by  his  meal,  or  that  the  car-boy  was  invigorated 
by  his  glass  of  whiskey,  or  inflamed  by  the  sight  of  eighteen- 
pence  — which  munificent  sum  was  tendered  to  the  soldier 
— I don’t  know ; but  the  remaining  eight  miles  of  the 
journey  were  got  over  in  much  quicker  time,  although  the 
road  was  exceedingly  bad  and  hilly  for  the  greatest  part  of 
the  way  to  Westport.  However,  by  running  up  the  hills  at 
the  pony’s  side,  the  animal,  fired  with  emulation,  trotted 
up  them  too  — descending  them  with  the  proverbial  sure- 
footedness of  his  race,  the  car  and  he  bouncing  over  the 
rocks  and  stones  at  the  rate  of  at  least  four  Irish  miles  an 
hour. 

At  about  five  miles  from  Westport  the  cultivation  became 
much  more  frequent.  There  were  plantations  upon  the 
hills,  yellow  corn  and  potatoes  in  plenty  in  the  fields,  and 
houses  thickly  scattered.  Wre  had  the  satisfaction,  too,  of 
knowing  that  future  tourists  will  have  an  excellent  road  to 
travel  over  in  this  district : for  by  the  side  of  the  old  road, 
which  runs  up  and  down  a hundred  little  rocky  steeps, 
according  to  the  ancient  plan,  you  see  a new  one  running 
for  several  miles,  — the  latter  way  being  conducted,  not 
over  the  hills,  but  around  them,  and,  considering  the  circum- 
stances of  the  country,  extremely  broad  and  even.  The 
car-boy  presently  yelled  out  “ Reek,  Reek  ! ” with  a shriek 
perfectly  appalling.  This  howl  was  to  signify  that  we 
were  in  sight  of  that  famous  conical  mountain  so  named, 
and  from  which  St.  Patrick,  after  inveigling  thither  all  the 
venomous  reptiles  in  Ireland,  precipitated  the  whole  noi- 
some race  into  Clew  Bay.  The  road  also  for  several  miles 
was  covered  with  people,  who  were  flocking  in  hundreds 
from  Westport  market,  in  cars  and  carts,  on  horseback  sin- 
gle and  double,  and  on  foot. 

And  presently,  from  an  eminence,  I caught  sight  not 
only  of  a fine  view,  but  of  the  most  beautiful  view  I ever 
saw  in  the  world,  I think;  and  to  enjoy  the  splendor  of 
which  I would  travel  a hundred  miles  in  that  car  with  that 
very  horse  and  driver.  The  sun  was  just  about  to  set,  and  the 
country  round  about  and  to  the  east  was  almost  in  twilight. 
The  mountains  were  tumbled  about  in  a thousand  fantastic 
ways,  and  swarming  with  people.  Trees,  cornfields,  cot- 
tages, made  the  scene  indescribably  cheerful ; noble  woods 
stretched  towards  the  sea,  and  abutting  on  them,  between 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK . 


227 


two  highlands,  lay  the  smoking  town.  Hard  by  was  a 
large  Gothic  building  — it  is  a poorhouse;  but  it  looked 
like  a grand  castle  in  the  gray  evening.  But  the  Bay  — 
and  the  Reek  which  sweeps  down  to  the  sea  — and  a hun- 
dred islands  in  it,  were  dressed  up  in  gold  and  purple  and 
crimson,  with  the  whole  cloudy  west  in  a flame.  Wonder- * 
ful,  wonderful ! . . . The  valleys  in  the  road  to  Leenane 
have  lost  all  glimpses  of  the  sun  ere  this ; and  I suppose 
there  is  not  a soul  to  be  seen  in  the  black  landscape,  or 
by  the  shores  of  the  ghastly  lakes,  where  the  poor  glass- 
blower  from  the  whiskey-shop  is  faintly  travelling  now. 


CHAPTER  XX. 


WESTPORT. 

ATURE  has  done  much  for 
this  pretty  town  of  West- 
port  ; and,  after  nature, 
the  traveller  ought  to  be 
thankful  to  Lord  Sligo, 
who  has  done  a great  deal 
too.  In  the  first  place,  he 
has  established  one  of  the 
prettiest,  comfortablest 
inns  in  Ireland,  in  the 
best  part  of  his  little  town, 
stocking  the  cellars  with 
good  wines,  filling  the 
house  with  neat  furniture, 
and  lending,  it  is  said,  the 
whole  to  a landlord  gratis, 
on  condition  that  he  should 
keep  the  house  warm,  and 
furnish  the  larder,  and  entertain  the  traveller.  Secondly, 
Lord  Sligo  has  given  up,  for  the  use  of  the  townspeople,  a 
beautiful  little  pleasure-ground  about  his  house.  “You 
may  depend  upon  it,”  said  a Scotchman  at  the  inn,  “ that 
they’ve  right  of  pathway  through  the  groonds,  and  that 
the  marquess  couldn’t  shut  them  oot.”  Which  is  a pretty 
fair  specimen  of  charity  in  this  world,  this  kind  world,  that 
is  always  ready  to  encourage  and  applaud  good  actions,  and 
find  good  motives  for  the  same.  I wonder  how  much  would 
induce  that  Scotchman  to  allow  poor  people  to  walk  in  his 
park,  if  he  had  one  ! 

In  the  midst  of  this  pleasure-ground,  and  surrounded  by  a 
thousand  fine  trees,  dressed  up  in  all  sorts  of  verdure, 
stands  a pretty  little  church ; paths  through  the  wood  lead 
pleasantly  down  to  the  bay ; and,  as  we  walked  down  to  it 
on  the  day  after  our  arrival,  one  of  the  green  fields  was 

228 


ST 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK . 


229 


suddenly  black  with  rooks,  making  a huge  cawing  and 
clanging  as  they  settled  down  to  feed.  The  house,  a hand- 
some massive  structure,  must  command  noble  views  of  the 
bay,  over  which  all  the  colors  of  Titian  were  spread  as  the 
sun  set  behind  its  purple  islands. 

Printer’s  ink  will  not  give  these  wonderful  hues ; and 
the  reader  will  make  his  picture  at  his  leisure.  That  coni- 
cal mountain  to  the  left  is  Croaghpatrick : it  is  clothed  in 
the  most  magnificent  violet-color,  and  a couple  of  round 
clouds  were  exploding  as  it  were  from  the  summit,  that 
part  of  them  towards  the  sea  lighted  up  with  the  most 
delicate  gold  and  rose-color.  In  the  centre  is  the  Clare 
Island,  of  which  the  edges  were  bright  cobalt,  whilst  the 
middle  was  lighted  up  with  a brilliant  scarlet  tinge,  such 
as  I would  have  laughed  at  in  a picture,  never  having  seen 
in  nature  before,  but  looked  at  now  with  wonder  and  pleas- 
ure until  the  hue  disappeared  as  the  sun  went  away.  The 
islands  in  the  bay  (which  was  of  a gold  color)  looked  like 
so  many  dolphins  and  whales  basking  there.  The  rich 
park-woods  stretched  down  to  the  shore ; and  the  immedi- 
ate foreground  consisted  of  a yellow  cornfield,  whereon 
stood  innumerable  shocks  of  corn,  casting  immense  long 
purple  shadows  over  the  stubble.  The  farmer,  with  some 
little  ones  about  him,  was  superintending  his  reapers ; and 
I heard  him  say  to  a little  girl,  “Norey,  I love  you  the  best 
of  all  my  children  ! ” Presently,  one  of  the  reapers,  coming 
up,  says,  “ It’s  always  the  custom  in  these  parts  to  ask 
strange  gentlemen  to  give  something  to  drink  the  first  day 
of  reaping ; and  we’d  like  to  drink  your  honor’s  health  in  a 
bowl  of  coffee.”  0 fortunatos  niirwium  ! The  cockney  takes 
out  sixpence,  and  thinks  that  he  never  passed  such  a 
pleasant  half-hour  in  all  his  life  as  in  that  cornfield,  look- 
ing at  that  wonderful  bay. 

A car  which  I had  ordered  presently  joined  me  from  the 
town,  and  going  down  a green  lane  very  like  England,  and 
across  a causeway  near  a building  where  the  carman  pro- 
posed to  show  me  “ me  lard’s  caffin  that  he  brought  from 
Rome,  and  a mighty  big  caffin  entirely,”  we  came  close 
upon  the  water  and  the  port.  There  was  a long  handsome 
pier  (which,  no  doubt,  remains  at  this  present  minute),  and 
one  solitary  cutter  lying  alongside  it ; which  may  or  may 
not  be  there  now.  There  were  about  three  boats  lying 
near  the  cutter,  and  six  sailors,  with  long  shadows,  lolling 
about  the  pier.  As  for  the  warehouses,  they  are  enormous ; 


230 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


and  might  accommodate,  I should  think,  not  only  the  trade 
of  Westport,  but  of  Manchester  too.  There  are  huge 
streets  of  these  houses,  ten  stories  high,  with  cranes, 
owners’  names,  &c.,  marked  Wine  Stores,  Flour  Stores, 
Bonded  Tobacco  Warehouses,  and  so  forth.  The  six  sail- 
ors that  were  singing  on  the  pier  no  doubt  are  each  admi- 
rals of  as  many  fleets  of  a hundred  sail  that  bring  wines  and 
tobacco  from  all  quarters  of  the  world  to  fill  these  enor- 
mous warehouses.  These  dismal  mausoleums,  as  vast  as 
pyramids,  are  the  places  where  the  dead  trade  of  AVestport 
lies  buried  — a trade  that,  in  its  lifetime,  probably  was 
about  as  big  as  a mouse.  Nor  is  this  the  first  nor  the 
hundredth  place  to  be  seen  in  this  country,  which  sanguine 
builders  have  erected  to  accommodate  an  imaginary  com- 
merce. Mill-owners  over-mill  themselves,  merchants  over- 
warehouse  themselves,  squires  over-castle  themselves,  lit- 
tle tradesmen  about  Dublin  and  the  cities  over-villa  and 
over-gig  themselves,  and  we  hear  sad  tales  about  hereditary 
bondage  and  the  accursed  tyranny  of  England. 

Passing  out  of  this  dreary,  pseudo-commercial  port,  the 
road  lay  along  the  beautiful  shores  of  Clew  Bay,  adorned 
with  many  a rickety  villa  and  pleasure-house,  from  the 
cracked  windows  of  which  may  be  seen  one  of  the  noblest 
views  in  the  world.  One  of  the  villas  the  guide  pointed 
out  with  peculiar  exultation  : it  is  called  by  a grand  name 
— Waterloo  Park  — and  has  a lodge,  and  a gate,  and  a field 
of  a couple  of  acres,  and  belongs  to  a young  gentleman 
who,  being  able  to  write  Waterloo  Park  on  his  card,  suc- 
ceeded in  carrying  off  a young  London  heiress  with  a hun- 
dred thousand  pounds.  The  young  couple  had  just  arrived, 
and  one  of  them  must  have  been  rather  astonished,  no  doubt, 
at  the  “ park.”  But  what  will  not  love  do  ? With  love 
and  a hundred  thousand  pounds,  a cottage  may  be  made  to 
look  like  a castle,  and  a park  of  two  acres  may  be  brought 
to  extend  for  a mile.  The  night . began  now  to  fall,  wrap- 
ping up  in  a sober  gray  livery  the  bay  and  mountains, 
which  had  just  been  so  gorgeous  in  sunset ; and  we  turned 
our  backs  presently  upon  the  bay,  and  the  villas  with  the 
cracked  windows,  and  scaling  a road  of  perpetual  ups  and 
downs,  went  back  to  AVestport.  On  the  way  was  a pretty 
cemetery,  lying  on  each  side  of  the  road,  with  a ruined 
chapel  for  the  ornament  of  one  division,  a holy  well  for  the 
other:  In  the  holy  well  lives  a sacred  trout,  whom  sick 

people  come  to  consult,  and  who  operates  great  cures  in  the 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


231 


neighborhood.  If  the  patient  sees  the  trout  floating  on  his 
back,  he  dies  ; if  on  his  belly,  he  lives  ; or  vice  versa.  The 
little  spot  is  old,  ivy-grown  and  picturesque,  and  I can’t 
fancy  a better  place  for  a pilgrim  to  kneel  and  say  his  beads 
at. 

Hut  considering  the  whole  country  goes  to  mass,  and  that 
the  priests  can  govern  it  as  they  will,  teaching  what  shall 
be  believed  and  what  shall  not  be  credited,  would  it  not  be 
well  for  their  reverences,  in  the  year  eighteen  hundred  and 
forty-two,  to  discourage  these  absurd  lies  and  superstitions, 
and  teach  some  simple  truths  to  their  flock  ? Leave  such 
figments  to  magazine-writers  and  ballad-makers  ; but,  cor- 
bleu  ! it  makes  one  indignant  to  think  that  people  in  the 
United  Kingdom,  where  a press  is  at  work  and  good  sense 
is  abroad,  and  clergymen  are  eager  to  educate  the  people, 
should  countenance  such  savage  superstitions  and  silly, 
grovelling  heathenisms. 

The  chapel  is  before  the  inn  where  I resided,  and  on 
Sunday,  from  a very  early  hour,  the  side  of  the  street  was 
thronged  with  worshippers,  who  came  to  attend  the  various 
services.  Kor  are  the  Catholics  the  only  devout  people  of 
this  remote  district.  There  is  a large  Presbyterian  church 
very  well  attended,  as  was  the  Established  Church  service 
in  the  pretty  church  in  the  park.  There  was  no  organ,  but 
the  clerk  and  a choir  of  children  sang  hymns  sweetly  and 
truly ; and  a charity  sermon  being  preached  for  the  benefit 
of  the  diocesan  schools,  I saw  many  pound-notes  in  the 
plate,  showing  that  the  Protestants  here  were  as  ardent  as 
their  Roman  Catholic  brethren.  The  sermon  was  extem- 
pore, as  usual,  according  to  the  prevailing  taste  here.  The 
preacher  by  putting  aside  his  sermon-book  may  gain  in 
warmth,  which  we  don’t  want,  but  lose  in  reason,  which  we 
do.  If  I were  Defender  of  the  Faith,  I would  issue  an 
order  to  all  priests  and  deacons  to  take  to  the  book  again  : 
weighing  well,  before  they  uttered  it,  every  word  they  pro- 
posed to  say  upon  so  great  a subject  as  that  of  religion ; 
and  mistrusting  that  dangerous  facility  given  by  active 
jaws  and  a hot  imagination.  Reverend  divines  have 
adopted  this  habit,  and  keep  us  for  an  hour  listening  to 
what  might  well  be  told  in  ten  minutes.  They  are  won- 
drously  fluent,  considering  all  things ; and  though  I have 
heard  many  a sentence  begun  whereof  the  speaker  did  not 
evidently  know  the  conclusion,  yet,  somehow  or  other,  he 
has  always  managed  to  get  through  the  paragraph  without 


232 


THE  HUSH  SKETCH  BOOK . 


any  hiatus,  except  perhaps  in  the  sense.  And  as  far  as  I 
can  remark,  it  is  not  calm,  plain,  downright  preachers  who 
preserve  the  extemporaneous  system  for  the  most  part,  but 
pompous  orators,  indulging  in  all  the  cheap  graces  of  rhet- 
oric — exaggerating  words  and  feelings  to  make  effect,  and 
dealing  in  pious  caricature.  Church-goers  become  excited 
by  this  loud  talk  and  captivating  manner,  and  can’t  go 
back  afterwards  to  a sober  discourse  read  out  of  a grave  old 
sermon-book,  appealing  to  the  reason  and  the  gentle  feelings, 
instead  of  to  the  passions  and  the  imagination.  Beware  of 
too  much  talk,  0 parsons  ! If  a man  is  to  give  an  account 
of  every  idle  word  he  utters,  for  what  a number  of  such 
loud  nothings,  windy  emphatic  tropes  and  metaphors, 
spoken,  not  for  God’s  glory,  but  the  preacher’s,  will  many 
a cushion-thumper  have  to  answer  ! And  this  rebuke  may 
properly  find  a place  here,  because  the  clergyman  by  whose 
discourse  it  was  elicited  is  not  of  the  eloquent  dramatic 
sort,  but  a gentleman,  it  is  said,  remarkable  for  old-fash- 
ioned learning  and  quiet  habits,  that  do  not  seem  to  be  to 
the  taste  of  the  many  boisterous  young  clergy  of  the  pres- 
ent day. 

The  Catholic  chapel  was  built  before  their  graces  the 
most  reverend  lord  archbishops  came  into  fashion.  It  is 
large  and  gloomy,  with  one  or  two  attempts  at  ornament 
by  way  of  pictures  at  the  altars,  and  a good  inscription 
warning  the  in-comer,  in  a few  bold  words,  of  the  sacred- 
ness of  the  place  he  stands  in.  Bare  feet  bore  away 
thousands  of  people  who  came  to  pray  there : there  were 
numbers  of  smart  equipages  for  the  richer  Protestant  con- 
gregation. Strolling  about  the  town  in  the  balmy  summer 
evening,  I heard  the  sweet  tones  of  a hymn  from  the 
people  in  the  Presbyterian  praying-house.  Indeed,  the 
country  is  full  of  piety,  and  a warm,  sincere,  undoubting 
devotion. 

On  week-days  the  street  before  the  chapel  is  scarcely 
less  crowded  than  on  the  Sabbath : but  it  is  with  women 
and  children  merely ; for  a stream  bordered  with  lime- 
trees  runs  pleasantly  down  the  street,  and  hither  come 
innumerable  girls  to  wash,  while  the  children  make  dirt- 
pies  and  look  on.  Wilkie  was  here  sonfe  years  since,  and 
the  place  affords  a great  deal  of  amusement  to  the  painter 
of  character.  Sketching,  tant  Men  que  nial , the  bridge  and 
the  trees,  and  some  of  the  nymphs  engaged  in  the  stream, 
the  writer  became  an  object  of  no  small  attention  ; and  at 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK . 


233 


least  a score  of  dirty  brats  left  their  dirt-pies  to  look  on, 
the  barelegged  washing-girls  grinning  from  the  water. 

One,  a regular  rustic  beauty,  whose  face  and  figure  would 
have  made  the  fortune  of  a frontispiece,  seemed  particularly 
amused  and  a gag  ante ; and  I walked  round  to  get  a 
drawing  of  her  fresh  jolly  face : but  directly  I came  near 
she  pulled  her  gown  over  her  head,  and  resolutely  turned 
round  her  back ; and.  as  that  part  of  her  person  did  not 
seem  to  differ  in  character  from  the  backs  of  the  rest  of 
Europe,  there  is  no  need  of  taking  its  likeness. 


CHAPTER  XXL 


THE  PATTERN  AT  CROAOHPATRICK. 


N the  Pattern  day,  however, 
the  washerwomen  and 
children  had  all  disap- 
peared— nay,  the  stream, 
too,  seemed  to  be  gone 
out  of  town.  There  was 
a report  current,  also, 
that  on  the  occasion  of 
the  Pattern,  six  hundred 
teetotalers  had  sworn  to 
revolt ; and  I fear  that 
it  was  the  hope  of  wit- 
nessing this  awful  rebel- 
lion which  induced  me  to 
.stay  a couple  of  days  at 
- Westport.  The  Pattern 
was  commenced  on  the  Sunday,  and  the  priests  going  up  to 
the  mountain  took  care  that  there  should  be  no  sports  nor 
dancing  on  that  day : but  that  the  people  should  only  con- 
tent themselves  with  the  performance  of  what  are  called 
religious  duties.  Religious  duties  ! Heaven  help  us  ! If 
these  reverend  gentlemen  were  worshippers  of  Moloch  or 
Baal,  or  any  deity  whose  honor  demanded  bloodshed,  and 
savage  rites,  and  degradation,  and  torture,  one  might  fancy 
them  encouraging  the  people  to  the  disgusting  penances 
the  poor  things  here  perform.  But  it?s  too  hard  to  think 
that  in  our  days  any  priests  of  any  religion  should  be 
found  superintending  such  a hideous  series  of  self-sacrifices 
as  are,  it  appears,  performed  on  this  hill. 

A friend  who  ascended  the  hill  brought  down  the  follow- 
ing account  of  it.  The  ascent  is  a very  steep  and  hard  one, 
he  says ; but  it  was  performed  in  company  of  thousands  of 
people  who  were  making  their  way  barefoot  to  the  several 
“ stations  ” upon  the  hill. 


234 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK . 


235 


u The  first  station  consists  of  one  heap  of  stones,  round 
which  they  must  walk  seven  times,  casting  a stone  on  the 
heap  each  time,  and  before  and  after  every  stone’s  throw 
saying  a prayer. 

“The  second  station  is  on  the  top  of  the  mountain. 
Here  there  is  a great  altar  — a shapeless  heap  of  stones. 
The  poor  wretches  crawl  on  their  knees  into  this  place,  say 
fifteen  prayers,  and  after  going  round  the  entire  top  of  the 
mountain  fifteen  times,  say  fifteen  prayers  again. 

“ The  third  station  is  near  the  bottom  of  the  mountain 
at  the  further  side  from  Westport.  It  consists  of  three 
heaps.  The  penitents  must  go  seven  times  round  these 
collectively,  and  seven  times  afterwards  round  each  indi- 
vidually, saying  a prayer  before  and  after  each  progress.” 

My  informant  describes  the  people  as  coming  away  from 
this  “frightful  exhibition  suffering  severe  pain,  wounded 
and  bleeding  in  the  knees  and  feet,  and  some  of  the  women 
shrieking  with  the  pain  of  their  wounds.”  Fancy  thou- 
sands of  these  bent  upon  their  work,  and  priests  standing 
by  to  encourage  them  ! — For  shame,  for  shame.  If  all  the 
popes,  cardinals,  bishops,  hermits,  priests,  and  deacons  that 
ever  lived  were  to  come  forward  and  preach  this  as  a truth 
— that  to  please  God  you  must  macerate  your  body,  that 
the  sight  of  your  agonies  is  welcome  to  Him,  and  that 
your  blood,  groans,  and  degradation  find  favor  in  His  eyes, 
I would  not  believe  them.  Better  have  over  a company  of 
Fakeers  at  once,  and  set  the  Suttee  going. 

Of  these  tortures,  however,  I had  not  the  fortune  to  wit- 
ness a sight : for  going  towards  the  mountain  for  the  first 
four  miles,  the  only  conveyance  I could  find  was  half  the 
pony  of  an  honest  sailor,  who  said,  when  applied  to,  “ I tell 
you  what  I do  wid  you  : I give  you  a spell  about.”  But, 
as  it  turned  out  we  were  going  different  ways,  this  help 
was  but  a small  one.  A car  with  a spare  seat,  however 
(there  were  hundreds  of  others  quite  full,  and  scores  of 
rattling  country -carts  covered  with  people,  and  thousands 
of  bare  legs  trudging  along  the  road),  — a car  with  a spare 
seat  passed  by  at  two  miles  from  the  Pattern,  and  that  just 
in  time  to  get  comfortably  wet  through  on  arriving  there. 
The  whole  mountain  was  enveloped  in  mist;  and  we  could 
nowhere  see  thirty  yards  before  us.  The  women  walked 
forward,  with  their  gowns  over  their  heads ; the  men 
sauntered  on  in  the  rain,  with  the  utmost  indifference 
to  it.  The  car  presently  came  to  a cottage,  the  court  in 


236 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK . 


front  of  which  was  black  with  two  hundred  horses,  and 
where  as  many  drivers  were  jangling  and  bawling:  and 
here  we  were  told  to  descend.  You  had  to  go  over  a wall 
and  across  a brook,  and  behold  the  Pattern. 

The  pleasures  of  the  poor  people  — for  after  the  business 
on  the  mountain  came  the  dancing  and  love-making  at  its 
foot  — were  wofully  spoiled  by  the  rain,  which  rendered 
dancing  on  the  grass  impossible ; nor  were  the  tents  big 
enough  for  that  exercise.  Indeed,  the  whole  sight  was  as 
dismal  and  half-savage  a one  as  I have  seen.  There  may 
have  been  fifty  of  these  tents  squatted  round  a plain  of  the 
most  brilliant  green  grass,  behind  which  the  mist-curtains 
seemed  to  rise  immediately  ; for  you  could  not  even  see 
the  mountain-side  beyond  them.  Here  was  a great  crowd 
of  men  and  women,  all  ugly,  as  the  fortune  of  the  day 
would  have  it  (for  the  sagacious  reader  has,  no  doubt, 
remarked  that  there  are  ugly  and  pretty  days  in  life). 
Stalls  were  spread  about,  whereof  the  owners  were  shriek- 
ing out  the  praises  of  their  wares  — great  coarse  damp- 
looking bannocks  of  bread  for  the  most  part,  or,  mayhap, 
a dirty  collection  of  pigs-feet  and  such  refreshments. 
Several  of  the  booths  professed  to  belong  to  “ confec- 
tioners ” from  Westport  or  Castlebar,  the  confectionery 
consisting  of  huge  biscuits  and  doubtful-looking  ginger- 
beer  — ginger-ale  or  gingeretta  it  is  called  in  this  country, 
by  a fanciful  people  who  love  the  finest  titles.  Add  to 
these,  caldrons  containing  water  for  “tay  ” at  the  doors  of 
the  booths,  other  pots  full  of  masses  of  pale  legs  of  mutton 
(the  owner  “ prodding/5  every  now  and  then,  for  a bit,  and 
holding  it  up  and  asking  the  passenger  to  buy).  In  the 
booths  it  was  impossible  to  stand  upright,  or  to  see  much, 
on  account  of  smoke.  Men  and  women  were  crowded  in 
these  rude  tents,  huddled  together,  and  disappearing  in 
the  darkness.  Owners  came  bustling  out  to  replenish  the 
empty  water-jugs  : and  landladies  stood  outside  in  the  rain 
calling  strenuously  upon  all  passers-by  to  enter.  Here  is  a 
design  taken  from  one  of  the  booths,  presenting  ingeni- 
ously an  outside  and  an  inside  view  of  the  same  place  — 
an  artifice  seldom  practised  in  pictures. 

Meanwhile,  high  up  on  the  invisible  mountain,  the 
people  were  dragging  their  bleeding  knees  from  altar  to 
|iltar,  flinging  stones,  and  muttering  some  endless  litanies, 
with  the  priests  standing  by.  I think  I was  not  sorry 
that  the  rain,  and  the  care  of  my  precious  health,  prevented 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


237 


me  from  mounting  a severe  hill  to  witness  a sight  that 
could  only  have  caused  one  to  be  shocked  and  ashamed 
that  servants  of  God  should  encourage  it.  The  road  home 
was  very  pleasant ; everybody  was  wet  through,  but  every- 
body was  happy,  and  by  some  miracle  we  were  seven  on 
the  car.  There  was  the  honest  Englishman  in  the  mili- 
tary cap,  who  sang  “ The  sea,  the  hopen  sea’s  my  ’ome,” 
although  not  any  one  of  the  company  called  upon  him 
for  that  air.  Then  the  music  was  taken  up  by  a good- 
natured  lass  from  Castlebar;  then  the  Englishman  again, 
“ With  burnished  brand  and  musketoon  ” ; and  there  was 
no  end  of  pushing,  pinching,  squeezing,  and  laughing. 


The  Englishman,  especially,  had  a favorite  yell,  with 
which  he  saluted  and  astonished  all  cottagers,  passengers, 
cars,  that  we  met  or  overtook.  Presently  came  prancing 
by  two  dandies,  who  were  especially  frightened  by  the 
noise.  “ Thim’s  two  tailors  from  Westport,”  said  the 
carman,  grinning  with  all  his  might.  “Come,  gat  out  of 
the  way  there,  gat  along  ! ” piped  a small  English  voice  from 
above  somewhere.  I looked  up,  and  saw  a little  creature 
perched  on  the  top  of  a tandem,  which  he  was  driving  with 
the  most  knowing  air  — a dreadful  young  hero,  with  a 
white  hat,  and  white  face,  and  blue  bird’s-eye  neck-cloth. 
He  was  five  feet  high,  if  an  inch,  an  ensign  and  sixteen  ; 
and  it  was  a great  comfort  to  think,  in  case  of  danger 
or  riot,  that  one  of  his  years  and  personal  strength  was  at 
hand  to  give  help. 

“Thim’s  the  afficers,”  said  the  carman,  as  the  tandem 


238 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK . 


wheeled  by,  a small  groom  quivering  on  behind  — and  the 
carman  spoke  with  the  greatest  respect  this  time.  Two 
days  before,  on  arriving  at  Westport,  I had  seen  the  same 
equipage  at  the  door  of  the  inn  — where  for  a moment 
there  happened  to  be  no  waiter  to  receive  me.  So,  shoul- 
dering a carpet-bag,  I walked  into  the  inn-hall,  and  asked  a 
gentleman  standing  there  where  was  the  coffee-room  ? It 
was  the  military  tandem-driving  youth,  who  with  much 
grace  looked  up  in  my  face,  and  said  calmly,  u I dawnt 
knaw  ” I believe  the  little  creature  had  just  been  dining 
in  the  very  room  — and  so  present  my  best  compliments  to 
him. 

The  Guide-book  will  inform  the  traveller  of  many  a 
beautiful  spot  which  lies  in  the  neighborhood  of  Westport, 
and  which  I had  not  the  time  to  visit ; but  I must  not  take 
leave  of  the  excellent  little  inn  without  speaking  once 
more  of  its  extreme  comfort ; nor  of  the  place  itself,  with- 
out another  parting  word  regarding  its  beauty.  It  forms 
an  event  in  one’s  life  to  have  seen  that  place,  so  beautiful 
is  it,  and  so  unlike  all  other  beauties  that  I know  of. 
Were  such  beauties  lying  upon  English  shores  it  would  be  a 
world’s  wonder : perhaps,  if  it  were  on  the  Mediterranean, 
or  the  Baltic,  English  travellers  would  flock  to  it  by 
hundreds ; why  not  come  and  see  it  in  Ireland ! Bemote 
as  the  spot  is,  Westport  is  only  two  days’  journey  from 
London  now,  and  lies  in  a country  far  more  strange  to  most 
travellers  than  France  or  Germany  can  be. 


•CHAPTER  XXII. 


FROM  WESTPORT  TO  B ALLIN  AS  LOE. 

HE  mail-coach  took  us  next 
day  by  Castlebar  and  Tuam 
to  Ballinasloe,  a journey 
of  near  eighty  miles. 
The  country  is  inter- 
spersed with  innumerable 
seats  belonging  to  the 
Blakes,  the  Browns,  and 
the  Lynches ; and  we  passed 
many  large  domains  be- 
longing to  bankrupt  lords 
and  fugitive  squires,  with 
line  lodges  adorned  with 
moss  and  battered  win- 
dows, and  parks  where,  if 
the  grass  was  growing  on 
the  roads,  on  the  other  hand  the  trees  had  been  weeded  out 
of  the  grass.  About  these  seats  and  their  owners  the 
guard  — an  honest,  shrewd  fellow  — had  all  the  gossip  to 
tell.  The  jolly  guard  himself  was  a ruin,  it  turned  out  : 
he  told  me  his  grandfather  was  a man  of  large  property ; 
his  father,  he  said,  kept  a pack  of  hounds,  and  had  spent 
everything  by  the  time  he,  the  guard,  was  sixteen : so  the 
lad  made  interest  to  get  a mail-car  to  drive,  whence  he  had 
been  promoted  to  the  guard’s  seat,  and  now  for  forty 
years  had  occupied  it,  travelling  eighty  miles,  and  earning 
seven-and-twopence  every  day  of  his  life.  He  had  been 
once  ill,  he  said,  for  three  days  ; and  if  a man  may  be 
judged  by  ten  hours’  talk  with  him,  there  were  few  more 
shrewd,  resolute,  simple-minded  men  to  be  found  on  the 
outside  of  any  coaches  or  the  inside  of  any  houses  in  Ire- 
land. 

During  the  first  five-and-twenty  miles  of  the  journey, 

239 


W 'PS  y 


240 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


for  the  day  was  very  sunny  and  bright,  — Croaghpatrick 
kept  us  company ; and,  seated  with  your  back  to  the 
horses,  you  could  see,  “ on  the  left,  that  vast  aggregation 
of  mountains  which  stretches  southwards  to  the  Bay  of 
Galway ; on  the  right,  that  gigantic  assemblage  which 
sweeps  in  circular  outline  northward  to  Killule.”  Some- 
where amongst  those  hills  the  great  John  Tuam  was  born, 
whose  mansion  and  cathedral  are  to  "be  seen  in  Tuam 
town  but  whose  fame  is  spread  everywhere.  To  arrive  at 
Castlebar,  we  go  over  the  undulating  valley  which  lies 
between  the  mountain  of  Joyce  country  and  Erris;  and 
the  first  object  which  you  see  on  entering  the  town 
is  a stately  Gothic  castle  that  stands  at  a short  distance 
from  it. 

On  the  gate  of  the  stately  Gothic  castle  was  written  an 
inscription,  not  very  hospitable  : “ without  beware,  with- 
in amend  ” ; just  beneath  which  is  an  iron  crane  of  neat 
construction.  The  castle  is  the  county  jail,  and  the  iron 
crane  is  the  gallows  of  the  district.  The  town  seems  neat 
and  lively  : there  is  a line  church,  a grand  barracks  (cele- 
brated as  the  residence  of  the  young  fellow  with  the  bird’s- 
eye  neck-cloth),  a club,  and  a Whig  and  Tory  newspaper. 
The  road  hence  to  Tuam  is  very  pretty  and  lively,  from 
the  number  of  country  seats  along  the  way,  giving  comfort- 
able shelter  to  more  Blakes,  Browns,  and  Lynches. 

In  the  cottages,  the  inhabitants  looked  healthy  and  rosy 
in  their  rags,  and  the  cots  themselves  in  the  sunshine 
almost  comfortable.  After  a couple  of  months  in  the 
country,  the  stranger’s  eye  grows  somewhat  accustomed 
to  the  rags  : they  do  not  frighten  him  as  at  first ; the 
people  who  wear  them  look  for  the  most  part  healthy 
enough : especially  the  small  children  — those  who  can 
scarcely  totter,  and  are  sitting  shading  their  eyes  at  the 
door,  and  leaving  the  unfinished  dirt-pie  to  shout  as  the 
coach  passes  by  — are  as  healthy  a looking  race  as  one  will 
often  see.  Nor  can  any  one  pass  through  the  land  with- 
out being  touched  by  the  extreme  love  of  children  among 
the  people : they  swarm  everywhere,  and  the  whole 
country  rings  with  cries  of  affection  towards  the  children, 
with  the  songs  of  young  ragged  nurses  dandling  babies  on 
their  knees,  and  warnings  of  mothers  to  Patsey  to  come 
out  of  the  mud,  or  Norey  to  get  off  the  pig’s  back. 

At  Tuam  the  coach  stopped  exactly  for  fourteen  minutes 
and  a half,  during  which  time  those  who  wished  might 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK 


241 


dine:  but,  instead,  I had  the  pleasure  of  inspecting  a very 
mouldy,  dirty  town,  and  made  my  way  to  the  Catholic 
cathedral  — a very  handsome  edifice  indeed ; handsome 
without  and  within,  and  of  the  Gothic  sort.  Over  the 
door  is  a huge  coat  of  arms  surmounted  by  a cardinal’s 
hat  — the  arms  of  the  see,  no  doubt,  quartered  with  John 
Tuam’s  own  patrimonial  coat ; and  that  was  a frieze  coat, 
from  all  accounts,  passably  ragged  at  the  elbows.  Well, 
he  must  be  a poor  wag  who  could  sneer  at  an  old  coat 
because  it  was  old  and  poor , but  if  a man  changes  it 
for  a tawdry  gimcrack  suit  bedizened  with  twopenny 
tinsel,  and  struts  about  calling  himself  his  grace  and  my 
lord,  when  may  we  laugh  if  not  then  ? There  is  some- 
thing simple  in  the  way  in  which  these  good  people 
belord  their  clergymen,  and  respect  titles  real  or  sham. 
Take  any  Dublin  paper,  — a couple  of  columns  of  it  are 
sure  to  be  filled  with  movements  of  the  small  great  men 
of  the  world.  Accounts  from  Derrynane  state  that 
the  “ Right  Honorable  the  Lord  Mayor  is  in  good  health 
— his  lordship  went  out  with  his  beagles  yesterday  ” ; 
or  “ his  Grace  the  Most  Reverend  the  Lord  Archbishop 
of  Ballywhack,  assisted  by  the  Right  Reverend  the  Lord 
Bishops  of  Trincomalee  and  Hippopotamus,  assisted,”  &c.  ; 
or  “Colonel  Tims,  of  Castle  Tims,  and  lady,  have  quitted 
the  ‘ Shelburne  Hotel,’  with  a party  for  Kilballybather- 
shins,  where  the  august  * party  propose  to  enjoy  a few 
days’  shrimp-fishing,”  — and  so  on.  Our  people  are  not 
witty  and  keen  of  perceiving  the  ridiculous,  like  the  Irish  ; 
but  the  bluntness  and  honesty  of  the  English  have  well- 
nigh  kicked  the  fashionable  humbug  down ; and  except 
perhaps  among  footmen  and  about  Baker  Street,  this 
curiosity  about  the  aristocracy  is  wearing  fast  away. 
Have  the  Irish  so  much  reason  to  respect  their  lords 
that  they  should  so  chronicle  all  their  movements  ; and 
not  only  admire  real  lords,  but  make  sham  ones  of  their 
own  to  admire  them  ? 

There  is  no  object  of  special  mark  upon  the  road  from 
Tuam  to  Ballinasloe  — the  country  being  flat  for  the  most 
part,  and  the  noble  Galway  and  Mayo  mountains  having 
disappeared  at  length  — until  you  come  to  a glimpse  of 
Old  England  in  the  pretty  village  of  Ahascragh.  An  old 

* This  epithet  is  applied  to  the  party  of  a Colonel  somebody,  in  a 
Dublin  paper. 

VOL.  II.  — 16 


242 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


oak-tree  grows  in  the  neat  street,  the  houses  are  as  trim 
and  white  as  eye  can  desire,  and  about  the  church  and  the 
town  are  handsome  plantations,  forming  on  the  whole  such 
a picture  of  comfort  and  plenty  as  is  rarely  to  be  seen  in 
the  part  of  Ireland  I have  traversed.  All  these  wonders 
have  been  wrought  by  the  activity  of  an  excellent  resident 
agent.  There  was  a countryman  on  the  coach  deploring 
that,  through  family  circumstances,  this  gentleman  should 
have  been  dispossessed  of  his  agency,  and  declaring  that 
the  village  had  already  began  to  deteriorate  in  consequence. 
The  marks  of  such  decay  were  not,  however,  visible  — at 
least  to  a new-comer  ; and,  being  reminded  of  it,  I indulged 
in  many  patriotic  longings  for  England : as  every  English- 
man does  when  he  is  travelling  out  of  the  country  which 
he  is  always  so  willing  to  quit. 

That  a place  should  instantly  begin  to  deteriorate  be- 
cause a certain  individual  was  removed  from  it  — that 
cottagers  should  become  thriftless,  and  houses  dirty,  and 
house-windows  cracked,  — all  these  are  points  which  public 
economists  may  ruminate  over,  and  can't  fail  to  give  the 
carelessest  traveller  much  matter  for  painful  reflection. 
How  is  it  that  the  presence  of  one  man  more  or  less  should 
affect  a set  of  people  come  to  years  of  manhood,  and  know- 
ing that  they  have  their  duty  to  do  ? Why  should  a man 
at  Ahascragh  let  his  home  go  to  ruin,  and  stuff  his  windows 
with  ragged  breeches  instead  of  glass,  because  Mr.  Smith 
is  agent  in  place  of  Mr.  Jones  ? Is  he  a child  that  won’t 
work  unless  the  schoolmaster  be  at  hand?  or  are  we  to 
suppose  with  the  “ Repealers  ” that  the  cause  of  all  this 
degradation  and  misery  is  the  intolerable  tyranny  of  the 
sister  country,  and  the  pain  which  poor  Ireland  has  been 
made  to  endure  ? This  is  very  well  at  the  Corn  Exchange, 
and  among  patriots  after  dinner;  but  after  all,  granting  the 
grievance  of  the  franchise  (though  it  may  not  be  unfair  to 
presume  that  a man  who  has  not  strength  of  mind  enough 
to  mend  his  own  breeches  or  his  own  windows  will  always 
be  the  tool  of  one  party  or  another),  there  is  no  Inquisition 
set  up  in  the  country ; the  law  tries  to  defend  the  people 
as  much  as  they  will  allow ; the  odious  tithe  has  even  been 
whisked  off  from  their  shoulders  to  the  landlord’s;  they 
may  live  pretty  much  as  they  like.  Is  it  not  too  monstrous 
to  howl  about  English  tyranny  and  suffering  Ireland,  and 
call  for  a Stephen’s  Green  Parliament  to  make  the  country 
quiet  and  the  people  industrious?  The  people  are  not 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK 


243 


politically  worse  treated  than  their  neighbors  in  England. 
The  priests  and  landlords,  if  they  chose  to  co-operate, 
might  do  more  for  the  country  now  than  any  kings  or  laws 
could.  What  you  want  here  is  not  a Catholic  or  Protestant 
party,  but  an  Irish  party. 

In  the  midst  of  these  reflections,  and  by  what  the  reader 
will  doubtless  think  a blessed  interruption,  we  came  in 
sight  of  the  town  of  Ballinasloe  and  its  “gash  lamps,” 
which  a fellow-passenger  did  not  fail  to  point  out  with 
admiration.  The  road-menders,  however,  did  not  appear 
to  think  that  light  was  by  any  means  necessary;  for,  having 
been  occupied,  in  the  morning,  in  digging  a fine  hole  upon 
the  highway,  previous  to  some  alterations  to  be  effected 
there,  they  had  left  their  work  at  sundown,  without  any 
lamp  to  warn  coming  travellers  of  the  hole — which  we 
only  escaped  by  a wonder.  The  papers  have  much  such 
another  story.  In  the  Galway  and  Ballinasloe  coach  a 
horse  on  the  road  suddenly  fell  down  and  died ; the  coach- 
man drove  his  coach  unicorn-fashion  into  town;  and,  as  for 
the  dead  horse,  of  course  he  left  it  on  the  road,  at  the  place 
where  it  fell,  and  where  another  coach  coming  up  was 
upset  over  it,  bones  broken,  passengers  mained,  coach 
smashed.  By  heavens  ! the  tyranny  of  England  is  unen- 
durable ; and  I have  no  doubt  it  had  a hand  in  upsetting 
that  coach. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 


B ALLIN  ASLOE  TO  DUBLIN. 

URING  the  cattle-fair  the 
celebrated  town  of  Balli- 
nasloe  is  thronged  with 
farmers  from  all  parts  of 
the  kingdom  — the  cattle 
being  picturesquely  exhib- 
ited in  the  park  of  the 
noble  proprietor  of  the 
town,  Lord  Clancarty.  As 
it  was  not  fair-time  the 
town  did  not  seem  particu- 
larly busy,  nor  was  there 
much  to  remark  in  it,  ex- 
cept a church,  and  a mag- 
nificent lunatic  asylum, 
that  lies  outside  the  town 
on  the  Dublin  road  and  is 
as  handsome  and  stately 
as  a palace.  I think  the  beggars  were  more  plenteous  and 
more  loathsome  here  than  almost  anywhere.  To  one  hide- 
ous wretch  I was  obliged  to  give  money  to  go  away,  which 
he  did  for  a moment,  only  to  obtrude  his  horrible  face 
directly  afterwards  half  eaten  away  with  disease.  “A 
penny  for  the  sake  of  poor  little  Mery,”  said  another 
woman,  who  had  a baby  sleeping  on  her  withered  breast ; 
and  how  can  any  one  who  has  a little  Mery  at  home  resist 
such  an  appeal  ? “ Pity  the  poor  blind  man  ! ” roared  a 

respectably  dressed  grenadier  of  a fellow.  I told  him  to 
go  to  the . gentleman  with  a red  neck-cloth  and  fur  cap  (a 
young  buck  from  Trinity  College)  — to  whom  the  blind 
man  with  much  simplicity  immediately  stepped  over;  and 
as  for  the  rest  of  the  beggars,  what  pen  or  pencil  could 
describe  their  hideous  leering  flattery,  their  cringing, 
swindling  humor  ! 


244 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


245 


The  inn,  like  the  town,  being  made  to  accommodate  the 
periodical  crowds  of  visitors  who  attended  the  fair,  pre- 
sented in  their  absence  rather  a faded  and  desolate  look; 
and  in  spite  of  the  live-stock  for  which  the  place  is  famous, 
the  only  portion  of  their  produce  which  I could  get  to  my 
share,  after  twelve  hours’  fasting  and  an  hour’s  bell-ringing 
and  scolding,  was  one  very  lean  mutton-chop  and  one  very 
small  damp  kidney,  brought  in  by  an  old  tottering  waiter 
to  a table  spread  in  a huge  black  coffee-room,  dimly  lighted 
by  one  little  jet  of  gas. 

As  this  only  served  very  faintly  to  light  up  the  above 
banquet,  the  waiter,  upon  remonstrance,  proceeded  to  light 
the  other  bee ; but  the  lamp  was  sulky,  and  upon  this 
attempt  to  force  it,  as  it  were,  refused  to  act  altogether, 
and  went  out.  The  big  room  was  then  accommodated  with 
a couple  of  yellow  mutton-candles.  There  was  a neat,  hand- 
some, correct  young  English  officer  warming  his  slippers 
at  the  fire,  and  opposite  him  sat  a worthy  gentleman,  with 
a glass  of  “ mingled  materials,”  discoursing  to  him  in  a 
very  friendly  and  confidential  way. 

As  I don’t  know  the  gentleman’s  name,  and  as  it  is  not 
at  all  improbable,  from  the  situation  in  which  he  was,  that 
he  has  quite  forgotten  the  night’s  conversation,  I hope 
there  will  be  no  breach  of  confidence  in  recalling  some  part 
of  it.  The  speaker  was  dressed  in  deep  black  — worn, 
however,  with  that  degage  air  peculiar  to  the  votaries  of 
Bacchus,  or  that  nameless  god,  offspring  of  Bacchus  and 
Ceres,  who  may  have  invented  the  noble  liquor  called 
whiskey.  It  was  fine  to  see  the  easy  folds  in  which  his 
neck-cloth  confined  a shirt-collar  moist  with  the  generous 
drops  that  trickled  from  the  chin  above,  — its  little  per- 
centage upon  the  punch.  There  was  a fine  dashing  black 
satin  waistcoat  that  called  for  its  share,  and  generously 
disdained  to  be  buttoned.  I think  this  is  the  only  speci- 
men I have  seen  yet  of  the  personage  still  so  frequently 
described  in  the  Irish  novels — the  careless  drinking  squire 
— the  Irish  Will  Whimble. 

“ Sir,”  say  he,  “ as  I was  telling  you  before  this  gentle- 
man came  in  (from  Westport,  1 preshume,  sir,  by  the  mail? 
and  my  service  to  you !),  the  butchers  in  Tchume  (Tuam)  — 
where  I live,  and  shall  be  happy  to  see  you  and  give  you  a 
shakedown,  a cut  of  mutton,  and  the  use  of  as  good  a brace 
of  pointers  as  ever  you  shot  over  — the  butchers  say  to  me, 
whenever  I look  in  at  their  shops  and  ask  for  a joint  of 


THE  HUSH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


240 

meat  — they  say  : ‘ Take  down  that  quarther  o’  mutton,  boy ; 
it’s  no  use  weighing  it  for  Mr.  Bodkin.  He  can  tell 
with  an  eye  what’s  the  weight  of  it  to  an  ounce  ! 9 And  so, 
sir,  I can;  and  I’d  make  a bet  to  go  into  any  market  in 
Dublin,  Tchume,  Ballinasloe,  where  you  please,  and  just  by 
looking  at  the  meat  decide  its  weight.” 

At  the  pause,  during  which  the  gentleman  here  desig- 
nated Bodkin  drank  off  his  “ materials,”  the  young  officer 
said  gravely  that  this  was  a very  rare  and  valuable  accom- 
plishment, and  thanked  him  for  the  invitation  to  Tchume. 


The  honest  gentleman  proceeded  with  his  personal  me- 
moirs ; and  (with  a charming  modesty  that  authenticated 
his  tale,  while  it  interested  his  hearers  for  the  teller)  he 
called  for  a fresh  tumbler,  and  began  discoursing  about 
horses.  “Them  I don’t  know,”  says  he,  confessing  the 
fact  at  once;  “or,  if  I do,  I’ve  been  always  so  unlucky 
with  them  that  it’s  as  good  as  if  I didn’t. 

“ To  give  you  an  idea  of  my  ill-fortune : Me  brother-’n- 
law  Burke  once  sent  me  three  colts  of  his  to  sell  at  this 
very  fair  of  Ballinasloe,  and  for  all  I could  do  I could  only 
get  a bid  for  one  of  ’em,  and  sold  her  for  sixteen  pounds. 
And  d’ye  know  what  that  mare  was,  sir  ? ” says  Mr. 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK . 


247 


Bodkin,  giving  a thump  that  made  the  spoon  jump  out  of 
the  punch-glass  for  fright.  “D’ye  know  who -she  was? 
she  was  Water-Wagtail,  sir,  — Water-Wagtail  ! She  won 
fourteen  cups  and  plates  in  Ireland  before  she  went  to 
Liverpool;  and  you  know  what  she  did  there?”  (We 
said,  “0!  of  course.”)  “Well,  sir,  the  man  who  bought 
her  from  me  sold  her  for  four  hunder’  guineas  ; and  in 
England  she  fetched  eight  hunder’  pounds. 

“ Another  of  them  very  horses,  gentlemen  (Tim,  some  hot 
wather  — screeching  hot,  you  divil  — and  a sthroke  of  the 
limin)  — another  of  them  horses  that  I was  refused  fifteen 
pound  for,  me  brother-in-law  sould  to  Sir  Bufford  Bufford 
for  a hunder’-and-fifty  guineas.  Wasn’t  that  luck  ? 

“ Well,  sir,  Sir  Bufford  gives  Burke  his  bill  at  six  months, 
and  don’t  pay  it  when  it  come  jue.  A pretty  pickle  Tom 
Burke  was  in,  as  I leave  ye  to  fancy,  for  he’d  paid  away  the 
bill,  which  he  thought  as  good  as  goold ; and  sure  it  ought 
to  be,  for  Sir  Bufford  had  come  of  age  since  the  bill  was 
drawn,  and  before  it  was  due,  and,  as  I needn’t  tell  you,  had 
slipped  into  a very  handsome  property. 

“ On  the  protest  of  the  bill,  Burke  goes  in  a fury  to  Gres- 
ham’s in  Sackville  Street,  where  the  baronet  was  living, 
and  (would  ye  believe  it  ?)  the  latter  says  he  doesn’t  intend 
to  meet  the  bill,  on  the  score  that  he  was  a minor  when  he 
gave  it.  On  which  Burke  was  in  such  a rage  that  he  took 
a horsewhip  and  vowed  he’d  beat  the  baronet  to  a jelly,  and 
post  him  in  every  club  in  Dublin,  and  publish  every  cir- 
cumstance of  the  transaction.” 

“ It  does  seem  rather  a queer  one,”  says  one  of  Mr.  Bod- 
kin’s hearers. 

“ Queer  indeed : but  that’s  not  it,  you  see  ; for  Sir  Bufford 
is  as  honorable  a man  as  ever  lived ; and  after  this  quarrel 
he  paid  Burke  his  money,  and  they’ve  been  warm  friends 
ever  since.  But  what  I want  to  show  ye  is  our  infernal 
luck.  Three  months  before , Sir  Bufford  had  sold  that  very 
horse  for  three  bunder*  guineas .” 

The  worthy  gentleman  had  just  ordered  in  a fresh  tum- 
bler of  his  favorite  liquor,  when  we  wished  him  good-night, 
and  slept  by  no  means  the  worse,  because  the  bedroom 
candle  was  carried  by  one  of  the  prettiest  young  chamber 
maids  possible. 

Xext  morning,  surrounded  by  a crowd  of  beggars  more 
filthy,  hideous,  and  importunate  than  any  I think  in  the 
most  favored  towns  of  the  south,  we  set  off,  a coach-load, 


248 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


for  Dublin.  A clergyman,  a guard,  a Scotch  farmer,  a 
butcher,  a' bookseller’s  hack,  a lad  bound  for  Maynooth  and 
another  for  Trinity,  made  a varied,  pleasant  party  enough, 
where  each,  according  to  his  lights,  had  something  to  say. 

I have  seldom  seen  a more  dismal  and  uninteresting  road 
than  that  which  we  now  took,  and  which  brought  us 
through  the  “old,  inconvenient,  ill-built,  and  ugly  town  of 
Athlone.”  The  painter  would  find  here,  however,  some 
good  subjects  for  his  sketch-book,  in  spite  of  the  com  ruina- 
tion of  the  Guide-book.  Here,  too,  great  improvements  are 
taking  place  for  the  Shannon  navigation,  which  will  render 
the  town  not  so  inconvenient  as  at  present  it  is  stated  to 
be ; and  hard  by  lies  a little  village  that  is  known  and 
loved  by  all  the  world  where  English  is  spoken.  It  is 
called  Lishoy,  but  its  real  name  is  Auburn,  and  it  gave 
birth  to  one  Noll  Goldsmith,  whom  Mr.  Boswell  was  in  the 
habit  of  despising  very  heartily.  At  the  Quaker  town  of 
Moate,  the  butcher  and  the  farmer  dropped  off,  the  clergy- 
man went  inside,  and  their  places  were  filled  by  four  May- 
noothians,  whose  vacation  was  just  at  an  end.  One  of 
them,  a freshman,  was  inside  the  coach  with  the  clergyman, 
and  told  him,  with  rather  a long  face,  of  the  dismal  disci- 
pline of  his  college.  They  are  not  allowed  to  quit  the  gates 
(except  on  general  walks)  ; they  are  expelled  if  they  read  a 
newspaper ; and  they  begin  term  with  “ a retreat  ” of  a 
week,  which  time  they  are  made  to  devote  to  silence,  and, 
as  it  is  supposed,  to  devotion  and  meditation. 

I must  say  the  young  fellows  drank  plenty  of  whiskey  on 
the  road,  to  prepare  them  for  their  year’s  abstinence ; and, 
when  at  length  arrived  in  the  miserable  village  of  May- 
nooth, determined  not  to  go  into  college  that  night,  but  to 
devote  the  evening  to  a “lark.”  They  were  simple,  kind- 
hearted  young  men,  sons  of  farmers  or  tradesmen  seem- 
ingly ; and,  as  is  always  the  case  here,  except  among  some 
of  the  gentry,  very  gentlemanlike  and  pleasing  in  manners. 
Their  talk  was  of  this  companion  and  that ; how  one  was 
in  rhetoric,  and  another  in  logic,  and.  a third  had  got  his 
curacy.  Wait  for  a while ; and  with  the  happy  system 
pursued  within  the  walls  of  their  college,  those  smiling, 
good-humored  faces  will  come  out  with  a scowl,  and  down- 
cast eyes  that  seem  afraid  to  look  the  world  in  the  face. 
When  the  time  comes  for  them  to  take  leave  of  yonder 
dismal-looking  barracks,  they  will  be  men  no  longer,  but 
bound  over  to  the  church,  body  and  soul : their  free 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


249 


thoughts  chained  down  and  kept  in  darkness,  their  honest 
affections  mutilated.  . Well,  I hope  they  will  be  happy  to- 
night at  any  rate,  and  talk  and  laugh  to  their  hearts’  con- 
tent. The  poor  freshman,  whose  big  chest  is  carried  off  by 
the  porter  yonder  to  the  inn,  has  but  twelve  hours  more  of 
hearty,  natural,  human  life.  To-morrow,  they  will  begin 
their  work  upon  him ; cramping  his  mind,  and  biting  his 
tongue,  and  firing  and  cutting  at  his  heart,  — breaking  him 
to  pull  the  church  chariot.  Ah ! why  didn’t  he  stop  at 
home,  and  dig  potatoes  and  get  children  ? 

Part  of  the  drive  from  Maynooth  to  Dublin  is  exceedingly 
pretty  : you  are  carried  through  Leixlip,  Lucan,  Chapelizod, 
and  by  scores  of  parks  and  villas,  until  the  gas-lamps  come 
in  sight.  Was  there  ever  a cockney  that  was  not  glad  to 
see  them,  and  did  not  prefer  the  sight  of  them,  in  his 
heart,  to  the  best  lake  or  mountain  ever  invented  ? Pat 
the  waiter  comes  jumping  down  to  the  car  and  says,  “ Wel- 
come back,  sir ! ” and  bustles  the  trunk  into  the  queer  little 
bedroom,  with  all  the  cordial  hospitality  imaginable. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 


TWO  DAYS  IN  WICKLOW. 

IE  little  tour  we  have  just 
been  taking  has  been  per- 
formed, not  only  by 
myriads  of  the  “ car-driv- 
ingest,  tay-drinkingest, 
say-bathingest  people  in 
the  world/’  the  inhabi- 
tants of  the  city  of  Dub- 
lin, but  also  by  all  the 
tourists  who  have  come  to 
discover  this  country  for 
the  benefit  of  the  English 
nation.  “ Look  here  ! ” 
says  the  ragged,  bearded 
genius  of  a guide  at  the 
Seven  Churches.  “ This 
is  the  spot  which  Mr. 
Henry  Inglis  particularly  admired,  and  said  it  was  exactly 
like  Norway.  Many’s  the  song  I’ve  heard  Mr.  Sam  Lover 
sing  here  — a pleasant  gentleman  entirely.  Have  you  seen 
my  picture  that’s  taken  off  in  Mrs.  Hall’s  book  ? All  the 
strangers  know  me  by  it,  though  it  makes  me  much  cleverer 
than  I am.”  Similar  tales  has  he  of  Mr.  Barrow,  and  the 
Transatlantic  Willis,  and  of  Crofton  Croker,  who  has  been 
everywhere. 

The  guide’s  remarks  concerning  the  works  of  these  gentle- 
men inspired  me,  I must  confess,  with  considerable  disgust 
and  jealousy.  A plague  take  them  ! what  remains  for  me  to 
discover  after  the  gallant  adventurers  in  the  service  of 
Paternoster  Row  have  examined  every  rock,  lake,  and  ruin 
of  the  district,  exhausted  it  of  all  its  legends,  and  “ invent- 
ed. new  ” most  likely,  as  their  daring  genius  prompted  ? 
Hence  it  follows  that  the  description  of  the  two  days’  jaunt 
must  of  necessity  be  short ; lest  persons  who  have  read 

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251 


former  accounts  should  be  led  to  refer  to  the  same,  and 
make  comparisons  which  might  possibly  be  unfavorable  to 
the  present  humble  pages. 

Is  there  anything  new  to  be  said  regarding  the  journey  ? 
In  the  hrst  place,  there’s  the  railroad : it’s  no  longer  than 
the  railroad  to  Greenwich,  to  be  sure,  and  almost  as  well 
known ; but  has  it  been  done  ? that’s  the  question ; or  has 
anybody  discovered  the  dandies  on  the  railroad  ? 

After  wondering  at  the  beggars  and  carmen  of  Dublin, 
the  stranger  can’t  help  admiring  another  vast  and  numerous 
class  of  inhabitants  of  the  city  — namely,  the  dandies. 
Such  a number  of  smartly-dressed  young  fellows  I don’t 
think  any  town  possesses : no,  not  Paris,  where  the  young- 
shopmen,  with  spurs  and  stays,  may  be  remarked  strutting 
abroad  on  fete-days  ; nor  London,  where  on  Sundays,  in  the 
Park,  you  see  thousands  of  this  cheap  kind  of  aristocracy 
parading ; nor  Liverpool,  famous  for  the  breed  of  commer- 
cial dandies,  desk  and  counter  D’Orsays  and  cotton  and 
sugar-barrel  Brummels,  and  whom  one  remarks  pushing  on 
to  business  with  a brisk  determined  air.  All  the  above 
races  are  only  to  be  encountered  on  holidays,  except  by 
those  persons  whose  affairs  take  them  to  shops,  docks,  or 
counting-houses,  where  these  fascinating  young  fellows 
labor  during  the  week. 

But  the  Dublin  breed  of  dandies  is  quite  distinct  from 
those  of  the  various  cities  above  named,  and  altogether 
superior : for  they  appear  every  day,  and  all  day  long,  not 
once  a week  merely,  and  have  an  original  and  splendid 
character  and  appearance  of  their  own,  very  hard  to  describe, 
though  no  doubt  every  traveller,  as  well  as  myself,  has  ad- 
mired and  observed  it.  They  assume  a sort  of  military  and 
ferocious  look,  not  observable  in  other  cheap  dandies,  except 
in  Paris  perhaps  now  and  then  ; and  are  to  be  remarked  not 
so  much  for  the  splendor  of  their  ornaments  as  for  the  pro- 
fusion of  them.  Thus,  for  instance,  a hat  which  is  worn 
straight  over  the  two  eyes  costs  very  likely  more  than  one 
which  hangs  upon  one  ear ; a great  oily  bush  of  hair  to  bal- 
ance the  hat  (otherwise  the  head  no  doubt  would  fall  hope- 
lessly on  one  side)  is  even  more  economical  than  a crop 
which  requires  the  barber’s  scissors  oft-times ; also  a tuft 
on  the  chin  may  be  had  at  a small  expense  of  bear’s-grease 
by  persons  of  a proper  age ; and  although  big  pins  are  the 
fashion,  I am  bound  to  say  I have  never  seen  so  many  or  so 
big  as  here.  Large  agate  marbles  or  “ taws,”  globes  terres- 


252 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


trial  and  celestial,  pawnbrokers’  balls,  — I cannot  find 
comparisons  large  enough  for  these  wonderful  ornaments  of 
the  person.  Canes  also  should  be  mentioned,  which  are 
sold  very  splendid,  with  gold  or  silver  heads,  for  a shilling 
on  the  Quays;  and -the  dandy  not  uncommonly  finishes  off 
with  a horn  quizzing-glass,  which  being  stuck  in  one  eye 
contracts  the  brows  and  gives  a fierce  determined  look  to 
the  whole  countenance. 

In  idleness  at  least  these  young  men  can  compete  with 
the  greatest  lords  ; and  the  wonder  is,  how  the  city  can  sup- 
port so  many  of  them,  or  they  themselves  ; how  they  man- 
age to  spend  their  time  : who  gives  them  money  to  ride 
hacks  in  the  “ Phaynix  ” on  field  and  race  days  ; to  have 
boats  at  Kingstown  during  the  summer  ; and  to  be  crowding 
the  railway  coaches  all  the  day  long  ? Cars  go  whirling 
about  all  day,  bearing  squads  of  them.  You  see  them  saun- 
tering at  all  the  railway-stations  in  vast  numbers,  and  jump- 
ing out  of  carriages  as  the  trains  come  up,  and  greeting 
other  dandies  with  that  rich  large  brogue  which  some  actor 
ought  to  make  known  to  the  English  public : it  being  the 
biggest,  richest,  and  coarsest  of  all  the  brogues  of  Ireland. 

I think  these  dandies  are  the  chief  objects  which  arrest 
the  stranger’s  attention  as  he  travels  on  the  Kingstown  rail- 
road, and  I have  always  been  so  much  occupied  in  watching 
and  wondering  at  them  as  scarcely  to  have  leisure  to  look 
at  anything  else  during  the  pretty  little  ride  of  twenty  min- 
utes so  beloved  by  every  Dublin  cockney.  The  waters  of 
the  bay  wash  in  many  places  the  piers  on  which  the  railway 
is  built,  and  you  see  the  calm  stretch  of  water  beyond,  and 
the  big  purple  hill  of  Howth,  and  the  light-houses,  and  the 
jetties,  and  the  shipping.  Yesterday  was  a boat-race  (I 
don’t  know  how  many  scores  of  such  take  place  during  the 
season),  and  you  may  be  sure  there  were  tens  of  thousands 
of  the  dandies  to  look  on.  There  had  been  boat-races  the 
two  days  previous  : before  that,  had  been  a field-day  — 
before  that,  three  days  of  garrison  races  — to-day,  to-mor- 
row, and  the  day  after,  there  are  races  at  Howth.  There 
seems  some  sameness  in  the  sports,  but  everybody  goes  ; 
everybody  is  never  tired ; and  then,  I suppose,  comes  the 
punch-party,  and  the  song  in  the  evening  — the  same  old 
pleasures,  and  the  same  old  songs  the  next  day,  and  so  on 
to  the  end.  As  for  the  boat-race,  I saw  two  little  boats  in 
the  distance  tugging  away  for  dear  life  — the  beach  and 
piers  swarming  with  spectators,  the  bay  full  of  small  yachts 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


253 


and  innumerable  row-boats,  and  in  the  midst  of  the  assem- 
blage a convict-ship  lying  ready  for  sail,  with  a black  mass 
of  poor  wretches  on  her  deck  — who,  too,  were  eager  for 
pleasure. 

Who  is  not,  in  this  country  ? Walking  away  from  the 
pier  and  King  George’s  column,  you  arrive  upon  rows  after 
rows  of  pleasure-houses,  whither  all  Dublin  flocks  during 
the  summer-time  — for  every  one  must  have  his  sea-bathing ; 
and  they  say  that  country  houses  to  the  west  of  the  town 
are  empty,  or  to  be  had  for  very  small  prices,  while  for 
those  on  the  coast,  especially  towards  Kingstown,  there  is 
the  readiest  sale  at  large  prices.  I have  paid  frequent  vis- 
its to  one,  of  which  the  rent  is  as  great  as  that  of  a tolerable 
London  house  ; and  there  seem  to  be  others  suited  to  all 
purses  : for  instance,  there  are  long  lines  of  two-roomed 
houses,  stretching  far  back  and  away  from  the  sea,  accom- 
modating, doubtless,  small  commercial  men,  or  small  fami- 
lies, or  some  of  those  travelling  dandies  we  have  just  been 
talking  about,  and  whose  costume  is  so  cheap  and  so  splen- 
did. 

A two-horse  car,  which  will  accommodate  twelve,  or  will 
condescend  to  receive  twenty  passengers,  starts  from  the 
railway-station  for  Bray,  running  along  the  coast  for  the 
chief  part  of  the  journey,  though  you  have  but  few  views 
of  the  sea,  on  account  of  intervening  woods  and  hills.  The 
whole  of  this  country  is  covered  with  handsome  villas  and 
their  gardens,  and  pleasure-grounds.  There  are  round  many 
of  the  houses  parks  of  some  extent,  and  always  of  consider- 
able beauty,  among  the  trees  of  which  the  road  winds. 
New  churches  are  likewise  to  be  seen  in  various  places  ; 
built  like  the  poor-houses,  that  are  likewise  everywhere 
springing  up,  pretty  much  upon  one  plan  — a sort  of  bas- 
tard or  Vauxhall  Gothic — resembling  no  architecture  of 
any  age  previous  to  that  when  Horace  Walpole  invented 
the  Castle  of  Otranto  and  the  other  monstrosity  upon 
Strawberry  Hill  : though  it  must  be  confessed  that  those 
on  the  Bray  line  are  by  no  means  so  imaginative.  Well, 
what  matters,  say  you,  that  the  churches  be  ugly,  if  the 
truth  is  preached  within  ? Is  it  not  fair,  however,  to  say 
that  Beauty  is  the  truth  too,  of  its  kind  ? and  why  should 
it  not  be  cultivated  as  well  as  other  truth?  Why  build 
these  hideous  barbaric  temples,  when  at  the  expense  of  a 
little  study  and  taste  beautiful  structures  might  be  raised  ? 

After  leaving  Bray,  with  its  pleasant  bay,  and  pleasant 


254 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


river,  and  pleasant  inn,  the  little  Wicklow  tour  may  be 
said  to  commence  properly ; and  as  that  romantic  and  beau- 
tiful country  has  been  described  many  times  in  familiar 
terms,  our  only  chance  is  to  speak  thereof  in  romantic  and 
beautiful  language  such  as  no  other  writer  can  possibly 
have  employed. 

We  rang  at  the  gate  of  the  steward’s  lodge  and  said, 
“ Grant  us  a pass,  we  pray,  to  see  the  parks  of  Powerscourt, 
and  to  behold  the  brown  deer  upon  the  grass,  and  the  cool 
shadows  under  the  whispering  trees.” 

But  the  steward’s  son  answered,  “ You  may  not  see  the 
parks  of  Powerscourt,  for  the  lord  of  the  castle  comes  home, 
and  we  expect  him  daily.”  So,  wondering  at  this  reply, 
but  not  understanding  the  same,  we  took  leave  of  the  son  of 
the  steward  and  said,  “No  doubt  Powerscourt  is  not  lit  to 
see.  Have  we  not  seen  parks  in  England,  my  brother,  and 
shall  we  break  our  hearts  that  this  Irish  one  hath  its  gates 
closed  to  us  ? ” 

Then  the  car-boy  said,  “ My  lords,  the  park  is  shut,  but 
the  waterfall  runs  for  every  man ; will  it  please  you  to  see 
the  waterfall  ? ” “ Boy,”  we  replied,  “ we  have  seen  many 

waterfalls  ; nevertheless,  lead  on  ! ” And  the  boy  took  his 
pipe  out  of  his  mouth  and  belabored  the  ribs  of  his  beast. 

And  the  horse  made  believe,  as  it  were,  to  trot,  and  jolted 
the  ardent  travellers ; and  we  passed  the  green  trees  of 
Tinnehinch,  which  the  grateful  Irish  nation  bought  and 
consecrated  to  the  race  of  Grattan ; and  we  said,  “ What 
nation  will  spend  fifty  thousand  pounds  for  our  benefit  ? ” 
and  we  wished  we  might  get  it ; and  we  passed  on.  The 
birds  were,  meanwhile,  chanting  concerts  in  the  woods  ; 
and  the  sun  was  double-gliding  the  golden  corn. 

And  we  came  to  a hill,  which  was  steep  and  long  of  de- 
scent ; and  the  car-boy  said,  “ My  lords,  I may  never  descend 
this  hill  with  safety  to  your  honors’  bones  : for  my  horse  is 
not  sure  of  foot,  and  loves  to  kneel  in  the  highway.  De- 
scend, therefore,  and  I will  await  your  return  here  on  the 
top  of  the  hill.” 

So  we  descended,  and  one  grumbled  greatly ; but  the 
other  said,  “ Sir,  be  of  good  heart ! the  way  is  pleasant,  and 
the  footman  will  not  weary  as  he  travels  it.”  And  we  went 
through  the  swinging  gates  of  a park,  where  the  harvest- 
men  sat  at  their  potatoes  — a mealy  meal. 

The  way  was  not  short,  as  the  companion  said,  but  still  it 
was  a pleasant  way  to  walk.  Green  stretches  of  grass  were 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


255 


there,  and  a forest  nigh  at  hand.  It  was  but  September  : 
yet  the  autumn  had  already  begun  to  turn  the  green  trees 
into  red ; and  the  ferns  that  were  waving  underneath  the 
trees  were  reddened  and  fading  too.  And  as  Dr.  J ones’s 
boys  on  Saturday  disport  in  the  meadows  after  school- 
hours,  so  did  the  little  clouds  run  races  over  the  waving 
grass.  And  as  grave  ushers  who  look  on  smiling  at  the 
sports  of  these  little  ones,  so  stood  the  old  trees  around  the 
green,  whispering  and  nodding  to  one  another. 

Purple  mountains  rose  before  us 
in  front,  and  we  began  presently  to 
hear  a noise  and  roaring  afar  off  — 
not  a fierce  roaring,  but  one  deep 
and  calm,  like  to  the  respiration  of 
the  great  sea,  as  he  lies  basking  on 
the  sands  in  the  sunshine. 

As  we  came  soon  to  a little  hil- 
lock of  green,  which  was  standing  Jj§g 
before  a huge  mountain  of  purple  Ssr"4  N 
black,  and  there  were  white  clouds 
over  the  mountains,  and  some  trees 
waving  on  the  hillock,  and  between 
the  trunks  of  them  we  saw  the 
waters  of  the  waterfall  descending ; 
and  there  was  a snob  on  a rock,  who  stood  and  examined 
the  same. 

Then  we  approached  the  water,  passing  the  clump  of  oak 
trees.  The  waters  were  white,  and  the  cliffs  which  they 
varnished  were  purple.  But  those  round  about  were  gray, 
tall,  and  gay  with  blue  shadows,  and  ferns,  heath,  and  rus- 
ty-colored funguses  sprouting  here  and  there  in  the  same. 
But  in  the  ravine  where  the  waters  fell,  roaring  as  it  were 
with  the  fall,  the  rocks  were  dark,  and  the  foam  of  the  cat- 
aract was  of  a yellow  color.  And  we  stood,  and  were  silent, 
and  wondered.  And  still  the  trees  continued  to  wave,  and 
the  waters  to  roar  and  tumble,  and  the  sun  to  shine,  and 
the  fresh  wind  to  blow. 

And  we  stood  and  looked  : and  said  in  our  hearts  it  was 
beautiful,  and  bethought  us  how  shall  all  this  be  set  down 
in  types  and  ink  ? (for  our  trade  is  to  write  books  and  sell 
the  same  — a chapter  for  a guinea,  a line  for  a penny)  ; and 
the  waterfall  roared  in  answer,  “ For  shame,  0 vain  man  ! 
think  not  of  thy  books  and  of  thy  pence  now ; but  look  on,  and 
wonder,  and  be  silent.  Can  types  or  ink  describe  my  beau- 


256 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


ty,  though  aided  by  thy  small  wit  ? I am  made  for  thee  to 
praise  and  wonder  at : be  content,  and  cherish  thy  wonder. 
It  is  enough  that  thou  hast  seen  a great  thing : is  it  needful 
that  thou  shouldst  prate  of  all  thou  hast  seen  ? ” 

So  we  came  away  silently,  and  walked  through  the  park 
without  looking  back.  And  there  was  a man  at  the  gate, 
who  opened  it  and  seemed  to  say,  “ Give  me  a little  six- 
pence.” But  we  gave  nothing,  and  walked  up  the  hill, 
which  was  sore  to  climb  ; and  on  the  summit  found  the  car- 
boy, who  was  lolling  on  his  cushions 
and  smoking,  as  happy  as  a lord. 

Quitting  the  waterfall  at  Powers- 
eourt  (the  grand  style  in  which  it 
has  been  described  was  adopted  in 
order  that  the  reader,  who  has  prob- 
ably read  other  descriptions  of  the 
spot,  might  have  at  least  something 
new  in  this  account  of  it),  we  speed- 
ily left  behind  us  the  rich  and  wooded  tract  of  coun- 
try about  Powerscourt,  and  came  to  a bleak  tract,  which, 
perhaps  by  way  of  contrast  with  so  much  natural  wealth, 
is  not  unpleasing,  and  began  ascending  what  is  very  prop- 
erly called  the  Long  Hill.  Here  you  see,  in  the  midst  of 
the  loneliness,  a grim-looking  barrack,  that  was  erected 
when,  after  the  Rebellion,  it  was  necessary  for  some 
time  to  occupy  this  most  rebellious  country  ; and  a church 
looking  equally  dismal,  a lean-looking  sham-Gothic  build- 
ing, in  the  midst  of  this  green  desert.  The  road  to  Luggala, 
whither  we  were  bound,  turns  off  the  Long  Hill,  up  anoth- 
er hill,  which  seems  still  longer  and  steeper,  inasmuch  as  it 
was  ascended  perforce  on  foot,  and  over  lonely  boggy  moor- 
lands, enlivened  by  a huge  gray  boulder  plumped  here  and 
there,  and  comes,  one  wonders  how,  to  the  spot.  Close  to 
this  hill  of  Slievebuck,  is  marked  in  the  maps  a district 
called  “ the  uninhabited  country,”  and  these  stones  proba- 
bly fell  at  a period  of  time  when  not  only  this  district,  but 
all  the  world  was  uninhabited, — and  in  some  convulsion  of 
the  neighboring  mountains  this  and  other  enormous  rocks 
were  cast  abroad. 

From  behind  one  of  them,  or  out  of  the  ground  somehow, 
as  we  went  up  the  hill,  sprang  little  ragged  guides,  who 
are  always  lurking  about  in  search  of  stray  pence  from 
tourists ; and  we  had  three  or  four  of  such  at  our  back  by 
the  time  we  were  at  the  top  of  the  hill.  Almost  the  first 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


257 


sight  we  saw  was  a smart  coach-and-four,  with  a loving 
wedding-party  within,  and  a genteel  valet  and  lady’s-maid 
without.  I wondered  had  they  been  burying  their  modest 
loves  in  the  uninhabited  district  ? But  presently,  from  the 
top  of  the  hill,  I saw  the  place  in  which  their  honeymoon 
had  been  passed : nor  could  any  pair  of  lovers,  nor  a pious 
hermit  bent  on  retirement  from  the  world,  have  selected  a 
more  sequestered  spot. 

Standing  by  a big  shining  granite  stone  on  the  hill-top, 
we  looked  immediately  down  upon  Lough  Tay  — a little 


round  lake  of  half  a mile  in  length,  which  lay  beneath  us 
as  black  as  a pool  of  ink  — a high,  crumbling,  white-sided 
mountain,  falling  abruptly  into  it  on  the  side  opposite  to  us, 
with  a huge  ruin  of  shattered  rocks  at  its  base.  North- 
wards, we  could  see  between  mountains  a portion  of  the 
neighboring  lake  of  Lough  Dan — which,  too,  was  dark, 
though  the  Annamoe  river,  which  connects  the  two  lakes, 
lay  coursing  through  the  greenest  possible  flats  and  shin- 
ing as  bright  as  silver.  Brilliant  green  shores,  too,  come 
gently  down  to  the  southern  side  of  Lough  Tay  ; through 
these  runs  another  river,  with  a small  rapid  or  fall,  which 
makes  a music  for  the  lake,  and  here,  amidst  beautiful 
VOL.  ii.  — 17 


258 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  HOOK . 


woods  lies  a villa,  where  the  four  horses,  the  groom  and 
valet,  the  postilions,  and  the  young  couple  had,  no  doubt, 
been  hiding  themselves. 

Hereabouts,  the  owner  of  the  villa,  Mr.  Latouche,  has  a 
great  grazing  establishment ; and  some  herd-boys,  no  doubt 
seeing  strangers  on  the  hill,  thought  proper  that  the  cattle 
should  stray  that  way,  that  they  might  drive  them  back 
again,  and  parenthetically  ask  the  travellers  for  money,  — 
everybody  asks  travellers  for  money,  as  it  seems.  Next 
day,  admiring  in  a laborer’s  arms  a little  child  — his  mas- 
ter’s son,  who  could  not  speak  — the  laborer,  his  he-nurse, 
spoke  for  him,  and  demanded  a little  sixpence  to  buy  the 
child  apples.  One  grows  not  a little  callous  to  this  sort  of 
beggary  : and  the  only  one  of  our  numerous  young  guides 
who  got  a reward  was  the  raggedest  of  them.  He  and  his 
companions  had  just  come  from  school,  he  said,  — not  a 
Government  school,  but  a private  one,  where  they  paid.  I 
asked  how  much,  — “Was  it  a penny  a week?”  “No; 
not  a penny  a week,  but  so  much  at  the  end  of  the  year.” 
“Was  it  a barrel  of  meal,  or  a few  stone  of  potatoes,  or 
something  of  that  sort  ? ” “ Yes ; something  of  that  sort.” 

The  something  must,  however,  have  been  a very  small 
something  on  the  poor  lad’s  part.  He  was  one  of  four 
young  ones,  who  lived  with  their  mother,  a widow.  He 
had  no  work ; he  could  get  no  work ; nobody  had  work . 
His  mother  had  a cabin  with  no  land  — not  a perch  of  land, 
no  potatoes  — nothing  but  the  cabin.  How  did  they  live  ? 
— the  mother  knitted  stockings.  I asked  had  she  any 
stockings  at  home?  — the  boy  said,  “No.”  How  did  he 
live?  — he  lived  how  he  could;  and  we  gave  him  three- 
pence, with  which,  in  delight,  he  went  bounding  off  to  the 
poor  mother.  Gracious  heavens ! what  a history  to  hear, 
told  by  a child  looking  quite  cheerful  as  he  told  it,  and  as 
if  the  story  was  quite  a common  one.  And  a common  one. 
too,  it  is  : and  God  forgive  us. 

Here  is  another,  and  of  a similar  low  kind,  but  rather 
pleasanter.  We  asked  the  car-boy  how  much  he  earned. 
He  said,  “ Seven  shillings  a week,  and  his  chances  ” — 
which  in  the  summer  season,  from  the  number  of  tourists 
who  are  jolted  in  his  car,  must  be  tolerably  good  — eight 
or  nine  shillings  a week  more,  probably.  But,  he  said,  in 
winter  his  master  did  not  hire  him  for  the  car  ; and  he  was 
obliged  to  look  for  work  elsewhere : as  for  saving,  he  never 
had  saved  a shilling  in  his  life. 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK . 


259 


We  asked  him  was  he  married  ? and  he  said,  No,  but  he 
was  as  good  as  married  ; for  he  had  an  old  mother  and  four 
little  brothers  to  keep,  and  six  mouths  to  feed,  and  to  dress 
himself  decent  to  drive  the  gentlemen.  Was  not  the  “ as 
good  as  married  ” a pretty  expression  ? and  might  not 
some  of  what  are  called  their  betters  learn  a little  good 
from  these  simple  poor  creatures  ? There’s  many  a young 
fellow  who  sets  up  in  the  world  would  think  it  rather  hard 
to  have  four  brothers  to  support ; and  I have  heard  more 
thin  one  genteel  Christian  pining  over  five  hundred  a year. 
A few  such  may  read  this,  perhaps : let  them  think  of  the 
Irish  widow  with  the  four  children  and  nothing , and  at 
least  be  more  contented  with  their  port  and  sherry  and 
their  leg  of  mutton. 

This  brings  us  at  once  to  the  subject  of  dinner  and  the 
little  village,  Roundwood,  which  was  reached  by  this  time, 
lying  a few  miles  off  from  the  lakes,  and  reached  by  a road 
not  particularly  remarkable  for  any  picturesqueness  in 
beauty;  though  you  pass  through  a simple,  pleasing  land- 
scape, always  agreeable  as  a repose,  I think,  after  viewing 
a sight  so  beautiful  as  those  mountain  lakes  we  have  just 
quitted.  All  the  hills  up  which  we  had  panted  had  im- 
parted a fierce  sensation  of  hunger ; and  it  was  nobly 
decreed  that  we  should  stop  in  the  middle  of  the  street 
of  Roundwood,  impartially  between  the  two  hotels,  and 
solemnly  decide  upon  a resting-place  after  having  in- 
spected the  larders  and  bedrooms  of  each. 

And  here,  as  an  impartial  writer,  I must  say  that  the 
hotel  of  Mr.  Wheatly  possesses  attractions  which  few  men 
can  resist,  in  the  shape  of  two  very  handsome  young- 
ladies  his  daughters ; whose  faces  were  they  but  painted 
on  his  signboard,  instead  of  the  mysterious  piece  which 
ornaments  it,  would  infallibly  draw  tourists  into  the  house, 
thereby  giving  the  opposition  inn  of  Murphy  not  the  least 
chance  of  custom. 

A landlord’s  daughters  in  England,  inhabiting  a little 
country  inn,  would  be  apt  to  lay  the  cloth  for  the  traveller, 
and  their  respected  father  would  bring  in  the  first  dish  of 
the  dinner ; but  this  arrangement  is  never  known  in  Ire- 
land ; we  scarcely  ever  see  the  cheering  countenance  of  my 
landlord.  And  as  for  the  young  ladies  of  Roundwood,  I 
am  bound  to  say  that  no  young  persons  in  Baker  Street 
could  be  more  genteel ; and  that  our  bill,  when  it  was 
brought  the  next  morning,  was  written  in  as  pretty  and 


260 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK . 


fashionable  a lady’s  hand  as  ever  was  formed  in  the  most 
elegant  finishing  school  at  Pimlico. 

Of  the  dozen  houses  of  the  little  village,  the  half  seem 
to  be  houses  of  entertainment.  A green  common  stretches 
before  these,  with  its  rural  accompaniments  of  geese,  pigs, 
and  idlers  ; a park  and  plantation  at  the  end  of  the  village, 
and  plenty  of  trees  round  about  it,  give  it  a happy,  com- 
fortable, English  look;  which  is,  to  my  notion,  the  best 
compliment  that  can  be  paid  to  a hamlet : for  where,  after 
all,  are  villages  so  pretty  ? 

Here,  rather  to  one’s  wonder  — for  the  district  was  not 
thickly  enough  populated  to  encourage  dramatic  exhibi- 
tions — a sort  of  theatre  was  erected  on  the  common,  a 
ragged  cloth  covering  the  spectators  and  the  actors,  and 
the  former  (if  there  were  any)  obtaining  admittance 
through  two  doors  on  the  stage  in  front,  marked  “pit 
& galery.”  Why  should  the  word  not  be  spelt  with 
one  l as  with  two  ? 

The  entrance  to  the  “ pit  ” was  stated  to  be  threepence, 
and  to  the  “ galery”  twopence.  We  heard  the  drums  and 
pipes  of  the  orchestra  as  we  sat  at  dinner : it  seemed  to  be 
a good  opportunity  to  examine  Irish  humor  of  a peculiar 
sort,  and  we  promised  ourselves  a pleasant  evening  in  the  pit. 

But  although  the  drums  began  to  beat  at  half-past  six, 
and  a crowd  of  young  people  formed  round  the  ladder  at 
that  hour,  to  whom  the  manager  of  the  troop  addressed  the 
most  vehement  invitations  to  enter,  nobody  seemed  to  be 
inclined  to  mount  the  steps : for  the  fact  most  likely  was, 
that  not  one  of  the  poor  fellows  possessed  the  requisite 
twopence  which  would  induce  the  fat  old  lady  who  sat  by 
it  to  fling  open  the  gallery  door.  At  one  time  I thought 
of  offering  a half-crown  for  a purchase  of  tickets  for 
twenty,  and  so  at  once  benefiting  the  manager  and  the 
crowd  of  ragged  urchins  who  stood  wistfully  without  his 
pavilion  ; but  it  seemed  ostentatious,  and  we  had  not  the 
courage  to  face  the  tall  man  in  the  great-coat  gesticulating 
and  shouting  in  front  of  the  stage,  and  make  the  proposi- 
tion. 

Why  not  ? It  would  have  given  the  company  potatoes 
at  least  for  supper,  and  made  a score  of  children  happy. 
They  would  have  seen  “ the  learned  pig  who  spells  your 
name,  the  feats  of  manly  activity,  the  wonderful  Italian 
vaulting  ” ; and  they  would  have  heard  the  comic  songs  by 
“your  humble  servant.” 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


261 


“ Your  humble  servant”  was  the  head  of  the  troop:  a 
long  man,  with  a broad  accent,  a yellow  top-coat,  and  a 
piteous  lean  face.  What  a speculation  was  this  poor  fel- 
low’s ! he  must  have  a company  of  at  least  a dozen  to 
keep.  There  were  three  girls  in  trousers,  who  danced  in 
front  of  the  stage,  in  Polish  caps,  tossing  their  arms  about 
to  the  tunes  of  three  musicianers ; there  was  a page,  two 
young  tragedy-actors,  and  a clown  ; there  was  the  fat  old 
woman  at  the  gallery-door  waiting  for  the  twopences ; 
there  was  the  Jack  Pudding ; and  it  was  evident  that  there 
must  have  been  some  one  within,  or  else  who  would  take 
care  of  the  learned  pig  ? 

The  poor  manager  stood  in  front,  and  shouted  to  the 
little  Irishry  beneath ; but  no  one  seemed  to  move.  Then 
he  brought  forward  Jack  Pudding,  and  had  a dialogue 
with  him  ; the  jocularity  of  which,  by  heavens  ! made  the 
heart  ache  to  hear.  We  had  determined,  at  least,  to  go  to 
the  play  before  that,  but  the  dialogue  was  too  much : we 
were  obliged  to  walk  away,  unable  to  face  that  dreadful 
Jack  Pudding,  and  heard  the  poor  manager  shouting  still 
for  many  hours  through  the  night,  and  the  drums  thump- 
ing vain  invitations  to  the  people.  0 unhappy  children  of 
the  Hibernian  Thespis  ! it  is  my  belief  that  they  must 
have  eaten  the  learned  pig  that  night  for  supper. 

It  was  Sunday  morning  when  we  left  the  little  inn  at 
Poundwood  : the  people  were  flocking  in  numbers  to  church, 
on  cars,  and  pillions,  neat,  comfortable,  and  well  dressed. 
We  saw  in  this  country  more  health,  more  beauty,  and 
more  shoes  than  I have  remarked  in  any  quarter.  That 
famous  resort  of  sightseers,  the  Devil’s  Glen,  lies  at  a few 
miles’  distance  from  the  little  village;  and,  having  gone 
on  the  car  as  near  to  the  spot  as  the  road  - permitted,  we 
made  across  the  fields  — boggy,  stony,  ill-tilled  fields  they 
were  — for  about  a mile,  at  the  end  of  which  walk  we 
found  ourselves  on  the  brow  of  the  ravine  that  has  received 
so  ugly  a name. 

Is  there  a legend  about  the  place  ? No  doubt  for  this, 
as  for  almost  every  other  natural  curiosity  in  Ireland, 
there  is  some  tale  of  monk,  saint,  fairy,  or  devil ; but  our 
guide  on  the  present  day  was  a barrister  from  Dublin,  who 
did  not  deal  in  fictions  by  any  means  so  romantic,  and  the 
history,  whatever  it  was,  remained  untold.  Perhaps  the 
little  breechesless  cicerone  who  offered  himself  would  have 
given  us  the  story,  but  we  dismissed  the  urchin  with  scorn, 


262 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK 


and  had  to  find  our  own  way  through  bush  and  bramble 
down  to  the  entrance  of  the  gully. 

Here  we  came  on  a cataract,  which  looks  very  big  in 
Messrs.  Curry’s  pretty  little  Guide-book  (that  every  travel- 
ler to  Wicklow  will  be  sure  to  have  in  his  pocket)  ; but  the 
waterfall,  on  this  shining  Sabbath  morning,  was  disposed  to 
labor  as  little  as  possible,  and  indeed  is  a spirit  of  a humble, 
ordinary  sort. 

But  there  is  a ravine  of  a mile  and  a half,  through  which 
a river  runs  roaring  (a  lady  who  keeps  the  gate  will  not 
object  to  receive  a gratuity)  — here  is  a ravine,  or  Devil’s 
glen,  which  forms  a delightful  wild  walk,  and  where  a 
Methuselah  of  a landscape-painter  might  find  studies  for  all 
his  life  long.  All  sorts  of  foliage  and  color,  all  sorts  of 
delightful  caprices  of  light  and  shadow  — the  river  tum- 
bling and  frothing  amidst  the  boulders  — “raucum  per 
laevia  murmur  saxa  ciens,”  and  a chorus  of  150,000  birds 
(there  might  be  more),  hopping,  twittering,  singing  under 
the  clear  cloudless  Sabbath  scene,  make  this  walk  one  of 
the  most  delightful  that  can  be  taken,  and  indeed  I hope 
there  is  no  harm  in  saying  that  you  may  get  as  much  out 
of  an  hour’s  walk  there  as  out  of  the  best  hour’s  extempore 
preaching.  But  this  was  as  a salvo  to  our  conscience  for 
not  being  at  church. 

Here,  however,  was  a long  aisle,  arched  gothically  over- 
head, in  a much  better  taste  than  is  seen  in  some  of  those 
dismal  new  churches  ; and,  by  way  of  painted  glass,  the  sun 
lighting  up  multitudes  of  various-colored  leaves,  and  the 
birds  for  choristers,  and  the  river  by  way  of  organ,  and  in 
it  stones  enough  to  make  a whole  library  of  sermons.  No 
man  can  walk  in  such  a place  without  feeling  grateful,  and 
grave,  and  humble ; and  without  thanking  heaven  for  it  as 
he  comes  away.  And,  walking  and  musing  in  this  free, 
happy  place,  one  could  not  help  thinking  of  a million  and  a 
half  of  brother  cockneys  shut  up  in  their  huge  prison  (the 
treadmill  for  the  day  being  idle),  and  told  by  some  legisla- 
tors that  relaxation  is  sinful,  that  works  of  art  are  abomi- 
nations except  on  week-days,  and  that  their  proper  place  of 
resort  is  a dingy  tabernacle,  where  a loud-voiced  man  is 
howling  about  hell-fire  in  bad  grammar.  Is  not  this  beau- 
tiful world,  too,  a part  of  our  religion  ? Yes,  truly,  in  what- 
ever way  my  Lord  John  Bussell  may  vote  ; and  it  is  to  be 
learned  without  having  recourse  to  any  professor  at  any 
Bethesda,  Ebenezer,  or  J erusalem  : there  can  be  no  mistake 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


263 


about  it ; no  terror,  no  bigoted  dealing  of  damnation  to  one's 
neighbor  : it  is  taught  without  false  emphasis  or  vain  spout- 
ing on  the  preacher’s  part  — how  should  there  be  such  with 
such  a preacher  ? 

This  wild  onslaught  upon  sermons  and  preachers  needs 
perhaps  an  explanation : for  which  purpose  we  must  whisk 
back  out  of  the  Devil’s  Glen  (improperly  so  named)  to  Dub- 
lin, and  to  this  day  week,  when,  at  this  very  time,  I heard 
one  of  the  first  preachers  of  the  city  deliver  a sermon  that 
lasted  for  an  hour  and  twenty  minutes  — time  enough  to 
walk  up  the  Glen  and  back,  and  remark  a thousand  delight- 
ful things  by  the  way. 

Mr.  G ’s  church  (though  there  would  be  no  harm  in 

mentioning  the  gentleman’s  name,  for  a more  conscientious 
and  excellent  man,  as  it  is  said,  cannot  be)  is  close  by  the 
Custom  House  in  Dublin,  and  crowded  morning  and  even- 
ing with  his  admirers.  The  service  was  beautifully  read  by 
him,  and  the  audience  joined  in  the  responses,  and  in  the 
psalms  and  hymns,*  with  a fervor  which  is  very  unusual 
in  England.  Then  came  the  sermon ; and  what  more  can 
be  said  of  it  than  that  it  was  extempore,  and  lasted  for  an 
hour  and  twenty  minutes  ? The  orator  never  failed  once 
for  a word,  so  amazing  is  his  practice : though,  as  a stranger 
to  this  kind  of  exercise,  I could  not  help  trembling  for  the 
performer,  as  one  has  for  Madame  Saqui  on  the  slack  rope, 
in  the  midst  of  a blaze  of  rockets  and  squibs,  expecting 
every  minute  she  must  go  over.  But  the  artist  was  too 
skilled  for  that ; and  after  some  tremendous  bound  of  a 
metaphor,  in  the  midst  of  which  you  expect  he  must  tumble 
neck  and  heels,  and  be  engulfed  in  the  dark  abyss  of  non- 
sense, down  he  was  sure  to  come,  in  a most  graceful  attitude 
too,  in  the  midst  of  a fluttering  “ Ah  ! ” from  a thousand 
wondering  people. 

But  I declare  solemnly  that  when  I came  to  try  and  re- 
collect of  what  the  exhibition  consisted,  and  give  an  ac- 

* Here  is  an  extract  from  one  of  the  latter  — 

“ Hasten  to  some  distant  isle, 

In  the  bosom  of  the  deep, 

Where  the  skies  forever  smile, 

And  the  blacks  forever  weep.” 

Is  it  not  a shame  that  such  nonsensical  false  twaddle  should  be 
sung  in  a house  of  the  Church  of  England,  and  by  people  assembled 
for  grave  and  decent  worship  ? 


2(>4 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK 


count  of  the  sermon  at  dinner  that  evening,  it  was  quite 
impossible  to  remember  a word  of  it ; although,  to  do  the  ora- 
tor justice,  he  repeated  many  of  his  opinions  a great  number 
of  times  over.  Thus,  if  he  had  to  discourse  of  death  to  us, 
it  was,  “ At  the  approach  of  the  Dark  Angel  of  the  Grave/’ 
“At  the  coming  of  the  grim  King  of  Terrors,”  “At  the 
warning  of  that  awful  Power  to  whom  all  of  us  must  bow 
down,”  “At  the  summons  of  that  Pallid  Spectre  whose 
equal  foot  knocks  at  the  monarch’s  tower  or  the  poor  man’s 
cabin”  — and  so  forth.  There  is  an  examiner  of  plays, 
and  indeed  there  ought  to  be  an  examiner  of  sermons,  by 
which  audiences  are  to  be  fully  as  much  injured  or  mis- 
guided as  by  the  other  named  exhibitions.  What  call  have 
reverend  gentlemen  to  repeat  their  dicta  half  a dozen  times 
over,  like  Sir  Robert  Peel  when  he  says  anything  that  he 
fancies  to  be  witty  ? Why  are  men  to  be  kept  for  an  hour 
and  twenty  minutes  listening  to  that  which  may  be  more 
effectually  said  in  twenty  ? 

And  it  need  not  be  said  here  that  a church  is  not  a ser- 
monhouse  — that  it  is  devoted  to  a purpose  much  more 
lofty  and  sacred,  for  which  has  been  set  apart  the  noblest* 
service,  every  single  word  of  which  latter  has  been  pre- 
viously weighed  with  the  most  scrupulous  and  thoughtful 
reverence.  And  after  this  sublime  work  of  genius,  learn- 
ing, and  piety  is  concluded,  is  it  not  a shame  that  a man 
should  mount  a desk,  who  has  not  taken  the  trouble  to 
arrange  his  words  beforehand,  and  speak  thence  his  crude 
opinions  in  his  doubtful  grammar?  It  will  be  answered 
that  the  extempore  preacher  does  not  deliver  crude  opin- 
ions, but  that  he  arranges  his  discourse  beforehand : to  all 

which  it  may  be  replied  that  Mr. contradicted  himself 

more  than  once  in  the  course  of  the  above  oration,  and  re- 
peated himself  a half-dozen  of  times.  A man  in  that  place 
has  no  right  to  say  a word  too  much  or  too  little. 

And  it  comes  to  this,  — it  is  the  preacher  the  people  fol- 
low, not  the  prayers  ; or  why  is  this  church  more  frequented 
than  any  other  ? It  is  that  warm  emphasis,  and  word- 
mouthing,  and  vulgar  imagery,  and  glib  rotundity  of  phrase, 
which  brings  them  together  and  keeps  them  happy  and 
breathless.  Some  of  this  class  call  the  Cathedral  Service 
Paddy’s  Opera  ; they  say  it  is  Popish  — downright  scarlet 
— they  won’t  go  to  it.  They  will  have  none  but  their  own 
hymns  — and  pretty  they  are  — no  ornaments  but  those  of 
their  own  minister,  his  rank  incense  and  tawdry  rhetoric. 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


265 


Coining  out  of  the  church,  on  the  Custom-House  steps 
hard  by,  there  was  a fellow  with  a bald  large  forehead,  a 
new  black  coat,  a little  Bible,  spouting  — spouting  “ in 
omne  volubilis  sevuin  ’’  — the  very  counterpart  of  the  rev- 
erend gentleman  hard  by.  It  was  just  the  same  thing, 
just  as  well  done  : the  eloquence  quite  as  easy  and  round, 
the  amplifications  as  ready,  the  big  words  rolling  round 
the  tongue  just  as  within  doors.  But  we  are  out  of  the 
Devil’s  Grlen  by  this  time;  and  perhaps,  instead  of  deliver- 
ing a sermon  there,  we  had  better  have  been  at  church 
hearing  one. 

The  country  people,  however,  are  far  more  pious;  and 
the  road  along  which  we  went  to  Grlendalough  was  thronged 
with  happy  figures  of  people  plodding  to  or  from  mass. 
A chapel  yard  was  covered  with  gray  cloaks ; and  at  a lit- 
tle inn  hard  by,  stood  numerous  carts,  cars,  shandrydans, 
and  pillioned  horses,  awaiting  the  end  of  the  prayers.  The 
aspect  of  the  country  is  wild,  and  beautiful  of  course ; but 
why  try  to  describe  it  ? I think  the  Irish  scenery  just  like 
the  Irish  melodies  — sweet,  wild,  and  sad  even  in  the  sun- 
shine. You  can  neither  represent  one  nor  the  other  by 
words  ; but  I am  sure  if  one  could  translate  “ The  Meeting 
of  the  Waters  ” into  form  and  colors,  it  would  fall  into  the 
exact  shape  of  a tender  Irish  landscape.  So  take  and  play 
that  tune  upon  your  fiddle,  and  shut  your  eyes,  and  muse  a 
little,  and  you  have  the  whole  scene  before  you. 

I don’t  know  if  there  is  any  tune  about  Glendalough ; but 
if  there  be,  it  must  be  the  most  delicate,  fantastic,  fairy 
melody  that  ever  was  played.  Only  fancy  can  describe  the 
charms  of  that  delightful  place.  Directly  you  see  it,  it 
smiles  at  you  as  innocent  and  friendly  as  a little  child ; 
and  once  seen,  it  becomes  your  friend  forever,  and  you  are 
always  happy  when  you  think  of  it.  Here  is  a little  lake, 
and  little  fords  across  it,  surrounded  by  little  mountains, 
and  which  lead  you  now  to  little  islands  where  there  are 
all  sorts  of  fantastic  little  old  chapels  and  grave-yards  ; or 
again,  into  little  brakes  and  shrubberies  where  small  rivers 
are  crossing  over  little  rocks,  plashing  and  jumping,  and 
singing  as  loud  as  ever  they  can.  Thomas  Moore  has 
written  rather  an  awful  description  of  it ; and  it  may  indeed 
appear  big  to  him , and  to  the  fairies  who  must  have  inhab- 
ited the  place  in  old  days,  that’s  clear.  For  who  could  be 
accommodated  in  it  except  the  little  people  ? 

There  are  seven  churches,  whereof  the  clergy  must  have 


266 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


been  the  smallest  persons,  and  have  had  the  smallest  bene- 
fices and  the  littlest  congregations  ever  known.  As  for 
the  cathedral,  what  a bishoplet  it  must  have  been  that  pre- 
sided there.  The  place  would  hardly  hold  the  Bishop  of 
London,  or  Mr.  Sydney  Smith  — two  full-sized  clergymen 
of  these  days  — who  would  be  sure  to  quarrel  there  for 
want  of  room,  or  for  any  other  reason.  There  must  have 
been  a dean  no  bigger  than  Mr.  Moore  before  mentioned, 
and  a chapter  no  bigger  than  that  chapter  in  “ Tristram 
Shandy  ” which  does  not  contain  a single  word,  and  mere 
popguns  of  canons,  and  a beadle  about  as  tall  as  Crofton 
Choker,  to  whip  the  little  boys  who  were  playing  at  taw 
(with  peas)  in  the  yard. 

They  say  there  was  a university,  too,  in  the  place,  with 
I don’t  know  how  many  thousand  scholars  ; but  for  accounts 
of  this  there  is  an  excellent  guide  on  the  spot,  who,  for  a 
shilling  or  two,  will  tell  all  he  knows,  and  a great  deal 
more  too. 

There  are  numerous  legends,  too,  concerning  St.  Kevin, 
and  Fin  MacCoul  and  the  Devil,  and  the  deuce  knows  what. 
But  these  stories  are,  I am  bound  to  say,  abominably  stupid 
and  stale  ; and  some  guide  * ought  to  be  seized  upon  and 
choked,  and  flung  into  the  lake,  by  way  of  warning  to  the 
others  to  stop  their  interminable  prate.  This  is  the  curse 
attending  curiosity,  for  visitors  to  almost  all  the  show- 
places  in  the  country  : you  have  not  only  the  guide  — who 
himself  talks  too  much  — but  a string  of  ragged  amateurs, 
starting  from  bush  and  briar,  ready  to  carry  his  honor’s 
umbrella  or  my  lady’s  cloak,  or  to  help  either  up  a bank  or 
across  a stream.  And  all  the  while  they  look  wistfully  in 
your  face,  saying,  “ Give  me  sixpence ! ” as  clear  as  looks 
can  speak.  The  unconscionable  rogues  ! how  dare  they, 
for  the  sake  of  a little  starvation  or  so,  interrupt  gentle- 
folks in  their  pleasure ! 

A long  tract  of  wild  country,  with  a park  or  two  here  and 
there,  a police-barrack  perched  on  a hill,  a half-starved- 
looking  church  stretching  its  long  scraggy  steeple  over  a 
wide  plain,  mountains  whose  base  is  richly  cultivated  while 
their  tops  are  purple  and  lonely,  warm  cottages  and  farms 

* It  must  be  said,  for  the  worthy  fellow  who  accompanied  us,  and 
who  acted  as  cicerone  previously  to  the  great  Willis,  the  great  Hall, 
the  great  Barrow,  that  though  he  wears  a ragged  coat  his  manners  are 
those  of  a gentleman,  and  his  conversation  evinces  no  small  talent, 
taste,  and  scholarship. 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK . 


267 


nestling  at  the  foot  of  the  hills,  and  humble  cabins  here  and 
there  on  the  wayside,  accompany  the  car,  that  jingles  back 
over  fifteen  miles  of  ground  through  Inniskerry  to  Bray. 
You  pass  by  wild  gaps  and  Greater  and  Lesser  Sugar 
Loaves  ; and  about  eight  o’clock,  when  the  sky  is  quite  red 
with  sunset,  and  the  long  shadows  are  of  such  a purple  as 
(they  may  say  what  they  like)  Claude  could  no  more  paint 
than  I can,  you  catch  a glimpse  of  the  sea  beyond  Bray, 
and  crying  out,  “ Gdliutia,  dulana  J ” affect  to  be  wondrously 
delighted  by  the  sight  of  that  element. 

The  fact  is,  however,  that  at  Bray  is  one  of  the  best  inns 
in  Ireland ; and  there  you  may  be  perfectly  sure  is  a good 
dinner  ready,  five  minutes  after  the  honest  car-boy,  with 
innumerable  hurroos  and  smacks  of  his  wrhip,  has  brought 
up  his  passengers  to  the  door  with  a gallop. 

As  for  the  Vale  of  Avoca,  I have  not  described  that : be- 
cause (as  has  been  before  occasionally  remarked)  it  is  vain 
to  attempt  to  describe  natural  beauties ; and  because,  sec- 
ondly (though  this  is  a minor  consideration),  we  did  not  go 
thither.  But  we  went  on  another  day  to  the  Dargle,  and 
to  Shanganah,  and  the  city  of  Cabinteely,  and  to  the  Scalp 
— that  wild  pass : and  I have  no  more  to  say  about  them 
than  about  the  Vale  of  Avoca.  The  Dublin  Cockney,  who 
has  these  places  at  his  door,  knows  them  quite  well ; and 
as  for  the  Londoner,  who  is  meditating  a trip  to  the  Rhine 
for  the  summer,  or  to  Brittany  or  Normandy,  let  us  beseech 
him  to  see  his  own  country  first  (if  Lord  Lyndhurst  will 
allow  us  to  call  this  a part  of  it)  ; and  if  after  twenty-four 
hours  of  an  easy  journey  from  London,  the  Cockney  be  not 
placed  in  the  midst  of  a country  as  beautiful,  as  strange  to 
him,  as  romantic  as  the  most  imaginative  man  on  ’Change 
can  desire,  — may  this  work  be  praised  by  the  critics  all 
round  and  never  reach  a second  edition  ! 


CHAPTER  XXY. 


COUNTRY  MEETINGS  IN  KILDARE MEATH DROGHEDA. 

'T  agricultural  show  was 
to  be  held  at  the  town  of 
Naas,  and  I was  glad, 
after  having  seen  the 
grand  exhibition  at  Cork, 
to  be  present  at  a more 
homely,  un  pretending 
country  festival,  where 
the  eyes  of  Europe,  as 
the  orators  say,  did  not 
happen  to  be  looking  on. 
Perhaps  men  are  apt, 
under  the  idea  of  this 
sort  of  inspection,  to  as- 
sume an  air  somewhat 
more  pompous  and  magnificent  than  that  which  they  wear 
every  day.  The  Xaas  meeting  was  conducted  without  the 
slightest  attempt  at  splendor  or  display — a hearty,  modest, 
matter-of-fact  country  meeting. 

Market-day  was  fixed  upon,  of  course,  and  the  town,  as 
we  drove  into  it,  was  thronged  with  frieze-coats,  the 

market-place  bright  with  a great  number  of  apple-stalls, 
and  the  street  filled  with  carts  and  vans  of  numerous 
small  tradesmen,  vending  cheeses,  or  cheap  crockeries,  or 
ready-made  clothes  and  such  goods.  A clothier,  with  a 
great  crowd  round  him,  had  arrayed  himself  in  a staring 
new  waistcoat  of  his  stock,  and  was  turning  slowly  round 
to  exhibit  the  garment,  spouting  all  the  while  to  his 
audience,  and  informing  them  that  he  could  fit  out  any 
person,  in  one  minute,  “in  a complete  new  shuit  from 
head  to  fut.”  There  seemed  to  be  a crowd  of  gossips  at 
lever y shop  door,  and,  of  course,  a number  of  gentlemen 
waiting  at  the  inn-steps,  criticising  the  cars  and  carriages 
as  they  drove  up.  Only  those  who  live  in  small  towns 

268 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


269 


know  what  an  object  of  interest  the  street  becomes, 
and  the  carriages  and  horses  which  pass  therein.  Most 
of  the  gentlemen  had  sent  stock  to  compete  for  the  prizes. 
The  shepherds  were  tending  the  stock.  The  judges  were 
making  their  award,  and  until  their  sentence  was  given, 
no  competitors  could  enter  the  showyard.  The  entrance 
to  that,  meanwhile,  was  thronged  by  a great  posse  of 
people,  and  as  the  gate  abutted  upon  an  old  gray  tower, 
a number  of  people  had  scaled  that,  and  were  looking  at 
the  beasts  in  the  court  below.  Likewise,  there  was  a tall 


haystack,  which  possessed  similar  advantages  of  situa- 
tion, and  was  equally  thronged  with  men  and  boys.  The 
rain  had  fallen  heavily  all  night,  the  heavens  were  still 
black  with  it,  and  the  coats  of  the  men,  and  the  red 
feet  of  many  ragged  female  spectators,  were  liberally 
spattered  with  mud. 

The  first  object  of  interest  we  were  called  upon  to  see 
was  a famous  stallion ; and  passing  through  the  little  by- 
streets (dirty  and  small,  but  not  so  small  and  dirty  as 
other  by-streets  to  be  seen  in  Irish  towns),  we  came  to  a 
porte-cochere,  leading  into  a yard  filled  with  wet  fresh  hay, 
sinking  juicily  under  the  feet:  and  here  in  a shed  was  the 


270 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


famous  stallion.  His  sire  must  have  been  a French  dili- 
gence horse  ; he  was  of  a roan  color,  with  a broad  chest, 
and  short,  clean  legs.  His  forehead  was  ornamented  with 
a blue  ribbon,  on  which  his  name  and  prizes  were  painted, 
and  on  his  chest  hung  a couple  of  medals  by  a chain  — a 
silver  one  awarded  to  him  at  Cork,  a gold  one  carried  off 
by  superior  merit  from  other  stallions  assembled  to  con- 
tend at  Dublin.  When  the  points  of  the  animal  were 
sufficiently  discussed,  a mare,  his  sister,  was  produced, 
and  admired  still  more  than  himself.  Any  man  who  has 
witnessed  the  performance  of  the  French  horses  in  the 
Havre  diligence  must  admire  the  vast  strength  and  ex- 
traordinary swiftness  of  the  breed;  and  it  was  agreed  on 
all  hands,  that  such  horses  would  prove  valuable  in 
this  country,  where  it  is  hard  now  to  get  a stout  horse 
for  the  road,  so  much  has  the  fashion  for  blood,  and 
nothing  but  blood,  prevailed  of  late. 

By  the  time  the  stallion  was  seen,  the  judges  had  done 
their  arbitration ; and  we  went  to  the  yard,  where  broad- 
backed  sheep  were  resting  peaceably  in  their  pens ; bulls 
were  led  about  by  the  nose ; enormous  turnips,  both 
Swedes  and  Aberdeens,  reposed  in  the  mud;  little  cribs 
of  geese,  hens,  and  peafowl  were  come  to  try  for  the 
prize  ; and  pigs  might  be  seen  — some  encumbered  with 
enormous  families,  others  with  fat  merely.  They  poked 
up  one  brute  to  walk  for  us  : he  made,  after  many  futile 
attempts,  a desperate  rush  forward,  his  leg  almost  lost 
in  fat,  his  immense  sides  quivering  and  shaking  with 
the  exercise ; he  was  then  allowed  to  return  to  his  straw, 
into  which  lie  sank  panting.  Let  us  hope  that  he  went 
home  with  a pink  ribbon  round  his  tail  that  night,  and  got 
a prize  for  his  obesity. 

I think  the  pink  ribbon  was,  at  least  to  a Cockney,  the 
pleasantest  sight  of  all : for  on  the  evening  after  the  show 
we  saw  many  carts  going  away  so  adorned,  having  carried 
off  prizes  on  the  occasion.  First  came  a great  bull  stepping 
along,  he  and  his  driver  having  each  a bit  of  pink  on  their 
heads ; then  a cart  full  of  sheep ; then  a car  of  good-natured- 
looking  people,  having  a churn  in  the  midst  of  them  that 
sported  a pink  favor.  When  all  the  prizes  were  distributed, 
a select  company  sat  down  to  dinner  at  Macavoy’s  Hotel ; 
and  no  doubt  a reporter  who  was  present  has  given  in  the 
county  paper  an  account  of  all  the  good  things  eaten  and 
said.  At  our  end  of  the  table  we  had  saddle-of-mutton,  and 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


271 


I remarked  a boiled  leg  of  the  same  delicacy,  with  turnips, 
at  the  opposite  extremity.  Before  the  vice  T observed  a 
large  piece  of  roast-beef,  which  I could  not  observe  at  the 
end  of  dinner,  because  it  was  all  swallowed.  After  the 
mutton  we  had  cheese,  and  were  just  beginning  to  think 
that  we  had  dined  very  sufficiently,  when  a squadron 
of  apple-pies  came  smoking  in  and  convinced  us  that,  in 
such  a glorious  cause,  Britons  are  never  at  fault.  We  ate 
up  the  apple-pies,  and  then  the  punch  was  called  for  by 
those  who  preferred  that  beverage  to  wine,  and  the  speeches 
began. 

The  chairman  gave  “The  Queen,”  nine  times  nine  and 
one  cheer  more  ; “ Prince  Albert  and  the  rest  of  the  Royal 
Family,- ” great  cheering  ; “ The  Lord-Lieutenant  ” — his 
Excellency’s  health  was  received  rather  coolly,  I thought. 
And  then  began  the  real  business  of  the  night : health  of 
the  Kaas  Society,  health  of  the  Agricultural  Society,  and 
healths  all  round  ; not  forgetting  the  Sallymount  Beagles, 
and  the  Kildare  Foxhounds — which  toasts  were  received 
with  loud  cheers  and  halloos  by  most  of  the  gentlemen 
present,  and  elicited  brief  speeches  from  the  masters  of  the 
respective  hounds,  promising  good  sport  next  season.  After 
the  Kildare  Foxhounds,  an  old  farmer  in  a gray  coat  got 
gravely  up,  and  without  being  requested  to  do  so  in  the 
least,  sang  a song,  stating  that 

“ At  seven  in  the  morning  by  most  of  the  clocks 
We  rode  to  Kilruddery  in  search  of  a fox  ; ” 

and  at  the  conclusion  of  his  song  challenged  a friend  to 
give  another  song.  Another  old  farmer,  on  this,  rose  and 
sang  one  of  Morris’s  songs  with  a great  deal  of  queer 
humor ; and  no  doubt  many  more  songs  were  sung  during 
the  evening,  for  plenty  of  hot-water  jugs  were  blocking  the 
door  as  we  went  out. 

The  jolly  frieze-coated  songster  who  celebrated  the  Kil- 
ruddery fox,  sang,  it  must  be  confessed,  most  wofully  out  of 
tune  ; but  still  it  was  pleasant  to  hear  him,  and  I think  the 
meeting  was  the  most  agreeable  one  I have  seen  in  Ireland  : 
there  was  more  good-humor,  more  cordial  union  of  classes, 
more  frankness  and  manliness,  than  one  is  accustomed  to 
find  in  Irish  meetings.  All  the  speeches  were  kind-hearted, 
straightforward  speeches,  without  a word  of  politics  or  an 
attempt  at  oratory : it  was  impossible  to  say  whether  the 
gentlemen  present  were  Protestant  or  Catholic,  — each  one 


272 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK . 


had  a hearty  word  of  encouragement  for  his  tenant,  and  a 
kind  welcome  for  his  neighbor.  There  were  forty  stout, 
well-to-do  farmers  in  the  room,  renters  of  hfty,  seventy,  a 
hundred  acres  of  land.  There  were  no  clergymen  present ; 
though  it  would  have  been  pleasant  to  have  seen  one 
of  each  persuasion  to  say  grace  for  the  meeting  and  the 
meat. 

At  a similar  meeting  at  Ballytore  the  next  day,  I had  an 
opportunity  of  seeing  a still  finer  collection  of  stock  than 
had  been  brought  to  Naas,  and  at  the  same  time  one  of  the 
most  beautiful  flourishing  villages  in  Ireland.  The  road  to 

it  from  H town,  if  not  remarkable  for  its  rural  beauty, 

is  pleasant  to  travel,  for  evidences  of  neat  and  prosperous 
husbandry  are  around  you  everywhere  : rich  crops  in  the 
fields  and  neat  cottages  by  the  roadside,  accompanying  us 
as  far  as  Ballytore  — a white,  straggling  village,  surround- 
ing green  fields  of  some  five  furlongs  square,  with  a river 
running  in  the  midst  of  them,  and  numerous  fine  cattle  in 
the  green.  Here  is  a large  wind-mill,  fitted  up  like  a castle, 
with  battlements  and  towers  : the  castellan  thereof  is  a 
good-natured  old  Quaker  gentleman,  and  numbers  more  of 
his  following  inhabit  the  town. 

The  consequence  was  that  the  shops  of  the  village  were 
the  neatest  possible,  though  by  no  means  grand  or  porten- 
tous. Why  should  Quaker  shops  be  neater  than  other  shops  ? 
They  suffer  to  the  full  as  much  oppression  as  the  rest  of  the 
hereditary  bondsmen  ; and  yet,  in  spite  of  their  tyrants, 
they  prosper. 

I must  not  attempt  to  pass  an  opinion  upon  the  stock 
exhibited  at  Ballytore  ; but  in  the  opinion  of  some  large 
agricultural  proprietors  present,  it  might  have  figured  with 
advantage  in  any  show  in  England,  and  certainly  was  finer 
than  the  exhibition  at  Naas  ; which,  however,  is  a very 
young  society.  The  best  part  of  the  show,  however,  to 
everybody’s  thinking  (and  it  is  pleasant  to  observe  the 
manly  fair-play  spirit  which  characterizes  the  society),  was, 
that  the  prizes  of  the  Irish  Agricultural  Society  were 
awarded  to  two  men  — one  a laborer,  the  other  a very  small 
holder,  both  having  reared  the  best  stock  exhibited  on  the 
occasion.  At  the  dinner,  which  took  place  in  a barn  of  the 
inn,  smartly  decorated  with  laurels  for  the  purpose,  there 
was  as  good  and  stout  a body  of  yeoman  as  at  Naas  the  day 
previous,  but  only  two  landlords ; and  here,  too,  as  at  Naas, 
neither  priest  nor  parson.  Cattle-feeding  of  course  formed 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK . 


273 


the  principal  theme  of  the  after-dinner  discourse  — not, 
however,  altogether  to  the  exclusion  of  tillage ; and  there 
was  a good  and  useful  prize  for  those  who  could  not  afford 
to  rear  fat  oxen  — for  the  best  kept  cottage  and  garden, 
namely  — which  was  won  by  a poor  man  with  a large  family 
and  scanty  precarious  earnings,  but  who  yet  found  means  to 
make  the  most  of  his  small  resources  and  to  keep  his  little 
cottage  neat  and  cleanly.  The  tariff  and  the  plentiful  har- 
vest together  had  helped  to  bring  down  prices  severely  ; 
and  we  heard  from  the  farmers  much  desponding  talk. 
I saw  hay  sold  for  21.  the  ton,  and  oats  for  8s.  3d.  the 
barrel. 

In  the  little  village  I remarked  scarcely  a single  beggar, 
and  very  few  bare  feet  indeed  among  the  crowds  who  came 
to  see  the  show.  Here  the  Quaker  village  had  the  advan- 
tage of  the  town  of  Naas,  in  spite  of  its  poor-house,  which 
was  only  half  full  when  we  went  to  see  it ; but  the  people 
prefer  beggary  and  starvation  abroad  to  comfort  and  neat- 
ness in  the  union-house. 

A neater  establishment  cannot  be  seen  than  this : and 
liberty  must  be  very  sweet  indeed,  when  people  prefer  it 
and  starvation  to  the  certainty  of  comfort  in  the  union- 
house.  We  went  to  see  it  after  the  show  at  Naas. 

The  first  persons  we  saw  at  the  gate  of  the  place  were 
four  buxom  lasses  in  blue  jackets  and  petticoats,  who  were 
giggling  and  laughing  as  gayly  as  so  many  young  heiresses 
of  a thousand  a year,  and  who  had  a color  in  their  cheeks 
that  any  lady  of  Almack’s  might  envy.  They  were  clean- 
ing pails  and  carrying  in  water  from  a green  court  or  play- 
ground in  front  of  the  house,  which  some  of  the  able-bodied 
men  of  the  place  were  busy  in  inclosing.  Passing  through 
the  large  entrance  of  the  house,  a nondescript  Gothic 
building,  we  came  to  a court  divided  by  a road  and  two  low 
walls : the  right  inclosure  is  devoted  to  the  boys  of  the  es- 
tablishment, of  whom  there  were  about  fifty  at  play : boys 
more  healthy  or  happy  it  is  impossible  to  see.  Separated 
from  them  is  the  nursery ; and  here  were  seventy  or  eighty 
young  children,  a shrill  clack  of  happy  voices  leading  the 
way  to  the  door  where  they  were  to  be  found.  Boys  and 
children  had  a comfortable  little  uniform,  and  shoes  were 
furnished  for  all ; though  the  authorities  did  not  seem  par- 
ticularly severe  in  enforcing  the  wearing  of  the  shoes,  which 
most  of  the  young  persons  left  behind  them. 

In  spite  of  all  The  Times’s  in  the  world,  the  place  was  a 

VOL.  II.  — is 


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THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


happy  one.  It  is  kept  with  a neatness  and  comfort  to 
which,  until  his  entrance  into  the  union-house,  the  Irish 
peasant  must  perforce  have  been  a stranger.  All  the  rooms 
and  passages  are  white,  well  scoured,  and  airy ; all  the  win- 
dows are  glazed ; all  the  beds  have  a good  store  of  blankets 
and  sheets.  In  the  women’s  dormitories  there  lay  several 
infirm  persons,  not  ill  enough  for  the  infirmary,  and  glad  of 
the  society  of  the  common  room : in  one  of  the  men’s  sleep- 
ing rooms  we  found  a score  of  old  gray-coated  men  sitting 
round  another  who  was  reading  prayers  to  them.  And  out- 
side the  place  we  found  a woman  starving  in  rags,  as  she 
had  been  ragged  and  starving  for  years : her  husband  was 
wounded,  and  lay  in  his  house  upon  straw;  her  children 
were  ill  with  a fever ; she  had  neither  meat,  nor  physic,  nor 
clothing,  nor  fresh  air,  nor  warmth  for  them ; — and  she 
preferred  to  starve  on  rather  than  enter  the  house  ! 

The  last  of  our  agricultural  excursions  was  to  the  fair  of 
Castledermot,  celebrated  for  the  show  of  cattle  to  be  seen 
there,  and  attended  by  the  farmers  and  gentry  of  the  neigh- 
boring counties.  Long  before  reaching  the  place  we  met 
troops  of  cattle  coming  from  it  — stock  of  a beautiful  kind, 
for  the  most  part  large,  sleek,  white,  long-backed,  most  of 
the  larger  animals  being  bound  for  England.  There  was 
very  near  as  fine  a show  in  the  pastures  along  the  road  — 
which  lies  across  a light  green  country  with  plenty  of  trees 
to  ornament  the  landscape,  and  some  neat  cottages  along 
the  roadside. 

At  the  turnpike  of  Castledermot,  the  droves  of  cattle  met 
us  by  scores  no  longer,  but  by  hundreds,  and  the  long  street 
of  the  place  was  thronged  with  oxen,  sheep,  and  horses,  and 
with  those  who  wished  to  see,  to  sell,  or  to  buy.  The 
squires  were  all  together  in  a cluster  at  the  police-house ; 
the  owners  of  the  horses  rode  up  and  down,  showing  the 
best  paces  of  their  brutes : among  whom  you  might  see 
Paddy,  in  his  ragged  frieze-coat,  seated  on  his  donkey’s  bare 
rump,  and  proposing  him  for  sale.  I think  I saw  a score  of 
this  humble  though  useful  breed  that  were  brought  for  sale 
to  the  fair.  “ I can  sell  him,”  says  one  fellow,  • with  a 
pompous  air,  “wid  his  tackle  or  widout.”  He  was  looking 
as  grave  over  the  negotiation  as  if  it  had  been  for  a thou- 
sand pounds.  Besides  the  donkeys,  of  course  there  was 
plenty  of  poultry,  and  there  were  pigs  without  number, 
shrieking  and  struggling  and  pushing  hither  and  thither 
among  the  crowd,  rebellious  to  the  straw-rope.  It  was  a 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


275 


fine  tiling  to  see  one  huge  grunter  and  the  manner  in  which 
he  was  landed  into  a cart.  The  cart  was  let  down  on  an 
easy  inclined  plane  to  tempt  him : two  men  ascending, 
urged  him  by  the  forelegs*  other  two  entreated  him  by  the 
tail.  At  length,  when  more  than  half  of  his  body  had  been 
coaxed  upon  the  cart,  it  was  suddenly  whisked  up,  causing 
the  animal  thereby  to  fall  forward;  a parting  shove  sent 
him  altogether  into  the  cart;  the  two  gentlemen  inside 
jumped  out,  and  the  monster  was  left  to  ride  home. 

The  farmers,  as  usual,  were  talking  of  the  tariff,  predict- 
ing-ruin  to  themselves,  as  farmers  will,  on  account  of  the 
decreasing  price  of  stock  and  the  consequent  fall  of  grain. 
Perhaps  the  person  most  to  be  pitied  is  the  poor  pig- 
proprietor  yonder : it  is  his  rent  which  he  is  carrying 
through  the  market  squeaking  at  the  end  of  the  straw-rope, 
and  Sir  Robert’s  bill  adds  insolvency  to  that  poor  fellow’s 
misery. 

This  was  the  last  of  the  sights  which  the  kind  owner  of 

H town  had  invited  me  into  his  country  to  see  ; and  I 

think  they  were  among  the  most  pleasing  I witnessed  in 
Ireland.  Rich  and  poor  were  working  friendlily  together ; 
priest  and  parson  were  alike  interested  in  these  honest, 
homely,  agricultural  festivals ; not  a word  was  said  about 
hereditary  bondage  and  English  tyranny ; and  one  did  not 
much  regret  the  absence  of  those  patriotic  topics  of  conver- 
sation. If  but  for  the  sake  of  the  change,  it  was  pleasant 
to  pass  a few  days  with  people  among  whom  there  was  no 
quarrelling:  no  furious  denunciations  against  Popery  on 
the  part  of  the  Protestants,  and  no  tirades  against  the  par- 
sons from  their  bitter  and  scornful  opponents  of  the  other 
creed. 

Next  Sunday,  in  the  county  Meath,  in  a quiet  old  church 
lying  amongst  meadows  and  fine  old  stately  avenues  of 
trees,  and  for  the  benefit  of  a congregation  of  some  thirty 
persons,  I heard  for  the  space  of  an  hour  and  twenty  min- 
utes some  thorough  Protestant  doctrine,  and  the  Popish 
superstitions  properly  belabored.  Does  it  strengthen  a man 
in  his  own  creed  to  hear  his  neighbor’s  belief  abused  ? One 
would  imagine  so:  for  though  abuse  converts  nobody,  yet 
many  of  our  pastors  think  they  are  not  doing  their  duty  by 
their  own  fold  unless  they  fling  stones  at  the  flock  in  the 
next  field,  and  have,  for  the  honor  of  the  service,  a match 
at  cudgelling  with  the  shepherd.  Our  shepherd  to-day  was 
of  this  pugnacious  sort. 


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The  Meath  landscape,  if  not  varied  and  picturesque,  is 
extremely  rich  and  pleasant;  and  we  took  some  drives 
along  the  banks  of  the  Boyne  — to  the  noble  park  of  Slane 
(still  sacred  to  the  memory  of  George  IV.,  who  actually 
condescended  to  pass  some  days  there),  and  to  Trim  — of 
which  the  name  occurs  so  often  in  Swift’s  Journals,  and 
where  stands  an  enormous  old  castle  that  was  inhabited  by 
Prince  John.  It  was  taken  from  him  by  an  Irish  chief,  our 
guide  said;  and  from  the  Irish  chief  it  was  taken  by  Oliver 
Cromwell.  O’Thuselah  was  the  Irish  chief’s  name  no  doubt. 

Here  too  stands,  in  the  midst  of  one  of  the  most  wretched 
towns  in  Ireland,  a pillar  erected  in  honor  of  the  l)uke  of 
Wellington  by  the  gentry  of  his  native  county.  His  birth- 
place, Dangan,  lies  not  far  oft*.  And  as  we  saw  the  hero’s 
statue,  a flight  of  birds  had  hovered  about  it : there  was  one 
on  each  epaulette  and  two  on  his  marshal’s  staff.  Besides 
these  wonders,  we  saw  a certain  number  of  beggars;  and  a 
madman,  who  was  walking  round  a mound  and  preaching  a 
sermon  on  grace ; and  a little  child’s  funeral  came  passing 
through  the  dismal  town,  the  only  stirring  thing  in  it  (the 
coffin  was  laid  on  a one-horse  country  car  — a little  deal  box, 
in  which  the  poor  child  lay  — and  a great  troop  of  people 
followed  the  humble  procession)  ; and  the  inn-keeper,  who 
had  caught  a few  stray  gentlefolk  in  a town  where  travel- 
lers must  be  rare ; and  in  his  inn  — which  is  more  gaunt 
and  miserable  than  the  town  itself,  and  which  is  by  no 
means  rendered  more  cheerful  because  sundry  theological 
works  are  left  for  the  rare  frequenters  in  the  coffee-room  — • 
the  inn-keeper  brought  in  a bill  which  would  have  been 
worthy  of  Long’s,  and  which  was  paid  with  much 
grumbling  on  both  sides. 

It  would  not  be  a bad  rule  for  the  traveller  in  Ireland  to 
avoid  those  inns  where  theological  works  are  left  in  the 
coffee-room.  He  is  pretty  sure  to  be  made  to  pay  very 
dearly  for  these  religious  privileges. 

We  waited  for  the  coach  at  the  beautiful  lodge  and  gate 
of  Annsbrook;  and  one  of  the  sons  of  the  house  coming  up, 
invited  us  to  look  at  the  domain,  which  is  as  pretty  and 
neatly  ordered  as  — as  any  in  England.  It  is  hard  to  use 
this  comparison  so  often,  and  must  make  Irish  hearers 
angry.  Can’t  one  see  a neat  house  and  grounds  without  in- 
stantly thinking  that  they  are  worthy  of  the  sister  country ; 
and  implying,  in  our  cool  way,  its  superiority  to  everywhere 
else  ? Walking  in  this  gentleman’s  grounds,  I told  him,  in 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


277 


the  simplicity  of  my  heart,  that  the  neighboring  country 
was  like  Warwickshire,  and  the  grounds  as  good  as  any 
English  park.  Is  it  the  fact  that  Englislq  grounds  are 
superior,  or  only  that  Englishmen  are  disposed  to  consider 
them  so  ? 

A pretty  little  twining  river  called  the  Nanny’s  Water, 
runs  through  the  park  : there  is  a legend  about  that,  as 
about  other  places.  Once  upon  a time  (ten  thousand  years 
ago),  Saint  Patrick  being  thirsty  as  he  passed  by  this 
country,  came  to  the  house  of  an  old  woman,  of  whom  he 
asked  a drink  of  milk.  The  old  woman  brought  it  to  his 
reverence  with  the  best  of  welcomes,  and  . , . here  it  is  a 
great  mercy  that  the  Belfast  mail  comes  up,  whereby  the 
reader  is  spared  the  rest  of  the  history. 

The  Belfast  mail  had  only  to  carry  us  five  miles  to 
Drogheda,  but,  in  revenge,  it  made  us  pay  three  shillings 
for  the  five  miles;  and  again,  by  way  of  compensation,  it 
carried  us  over  five  miles  of  a country  that  was  worth  at 
least  five  shillings  to  see  — not  romantic  or  especially 
beautiful,  but  having  the  best  of  all  beauty  — a quiet, 
smiling,  prosperous,  unassuming  work-day  look,  that  in 
views  and  landscapes  most  good  judges  admire.  Hard  by 
Nanny’s  Water,  we  came  to  Duleek  Bridge,  where,  I was 
told,  stands  an  old  residence  of  the  De  Dath  family, 
who  were,  moreover,  builders  of  the  picturesque  old 
bridge. 

The  road  leads  over  a wide  green  common,  which  puts 
one  in  mind  of  Eng — (a  plague  on  it,  there  is  the  compar- 
ison again!),  and  at  the  end  of  the  common  lies  the  village 
among  trees  : a beautiful  and  peaceful  sight.  In  the  back- 
ground there  was  a tall  ivy-covered  old  tower,  looking  noble 
and  imposing,  but  a ruin  and  useless ; then  there  was  a 
church,  and  next  to  it  a chapel  — the  very  same  sun  was 
shining  upon  both.  The  chapel  and  church  were  connected 
by  a farm-yard,  and  a score  of  golden  ricks  were  in  the 
background,  the  churches  in  unison,  and  the  people  (typi- 
fied by  the  corn-ricks)  flourishing  at  the  feet  of  both. 
May  one  ever  hope  to  see  the  day  in  Ireland  when 
this  little  landscape  allegory  shall  find  a general  appli- 
cation ? 

For  some  way  after  leaving  Duleek  the  road  and  the 
country  round  continued  to  wear  the  agreeable,  cheerful 
look  just  now  lauded.  You  pass  by  a house  where  James 
II.  is  said  to  have  slept  the  night  before  the  battle  of  the 


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THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK 


Boyne  (lie  took  care  to  sleep  far  enough  off  on  the  night 
after),  and  also  by  an  old  red-brick  hall  standing  at  the  end 
of  an  old  chace  or  terrace  avenge,  that  runs  for  about  a 
mile  down  to  the  house,  and  finishes  at  a moat  towards  the 
road.  But  as  the  coach  arrives  near  Drogheda,  and  in  the 
boulevards  of  that  town,  all  resemblance  to  England  is 
lost.  Up  hill  and  down,  we  pass  low  rows  of  filthy  cabins 
in  dirty  undulations.  Parents  are  at  the  cabin-doors  dress- 
ing the  hair  of  ragged  children ; shock-heads  of  girls  peer 
out  from  the  black  circumference  of  smoke,  and  children 
inconceivably  filthy  yell  wildly  and  vociferously  as  the 
coach  passes  by.  One  little  ragged  savage  rushed  furi- 
ously up  the  hill,  speculating  upon  permission  to  put  on 
the  drag-chain  at  descending,  and  hoping  for  a halfpenny 
reward.  He  put  on  the  chain,  but  the  guard  did  not  give 
a halfpenny.  I flung  him  one,  and  the  boy  rushed  wildly 
after  the  carriage,  holding  it  up  with  joy.  “The  man 
inside  has  given  me  one,”  says  he,  holding  it  up  exultingly 
to  the  guard.  I flung  out  another  (by-the-by,  and  without 
any  prejudice,  the  halfpence  in  Ireland  are  smaller  than 
those  of  England),  but  when  the  child  got  this  halfpenny, 
small  as  it  was,  it  seemed  to  overpower  him  : the  little 
man’s  look  of  gratitude  was  worth  a great  deal  more  than 
the  biggest  penny  ever  struck. 

The  town  itself,  which  I had  three-quarters  of  an  hour  to 
ramble  through,  is  smoky,  dirty,  and  lively.  There  was  a 
great  bustle  in  the  black  Main  Street,  and  several  good 
shops,  though  some  of  the  houses  were  in  a half  state  of 
ruin,  and  battered  shutters  closed  many  of  the  windows 
where  formerly  had  been  “emporiums,”  “repositories,” 
and  other  grandly-titled  abodes  of  small  commerce.  Ex- 
hortations to  “ repeal  ” were  liberally  plastered  on  the 
blackened  walls,  proclaiming  some  past  or  promised  visit 
of  the  “great  agitator.”  From  the  bridge  is  a good  bust- 
ling spectacle  of  the  river  and  the  craft;  the  quays  were 
grimy  with  the  discharge  of  the  coal-vessels  that  lay  along- 
side them ; the  warehouses  were  not  less  black ; the  seamen 
and  porters  loitering  on  the  quay  were  as  swarthy  as  those 
of  Puddledoek ; numerous  factories  and  chimneys  were 
vomiting  huge  clouds  of  black  smoke : the  commerce  of 
the  town  is  stated  by  the  Guide-book  to  be  considerable, 
and  increasing  of  late  years.  Of  one  part  of  its  manu- 
factures every  traveller  must  speak  with  gratitude  — of  the 
ale  namely,  which  is  as  good  as  the  best  brewed  in  the 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK 


279 


sister  kingdom.  Drogheda  ale  is  to  be  drunk  all  over 
Ireland  in  the  bottled  state : candor  calls  for  the  acknowl- 
edgment that  it  is  equally  praiseworthy  in  draught. 
And  while  satisfying  himself  of  this  fact,  the  philo- 
sophic observer  cannot  but  ask  why  ale  should  not  be  as 
good  elsewhere  as  at  Drogheda : is  the  water  of  the  Boyne 
the  only  water  in  Ireland  whereof  ale  can  be  made  ? 

Above  the  river  and  craft,  and  the  smoky  quays  of  the 
town,  the  hills  rise  abruptly,  up  which  innumerable  cabins 
clamber.  On  one  of  them,  by  a church,  is  a round  tower, 
or  fort,  with  a flag : the  church  is  the  successor  of  one 
battered  down  by  Cromwell  in  1649,  in  his  frightful  siege 
of  the  place.  The  place  of  one  of  his  batteries  is  still 
marked  outside  the  town,  and  known  as  “ Cromwell’s 
Mount  ” : here  he  “ made  the  breach  assaultable,  and,  by 
the  help  of  God,  stormed  it.”  He  chose  the  strongest 
point  of  the  defence  for  his  attack. 

After  being  twice  beaten  back,  by  the  divine  assistance 
he  was  enabled  to  succeed  in  a third  assault : he  “ knocked 
on  the  head  ” all  the  officers  of  the  garrison ; he  gave 
orders  that  none  of  the  men  should  be  spared.  “ I think,” 
says  he,  “that  night  we  put  to  the  sword  two  thousand 
men ; and  one  hundred  of  them  having  taken  possession  of 
St.  Peter’s  steeple  and  a round  tower  next  the  gate,  called 
St.  Sunday’s,  I ordered  the  steeple  of  St.  Peter’s  to  be 
fired,  when  one  in  the  flames  was  heard  to  say,  ‘ God  con- 
found me,  I burn,  I burn ! ’ ” The  Lord  General’s  history 
of  “this  great  mercy  vouchsafed  to  us”  concludes  with 
appropriate  religious  reflections : and  prays  Mr.  Speaker 
of  the  House  of  Commons  to  remember  that  “it  is  good 
that  God  alone  have  all  the  glory.”  Is  not  the  recollection 
of  this  butchery  almost  enough  to  make  an  Irishman  turn 
rebel  ? 

When  troops  marched  over  the  bridge,  a young  friend 
of  mine  (whom  I shrewdly  suspected  to  be  an  Orange- 
man in  his  heart)  told  me  that  their  bands  played  the 
“ Boyne  Water.”  Here  is  another  legend  of  defeat  for 
the  Irishman  to  muse  upon ; and  here  it  was,  too,  that 
King  Kichard  II.  received  the  homage  of  four  Irish  kings, 
who  flung  their  skenes  or  daggers  at  his  feet  and  knelt  to 
him,  and  were  wonder-stricken  by  the  riches  of  his  tents 
and  the  garments  of  his  knights  and  ladies.  I think  it  is 
in  Lingard  that  the  story  is  told;  and  the  antiquarian  has 
no  doubt  seen  that  beautiful  old  manuscript  at  the  British 


280 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK 


Museum  where  these  yellow-mantled  warriors  are  seen 
riding  down  to  the  King,  splendid  in  his  forked  beard,  and 
peaked  shoes,  and  long  dangling  scolloped  sleeves,  and 
embroidered  gown. 

The  Boyne  winds  picturesquely  round  two  sides  of  the 
town,  and  following  it  we  came  to  the  Linen  Hall,  — in 
the  days  of  the  linen  manufacture  a place  of  note,  now  the 
place  where  Mr.  O’Connell  harangues  the  people : but  all 
the  windows  of  the  house  were  barricaded  when  we  passed 
it,  and  of  linen  or  any  other  sort  of  merchandise  there 
seemed  to  be  none.  Three  boys  were  running  past  it  with 
a mouse  tied  to  a string,  and  a dog  galloping  after;  two 
little  children  were  paddling  down  the  street,  one  saying  to 
the  other,  “ once  I had  a half-penny , and  bought  apples 
with  it.”  The  barges  were  lying  lazily  on  the  river,  on  the 
opposite  side  of  which  was  a wood  of  a gentleman’s  domain, 
over  which  the  rooks  were  cawing ; and  by  the  shore  were 
some  ruins  — “ where  Mr.  Ball  once  had  his  kennel  of 
hounds” — touching  reminiscence  of  former  prosperity! 

There  is  a very  large  and  ugly  Roman  Catholic  chapel  in 
the  town,  and  a smaller  one  of  better  construction : it  was 
so  crowded,  however,  although  on  a week-day,  that  we 
could  not  pass  beyond  the  chapel-yard  — where  were  great 
crowds  of  people,  some  praying,  some  talking,  some  buying 
and  selling.  There  were  two  or  three  stalls  in  the  yard, 
such  as  one  sees  near  continental  churches,  presided  over 
by  old  women,  with  a store  of  little  brass  crucifixes, 
beads,  books,  and  benitiers  for  the  faithful  to  purchase. 
The  church  is  large  and  commodious  within,  and  looks  (not 
like  all  other  churches  in  Ireland)  as  if  it  were  frequented. 
There  is  a hideous  stone  monument  in  the  church-yard 
representing  two  corpses  half  rotted  away  : time  or  neglect 
had  battered  away  the  inscription,  nor  could  we  see  the 
dates  of  some  older  tombstones  in  the  ground,  which  were 
mouldering  away  in  the  midst  of  nettles  and  rank  grass  on 
the  wall. 

By  a large  public  school  of  some  reputation,  where  a 
hundred  boys  were  educated  (my  young  guide  the  Orange- 
man was  one  of  them  : he  related  with  much  glee  how,  on 
one  of  the  Liberator’s  visits,  a school-fellow  had  waved  a 
blue  and  orange  flag  from  the  window  and  cried,  “King 
William  forever,  and  to  hell  with  the  Pope ! ”),  there  is  a 
fine  old  gate  leading  to  the  river,  and  in  excellent  preser- 
vation, in  spite  of  time  and  Oliver  Cromwell.  It  is  a good 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


281 


specimen  of  Irish  architecture.  By  this  time  that  exceed- 
ingly slow  coach  the  “Newry  Lark”  had  arrived  at  that 
exceedingly  hi  thy  inn  where  the  mail  had  dropped  us  an 
hour  before.  An  enormous  Englishman  was  holding  a vain 
combat  of  wit  with  a brawny,  grinning,  beggar-woman  at 
the  door.  “ There’s  a clever  gentleman,”  says  the  beggar- 
woman.  “ Sure  he’ll  give  me  something.”  “ How  much 
should  you  like  ? ” says  the  Englishman,  with  playful 
jocularity.  “ Musha,”  says  she,  “many  a littler  man  nor 
you  has  given  me  a shilling.”  The  coach  drives  away  ; the 
lady  had  clearly  the  best  of  the  joking-match ; but  I did 
not  see,  for  all  that,  that  the  Englishman  gave  her  a single 
farthing. 

From  Castle  Bellingham  — as  famous  for  ale  as  Drog- 
heda, and  remarkable  likewise  for  a still  better  thing  than 
ale,  an  excellent  resident  proprietress,  whose  fine  park  lies 
by  the  road,  and  by  whose  care  and  taste  the  village  has 
been  rendered  one  of  the  most  neat  and  elegant  I have  yet 
seen  in  Ireland — the  road  to  Dundalk  is  exceedingly  pic- 
turesque, and  the  traveller  has  the  pleasure  of  feasting  his 
eyes  with  the  noble  line  of  Mourne  Mountains,  which  rise 
before  him  while  he  journeys  over  a level  country  for 
several  miles.  The  “Newry  Lark,”  to  be  sure,  disdained 
to  take  advantage  of  the  easy  roads  to  accelerate  its  move- 
ments in  any  way ; but  the  aspect  of  the  country  is  so 
pleasant  that  one  can  afford  to  loiter  over  it.  The  fields 
were  yellow  with  the  stubble  of  the  corn  — which  in  this, 
one  of  the  chief  corn  counties  of  Ireland,  had  just  been  cut 
down ; and  a long  straggling  line  of  neat  farm-houses  and 
cottages  runs  almost  the  whole  way  from  Castle  Bellingham 
to  Dundalk.  For  nearly  a couple  of  miles  of  the  distance, 
the  road  runs  along  the  picturesque  flat  called  Lurgan 
Green  ; and  gentlemen’s  residences  and  parks  are  numerous 
along  the  road,  and  one  seems  to  have  come  amongst  a new 
race  of  people,  so  trim  are  the  cottages,  so  neat  the  gates 
and  hedges,  in  this  peaceful,  smiling  district.  The  people, 
too,  show  signs  of  the  general  prosperity.  A national  school 
has  just  dismissed  its  female  scholars  as  we  pass  through 
Dunlar;  and  though  the  children  had  most  of  them  bare 
feet,  their  clothes  were  good  and  clean,  their  faces  rosy 
and  bright,  and  their  long  hair  as  shiny  and  as  nicely 
combed  as  young  ladies’  need  to  be.  Numerous  old  castles 
and  towers  stand  on  the  road  here  and  there ; and  long 
before  we  entered  Dundalk  we  had  a sight  of  a huge 


282 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK 


factory-chimney  in  the  town,  and  of  the  dazzling  white 
walls  of  the  Roman  Catholic  church  lately  erected  there. 
The  cabin-suburb  is  not  great,  and  the  entrance  to  the 
town  is  much  adorned  by  the  hospital  — a handsome  Eliza- 
bethan building  — and  a row  of  houses  of  a similar  archi- 
tectural style  which  lie  on  the  left  of  the  traveller. 


CHAPTER  XXYI. 


DUNDALK. 


^3f^%ar-  U; 


HE  stranger  can’t  fail  to  be 
struck  with  the  look  of  Dun- 
dalk, as  he  has  been  with 
the  villages  and  country 
leading  to  it,  when  contrast- 
ed with  places  in  the  South 
and  West  of  Ireland.  The 
coach  stopped  at  a cheerful- 
looking  Place , of  which 
almost  the  only  dilapidated 
mansion  was  the  old  inn  at 
which  it  discharged  us,  and 
which  did  not  hold  out  much 
prospect  of  comfort.  But  in 
justice  to  the  “Kings  Arms  ” 
it  must  be  said  that  good 
beds  and  dinners  are  to  be  obtained  there  by  voyagers  ; and 
if  they  choose  to  arrive  on  days  when  his  Grace  the  Most 
Keverend  the  Lord  Archbishop  of  Armagh  and  Primate  of 
Ireland  is  dining  with  his  clergy,  the  house  of  course  is 
crowded,  and  the  waiters,  and  the  boy  who  carries  in  the 
potatoes,  a little  hurried  and  flustered.  When  their  rever- 
ences were  gone,  the  laity  were  served ; and  I have  no 
doubt,  from  the  leg  of  a duck  which  I got,  that  the  breast 
and  wings  must  have  been  very  tender. 

Meanwhile  the  walk  was  pleasant  through  the  bustling 
little  town.  A grave  old  church  with  a tall  copper  spire 
defends  one  end  of  the  Main  Street ; and  a little  way  from 
the  inn  is  the  superb  new  chapel,  which  the  architect,  Mr. 
Duff,  has  copied  from  King’s  College  Chapel  in  Cambridge. 
The  ornamental  part  of  the  interior  is  not  yet  completed ; 
but  the  area  of  the  chapel  is  spacious  and  noble,  and  three 
handsome  altars  of  scagliola  (or  some  composition  resem- 
bling marble)  have  been  erected,  of  handsome  and  suitable 

283 


284 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


form.  When  by  the  aid  of  further  subscriptions  the  church 
shall  be  completed,  it  will  be  one  of  the  handsomest  places 
of  worship  the  Roman  Catholics  possess  in  this  country. 
Opposite  the  chapel  stands  a neat  low  black  building — the 
jail : in  the  middle  of  the  building,  and  over  the  doorway, 
is  an  ominous  balcony  and  window,  with  an  iron  beam  over- 
head. Each  end  of  the  beam  is  ornamented  Avith  a grinning 
iron  skull ! Is  this  the  hanging-place  ? and  do  these  grin- 
ning cast-iron  skulls  facetiously  explain  the  business  for 
which  the  beam  is  there  ? For  shame  ! for  shame  ! Such 
disgusting  emblems  ought  no  longer  to  disgrace  a Christian 
land.  If  kill  we  must,  let  us  do  so  Avith  as  much  despatch 
and  decency  as  possible,  — not  brazen  out  our  misdeeds  and 
perpetuate  them  in  this  frightful  satiric  Avay. 

A far  better  cast-iron  emblem  stands  over  a handsome 
shop  in  the  “ Place  ” hard  by  — a plough  namely,  which 
figures  over  the  factory  of  Mr.  Shekelton,  Avhose  industry 
and  skill  seem  to  have  brought  the  greatest  benefit  to  his 
fellow-toAvnsmen  — of  whom  he  employs  numbers  in  his 
foundries  and  workshops.  This  gentleman  was  kind  enough 
to  show  me  through  his  manufactories,  where  all  sorts  of 
iron-Avorks  are  made,  from  a steam-engine  to  a door-key ; 
and  I saw  everything  to  admire,  and  a vast  deal  more  than 
I could  understand,  in  the  busy,  cheerful,  orderly,  bustling, 
clanging  place.  Steam-boilers  were  hammered  here,  and 
pins  made  by  a hundred  busy  hands  in  a manufactory  above. 
There  was  the  engine-room,  where  the  monster  Avas  Avhir- 
ring  his  ceaseless  Avheels  and  directing  the  whole  operations 
of  the  factory,  fanning  the  forges,  turning  the  drills,  blast- 
ing into  the  pipes  of  the  smelting-houses : he-  had  a house 
to  himself,  from  which  his  orders  issued  to  the  different 
establishments  round  about.  One  machine  was  quite  awful 
to  me,  a gentle  cockney,  not  used  to  such  things : it  Avas  an 
iron-devourer,  a wretch  with  huge  jaws  and  a narrow  mouth, 
eArer  opening  and  shutting  — opening  and  shutting.  You 
put  a half-inch  iron  plate  betAveen  his  jaAVS,  and  they  shut 
not  a whit  sloAver  or  quicker  than  before,  and  bit  through 
the  iron  as  if  it  were  a sheet  of  paper.  BeloAv  the  monster’s 
mouth  was  a punch  that  performed  its  duties  with  similar 
dreadful  calmness,  going  on  its  rising  and  falling. 

I was  so  lucky  as  to  have  an  introduction  to  the  \icar  of 
Dundalk,  which  that  gentleman’s  kind  and  generous  nature 
interpreted  into  a claim  for  unlimited  hospitality  ; and  he 
Avas  good  enough  to  consider  himself  bound  not  only  to 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


285 


receive  me,  but  to  give  up  previous  engagements  abroad 
in  order  to  do  so.  I need  not  say  that  it  afforded  me  sin- 
cere pleasure  to  witness,  for  a couple  of  days,  his  labors 
among  his  people  ; and  indeed  it  was  a delightful  occupa- 
tion to  watch  both  flock  and  pastor.  The  world  is  a wick- 
ed, selfish,  abominable  place,  as  the  parson  tells  us;  but 
his  reverence  comes  out  of  his  pulpit  and  gives  the  flattest 
contradiction  to  his  doctrine : busying  himself  with  kind 
actions  from  morning  till  night,  denying  to  himself,  gener- 
ous to  others,  preaching  the  truth  to  young  and  old,  cloth- 
ing the  naked,  feeding  the  hungry,  consoling  the  wretched, 
and  giving  hope  to  the  sick ; — and  I do  not  mean  to  say 
that  this  sort  of  life  is  led  by  the  Vicar  of  Dundalk  merely, 
but  do  firmly  believe  that  it  is  the  life  of  the  great  majority 
of  the  Protestant  and  Roman  Catholic  clergy  of  the  coun- 
try. There  will  be  no  breach  of  confidence,  I hope,  in  pub- 
lishing here  the  journal  of  a couple  of  days  spent  with  one 
of  these  reverend  gentlemen,  and  telling  some  readers,  as 
idle  and  profitless  as  the  writer,  what  the  clergyman’s 
peaceful  labors  are. 

In  the  first  place,  we  set  out  to  visit  the  church  — the 
comfortable  copper-spired  old  edifice  that  was  noticed  two 
pages  back.  It  stands  in  a green  church-yard  of  its  own, 
very  neat  and  trimly  kept,  with  an  old  row  of  trees  that 
were  dropping  their  red  leaves  upon  a flock  of  vaults  and 
tombstones  below.  The  building  being  much  injured  by 
flame  and  time,  some  hundred  years  back  was  repaired, 
enlarged,  and  ornamented  — as  churches  in  those  days  were 
ornamented  — and  has  consequently  lost  a good  deal  of  its 
Gothic  character.  There  is  a great  mixture,  therefore,  of 
old  style  and  new  style  and  no  style  : but,  with  all  this, 
the  church  is  one  of  the  most  commodious  and  best  appoint- 
ed I have  seen  in  Ireland.  The  vicar  held  a council  with  a 
builder  regarding  some  ornaments  for  the  roof  of  the  church, 
which  is,  as  it  should  be,  a great  object  of  his  care  and 
architectural  taste,  and  on  which  he  has  spent  a very  large 
sum  of  money.  To  these  expenses  he  is  in  a manner 
bound,  for  the  living  is  a considerable  one,  its  income  being 
no  less  than  two  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  a year ; out  of 
which  he  has  merely  to  maintain  a couple  of  curates  and  a 
clerk  and  sexton,  to  contribute  largely  towards  schools  and 
hospitals,  and  relieve  a few  scores  of  pensioners  of  his  own, 
who  are  fitting  objects  of  private  bounty. 

We  went  from  the  church  to  a school,  which  has  been 


286 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


long  a favorite  resort  of  the  good  vicar’s : indeed,  to  judge 
from  the  schoolmaster’s  books,  his  attendance  there  is  al- 
most daily,  and  the  number  of  the  scholars  some  two  hun- 
dred. The  number  was  considerably  greater  until  the 
schools  of  the  Educational  Board  were  established,  when 
the  Roman  Catholic  clergymen  withdrew  many  of  their 
young  people  from  Mr.  Thackeray’s  establishment. 

We  found  a large  room  with  sixty  or  seventy  boys  at 
work ; in  an  upper  chamber  were  a considerable  number  of 
girls,  with  their  teachers,  two  modest  and  pretty  young 
women ; but  the  favorite  resort  of  the  vicar  was  evidently 
the  Infant-School,  — and  no  wonder : it  is  impossible  to  wit- 
ness a more  beautiful  or  touching  sight. 

Eighty  of  these  little  people,  healthy,  clean,  and  rosy  — 
some  in  smart  gowns  and  shoes  and  stockings,  some  with 
patched  pinafores  and  little  bare  pink  feet  — sat  upon  a 
half-dozen  low  benches,  and  were  singing,  at  the  top  of 
their  fourscore  fresh  voices,  a song  when  we  entered.  All 
the  voices  were  hushed  as  the  vicar  came  in,  and  a great 
bobbing  and  courtesying  took  place ; whilst  a hundred  and 
sixty  innocent  eyes  turned  awfully  towards  the  clergyman, 
who  tried  to  look  as  unconcerned  as  possible,  and  began  to 
make  his  little  ones  a speech.  “ I have  brought,”  says  he, 
“ a gentleman  from  England,  who  has  heard  of  my  little  chil- 
dren and  their  school,  and  hopes  he  will  carry  away  a good 
account  of  it.  Now,  you  know,  we  must  all  do  our  best  to 
be  kind  and  civil  to  strangers : what  can  we  do  here  for 
this  gentleman  that  he  would  like?  — do  you  think  he 
would  like  a song  ? ” 

(All  the  children.)  — “ We’ll  sing  to  him  ! ” 

Then  the  schoolmistress,  coming  forward,  sang  the  first 
words  of  a hymn,  which  at  once  eighty  little  voices  took 
up,  or  near  eighty  — for  some  of  the  little  things  were  too 
young  to  sing  yet,  and  all  they  could  do  was  to  beat  the 
measure  with  little  red  hands  as  the  others  sang.  It  was 
a hymn  about  heaven,  with  a chorus  of  “ Oh,  that  will  be 
joyful,  joyful,”  and  one  of  the  verses  beginning,  “ Little 
children  will  be  there.”  Some  of  my  fair  readers  (if  I 
have  the  honor  to  find  such)  who  have  been  present  at  simi- 
lar tender,  charming  concerts,  know  the  hymn,  no  doubt. 
It  was  the  first  time  I had  ever  heard  it ; and  I do  not  care 
to  own  that  it  brought  tears  to  my  eyes,  though  it  is  ill  to 
parade  such  kind  of  sentiment  in  print.  But  I think  I 
will  never,  while  I live,  forget  that  little  chorus,  nor  would 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


287 


any  man  wlio  lias  ever  loved  a child  or  lost  one.  God 
bless  you,  0 little  happy  singers  ! What  a noble  and  use- 
ful life  is  his,  who,  in  place  of  seeking  wealth  or  honor, 
devotes  his  life  to  such  a service  as  this ! And  all  through 
our  country,  thank  God ! in  quiet  humble  corners,  that 
busy  citizens  and  men  of  the  world  never  hear  of,  there  are 
thousands  of  such  men  employed  in  such  holy  pursuits, 
with  no  reward  beyond  that  which  the  fulfilment  of  duty 
brings  them.  Most  of  these  children  were  Poman  Catho- 
lics. At  this  tender  age  the  priests  do  not  care  to  separate 
them  from  their  little  Protestant  brethren  : and  no  wonder. 
He  must  be  a child-murdering  Herod  who  would  find  the 
heart  to  do  so. 

After  the  hymn,  the  children  went  through  a little 
Scripture  catechism,  answering  very  correctly,  and  all  in  a 


breath,  as  the  mistress  put  the  questions.  Some  of  them 
were,  of  course,  too  young  to  understand  the  words  the}r 
uttered ; but  the  answers  are  so  simple  that  they  cannot 
fail  to  understand  them  before  long;  and  they  learn  in 
spite  of  themselves. 

The  catechism  being  ended,  another  song  was  sung;  and 
now  the  vicar  (who  had  been  humming  the  chorus  along 
with  his  young  singers,  and,  in  spite  of  an  awful  and  grave 
countenance,  could  not  help  showing  his  extreme  happi- 
ness) made  another  oration,  in  which  he  stated  that  the 
gentleman  from  England  was  perfectly  satisfied;  that  he 
would  have  a good  report  of  the  Dundalk  children  to  carry 
home  with  him  ; that  the  day  was  very  fine,  and  the  school- 
mistress would  probably  like  to  take  a walk  ; and,  finally, 
would  the  young  people  give  her  a holiday  ? u As  many/’ 
concluded  he,  “ as  will  give  the  schoolmistress  a holiday, 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


288 

hold  up  their  hands ! ” This  question  was  carried  unani- 
mously. 

But  I am  bound  to  say,  when  the  little  people  were  told 
that  as  many  as  wouldn’t  like  a holiday  were  to  hold  up 
their  hands,  all  the  little  hands  went  up  again  exactly  as 
before ; by  which  it  may  be  concluded  either  that  the 
infants  did  not  understand  his  reverence’s  speech,  or  that 
they  were  just  as  happy  to  stay  at  school  as  to  go  and 
play ; and  the  reader  may  adopt  whichever  of  the  reasons 
he  inclines  to.  It  is  probable  that  both  are  correct. 

The  little  things  are  so  fond  of  the  school,  the  vicar  told 
me  as  we  walked  away  from  it,  that  on  returning  home 
they  like  nothing  better  than  to  get  a number  of  their  com- 
panions who  don’t  go  to  school,  and  to  play  at  infant- 
school. 

They  may  be  heard  singing  their  hymns  in  the  narrow 
alleys  and  humble  houses  in  which  they  dwell : and  I was 
told  of  one  dying  who  sang  his  song  of  “Oh  that  will  be 
joyful,  joyful,”  to  his  poor  mother  weeping  at  his  bedside, 
and  promising  her  that  they  should  meet  where  no  parting 
should  be. 

“ There  was  a child  in  the  school,”  said  the  vicar, 
“whose  father,  a Boman  Catholic,  was  a carpenter  by 
trade,  a good  workman,  and  earning  a considerable  weekly 
sum,  but  neglecting  his  wife  and  children  and  spending  his 
earnings  in  drink.  We  have  a song  against  drunkenness 
that  the  infants  sing ; and  one  evening,  going  home,  the 
child  found  her  father  excited  with  liquor  and  ill-treating 
his  wife.  The  little  thing  forthwith  interposed  between 
them,  told  her  father  what  she  had  heard  at  school  regard- 
ing the  criminality  of  drunkenness  and  quarrelling,  and 
finished  her  little  sermon  with  the  hymn.  The  father  was 
first  amused,  then  touched  ; and  the  end  of  it  was  that  he 
kissed  his  wife  and  asked  her  to  forgive  him,  hugged  his 
child,  and  from  that  day  would  always  have  her  in  his  bed, 
made  her  sing  to  him  morning  and  night,  and  forsook  his 
old  haunts  for  the  sake  of  his  little  companion.” 

He  was  quite  sober  and  prosperous  for  eight  months ; 
but  the  vicar  at  the  end  of  that  time  began  to  remark  that 
the  child  looked  ragged  at  school,  and  passing  by  her 
mother’s  house  saw  the  poor  woman  had  a black  eye.  “If 

it  was  any  one  but  your  husband,  Mrs.  C , who  gave 

you  that  black  e}^e,”  says  the  vicar,  “ tell  me ; but  if  he  did 
it,  don’t  say  a word.”  The  woman  was  silent,  and  soon 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


289 


after,  meeting  her  husband,  the  vicar  took  him  to  task. 
“You  were  sober  for  eight  months.  Xow  tell  me  fairly, 

C ,”  says  he,  “were  you  happier  when  you  lived  at  home 

with  your  wife  and  child,  or  are  you  more  happy  now  ? ” 
The  man  owned  that  he  was  much  happier  formerly,  and 
the  end  of  the  conversation  was  that  lie  promised  to  go 
home  once  more  and  try  the  sober  life  again,  and  he  went 
home  and  succeeded. 

The  vicar  continued  to  hear  good  accounts  of  him  ; but 
passing  one  day  by  his  house  he  saw  the  wife  there  looking 
very  sad.  “ Had  her  husband  relapsed  ? ” ■ — “ No,  he  was 
dead,”  she  said  — “dead  of  the  cholera;  but  he  had  been 
sober  ever  since  his  last  conversation  with  the  clergyman, 
and  had  done  his  duty  to  his  family  up  to  the  time  of  his 
death.”  “ I said  to  the  woman,”  said  the  good  old  clergy- 
man, in  a grave  low  voice,  “ ‘ Your  husband  is  gone  now  to 
the  place  where,  according  to  his  conduct  here,  his  eternal 
reward  will  be  assigned  him ; and  let  us  be  thankful  to 
think  what  a different  position  he  occupies  now  to  that 
which  he  must  have  held  had  not  his  little  girl  been  the 
means  under  God  of  converting  him/  ” 

Our  next  walk  was  to  the  County  Hospital,  the  handsome 
edifice  which  ornaments  the  Drogheda  entrance  of  the 
town,  and  which  I had  remarked  on  my  arrival.  Concern- 
ing this  hospital,  the  governors  were,  when  I passed 
through  Dundalk,  in  a state  of  no  small  agitation : for  a 
gentleman  by  the  name  of , who,  from  being  an  apothe- 

cary’s assistant  in  the  place,  had  gone  forth  as  a sort  of 
amateur  inspector  of  hospitals  throughout  Ireland,  had 
thought  fit  to  censure  their  extravagance  in  erecting  the 
new  building,  stating  that  the  old  one  was  fully  sufficient 
to  hold  fifty  patients,  and  that  the  public  money  might 

consequently  have  been  spared.  Mr. ’s  plan  for  the 

better  maintenance  of  them  in  general  is,  that  commission- 
ers should  be  appointed  to  direct  them,  and  not  county  gen- 
tlemen as  heretofore ; the  discussion  of  which  question 
does  not  need  to  be  carried  on  in  this  humble  work. 

My  guide,  who  is  one  of  the  governors  of  the  new  hospi- 
tal, conducted  me  in  the  first  place  to  the  old  one  — a 
small  dirty  house  in  a damp  and  low  situation,  with  but 
three  rooms  to  accommodate  patients,  and  these  evidently 
not  fit  to  hold  fifty,  or  even  fifteen  patients.  The  new 
hospital  is  one  of  the  handsomest  buildings  of  the  size  and 
kind  in  Ireland  — an  ornament  to  the  town,  as  the  angry 

VOL.  it.  — 19 


290 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


commissioner  stated,  but  not  after  all  a building  of  undue 
cost,  for  the  expense  of  its  erection  was  but  3,00(F.;  and 
the  sick  of  the  county  are  far  better  accommodated  in  it 
than  in  the  damp  and  unwholesome  tenement  regretted  by 
the  eccentric  commissioner. 

An  English  architect,  Mr.  Smith,  of  Hertford,  designed 
and  completed  the  edifice ; strange  to  say,  only  exceeding 
his  estimates  by  the  sum  of  three-and-sixpence,  as  the 
worthy  governor  of  the  hospital  with  great  triumph  told 
me.  The  building  is  certainly  a wonder  of  cheapness,  and, 
what  is  more,  so  complete  for  the  purpose  for  which  it  was 
intended,  and  so  handsome  in  appearance,  that  the  archi- 
tect’s name  deserves  to  be  published  by  all  who  hear  it ; 
and  if  any  country-newspaper  editors  should  notice  this 
volume,  they  are  requested  to  make  the  fact  known.  The 
house  is  provided  with  every  convenience  for  men  and 
women,  with  all  the  appurtenances  of  baths,  water,  gas, 
airy  wards,  and  a garden  for  convalescents;  and,  below,  a 
dispensary,  a handsome  board-room,  kitchen,  and  matron’s 
apartments,  &c.  Indeed,  a noble  requiring  a house  for  a 
large  establishment  need  not  desire  a handsomer  one  than 
this,  at  its  moderate  price  of  3,000Z.  The  beauty  of  this 
building  has,  as  is  almost  always  the  case,  created  emula- 
tion, and  a terrace  in  the  same  taste  has  been  raised  in  the 
neighborhood  of  the  hospital. 

From  the  hospital  we  bent  our  steps  to  the  Institution ; of 
which  place  1 give  below  the  rules,  and  a copy  of  the  course 
of  study,  and  the  dietary : leaving  English  parents  to  con- 
sider the  fact,  that  their  children  can  be  educated  at  this 
place  for  thirteen  pounds  a year.  Nor  is  there  anything  in 
the  establishment  savoring  of  Dotheboys  Hall.*  I never 

* “ Boarders  are  received  from  the  age  of  eight  to  fourteen  at  12/. 
per  annum,  and  1/.  for  washing,  paid  quarterly  in  advance. 

“ Day  scholars  are  received  from  the  age  of  ten  to  twelve  at  21. 
paid  quarterly  in  advance. 

“ The  Incorporated  Society  have  abundant  cause  for  believing  that 
the  introduction  of  Boarders  into  their  Establishments  has  produced 
far  more  advantageous  results  to  the  public  than  they  could,  at  so 
early  a period,  have  anticipated;  and  that  the  election  of  boys  to  their 
Foundations  only  after  a fair  competition  with  others  of  a given  district, 
has  had  the  effect  of  stimulating  masters  and  scholars  to  exertion  and 
study,  and  promises  to  operate  most  beneficially  for  the  advancement 
of  religious  and  general  knowledge. 

“ The  districts  for  eligible  Candidates  are  as  follows:  — 

“Dundalk  Institution  embraces  the  counties  of  Louth  and  Down, 
because  the  properties  which  support  it  lie  in  this  district. 


THE  HUSH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


291 


saw,  in  any  public  school  in  England,  sixty  cleaner,  smart- 
er, more  gentlemanlike  boys  than  were  here  at  work.  The 

“The  Pococke  Institution,  Kilkenny,  embraces  the  counties  of 
Kilkenny  and  Waterford,  for  the  same  cause. 

“The  Ranelagh  Institution,  the  towns  of  Athlone  and  Roscom- 
mon, and  three  districts  in  the  counties  of  Galway  and  Roscommon, 
which  the  Incorporated  Society  hold  in  fee,  or  from  which  they 
receive  impropriate  tithes. 

( Signed ) “ Cjesar  Otway,  Secretary 


Arrangement  of  School  Business  in  Dundalk  Institution. 

Hours. 

Monday,  Wednesday, 
and  Friday. 

Tuesday  and  Thurs- 
day. 

Saturday. 

6 to  7 

7 “ 7* 
7*  “ 8* 

8*  “ 9 
9 “ 10 
10  “ 10* 
10*  " 111 

11*  “ 12 

12  “ 12f 
12J  “ 2 
2 “ 2 * 

2*  “ 5 
5 “ 7* 

7*  “ 8 

8 “ 8* 

8*  “ 9 
9 

Rise,  wash,  &c. 

| Scripture  by  the 
( Master,  and  prayer. 
Reading,  History, 
&c. 

Breakfast. 

Play. 

English  Grammar. 
Algebra. 

Scripture. 

Writing. 

( Arithmetic  atDesks, 
( and  Book-keeping. 
Dinner. 

Play. 

( Spelling,  Mental 
< Arithmetic,  and 
( Euclid. 

Supper. 

Exercise. 

( Scripture  by  the 
j Master,  and  prayer 
( in  School-room. 
Retire  to  bed. 

Rise,  wash,  &c. 
j Scripture  by  the 
\ Master,  and  prayer. 
Reading,  History, 
&c. 

Breakfast. 

Play. 

Geography. 

Euclid. 

( Lecture  on  princi- 
( pies  of  Arithmetic. 

Writing. 

Mensuration. 

Dinner. 

Play. 

(Spelling,  Mental 
\ Arithmetic,  and 
( Euclid. 

Supper. 

Exercise. 

( Scripture  by  the 
j Master,  and  prayer 
( in  School-room. 
Retire  to  bed. 

Rise,  wash,  &c. 

( Scripture  by  the 
l Master,  and  prayer. 

Reading,  History 
&c, 

Breakfast. 

Play. 

10  to  11,  Repetition. 

11  to  12,  Use  of 
Globes. 

(12  to  1,  Catechism 
< and  Scripture  by 
( the  Catechist. 

Dinner. 

The  remainder  of 
this  day  is  devoted 
to  exercise  till 
the  hour  of  Sup- 
per, after  which 
the  Boys  assemble 
in  the  School-room 
' ami  hear  a portion 
of  Scripture  read 
and  explained  by 
the  Master,  as  on 
other  days,  and 
conclude  with 
prayer. 

The  sciences  of  Navigation  and  practical  Surveying  are  taught  in  the  Es- 
tablishment, also  a selection  of  the  Pupils,  who  have  a taste  for  it,  are  in- 
structed in  the  art  of  Drawing. 

Dietary. 

Breakfast  — Stirabout  and  Milk,  every  Morning. 

Dinner.— On  Sunday  and  Wednesday,  Potatoes  and  Beef  ; 10  ounces  of  the 
latter  to  each  boy.  On  Monday  and  Thursday,  Bread  and  Broth  ; *lb.  of  the 
former  to  each  boy.  On  Tuesday,  Friday,  and  Saturday,  Potatoes  and  Milk  ; 
21  bs.  of  the  former  to  each  boy. 

Supper.  — *lb.  of  Bread  with  Milk,  uniformly,  except  on  Monday  and  Thurs- 
day : on  these  days,  Potatoes  and  Milk. 

292 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


upper  class  had  been  at  work  on  Euclid  as  we  came  in,  and 
were  set,  by  way  of  amusing  the  stranger,  to  perform  a sum 
of  compound  interest  of  diabolical  complication,  which, 
with  its  algebraic  and  arithmetic  solution,  was  handed  up 
to  me  by  three  or  four  of  the  pupils ; and  I strove  to  look 
as  wise  as  I possibly  could.  Then  they  went  through 
questions  of  mental  arithmetic  with  astonishing  correctness 
and  facility ; and  finding  from  the  master  that  classics 
were  not  taught  in  the  school,  I took  occasion  to  lament 
this  circumstance,  saying,  with  a knowing  air,  that  I would 
like  to  have  examined  the  lads  in  a Greek  play. 

Classics,  then,  these  young  fellows  do  not  get.  Meat 
they  get  but  twice  a week.  Let  English  parents  bear  this 
fact  in  mind ; but  that  the  lads  are  healthy  and  happy, 
anybody  who  sees  them  can  have  no  question ; further- 
more, they  are  well  instructed  in  a sound  practical  educa- 
tion — history,  geography,  mathematics,  religion.  What  a 
place  to  know  of  would  this  be  for  many  a poor  half-pay 
officer,  where  he  may  put  his  children  in  all  confidence 
that  they  will  be  well  cared  for  and  soundly  educated ! 
Why  have  we  not  State  schools  in  England,  where,  for  the 
prime  cost  — for  a sum  which  never  need  exceed  for  a 
young  boy’s  maintenance  251.  a year — our  children  might  be 
brought  up  ? We  are  establishing  national  schools  for  the 
laborer  : why  not  give  education  to  the  sons  of  the  poor 
gentry  — the  clergyman  whose  pittance  is  small,  and  would 
still  give  his  son  the  benefit  of  a public  education ; the 
artist,  the  officer,  the  merchant’s  office-clerk,  the  literary 
man  ? What  a benefit  might  be  conferred  upon  all  of  us 
if  honest  charter-schools  could  be  established  for  our  chil- 
dren, and  where  it  would  be  impossible  for  Squeers  to 
make  a profit ! # 

Our  next  day’s  journey  led  us,  by  half-past  ten  o’clock, 
to  the  ancient  town  of  Louth,  a little  poor  village  now,  but 
a great  seat  of  learning  and  piety,  it  is  said,  formerly, 
where  there  stood  a university  and  abbeys,  and  where 
Saint  Patrick  worked  wonders.  Here  my  kind  friend  the 

* The  Proprietary  Schools  of  late  established  have  gone  far  to  pro- 
tect the  interests  of  parents  and  children ; but  the  masters  of  these 
schools  take  boarders,  and  of  course  draw  profits  from  them.  Why 
make  the  learned  man  a beef-and-mutton  contractor  ? It  would  be 
easy  to  arrange  the  economy  of  a school  so  that  there  should  be  no 
possibility  of  a want  of  confidence,  or  of  peculation,  to  the  detriment 
of  the  pupil. 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


293 


rector  was  called  upon  to  marry  a smart  sergeant  of  police 
to  a pretty  lass,  one  of  the  few  Protestants  who  attend  his 
church  ; and,  the  ceremony  over,  we  were  invited  to  the 
house  of  the  bride’s  father  hard  by,  where  the  clergyman 
was  bound  to  cut  the  cake  and  drink  a glass  of  wine  to  the 
health  of  the  new-married  couple.  There  was  evidently  to 
be  a dance  and  some  merriment  in  the  course  of  the  even- 
ing ; for  the  good  mother  of  the  bride  (oh,  blessed  is  he 
who  has  a good  mother-in-law !)  was  busy  at  a huge  tire  in 
the  little  kitchen,  and  along  the  road  we  met  various 
parties  of  neatly-dressed  people,  and  several  of  the  ser- 
geant’s comrades,  who  were  hastening  to  the  wedding. 
The  mistress  of  the  rector’s  darling  Infant-School  was 
one  of  the  bridesmaids  : consequently  the  little  ones  had 
a holiday. 

But  he  was  not  to  be  disappointed  of  his  Infant-School  in 
this  manner  : so,  mounting  the  car  again,  with  a fresh 
horse,  we  went  a very  pretty  drive  of  three  miles  to  the 
snug  lone  school-house  of  Glyde  Farm  — near  a handsome 
park,  I believe  of  the  same  name,  where  the  proprietor  is 
building  a mansion  of  the  Tudor  order. 

The  pretty  scene  of  Dundalk  was  here  played  over  again  : 
the  children  sang  their  little  hymns,  the  good  old  clergy- 
man joined  delighted  in  the  chorus,  the  holiday  was  given, 
and  the  little  hands  held  up,  and  I looked  at  more  clean 
bright  faces  and  little  rosy  feet.  The  scene  need  not  be 
repeated  in  print,  but  I can  understand  what  pleasure  a man 
must  take  in  the  daily  witnessing  of  it,  and  in  the  growth 
of  these  little  plants,  which  are  set  and  tended  by  his  care. 
As  we  returned  to  Louth,  a woman  met  us  with  a courtesy 
and  expressed  her  sorrow  that  she  had  been  obliged  to 
withdraw  her  daughter  from  one  of  the  rector’s  schools, 
which  the  child  was  vexed  at  leaving  too.  But  the  orders 
of  the  priest  were  peremptory ; and  who  can  say  they  were 
unjust  ? The  priest,  on  his  side,  was  only  enforcing  the 
rule  which  the  parson  maintains  as  his : — the  latter  will 
not  permit  his  young  flock  to  be  educated  except  upon  cer- 
tain principles  and  by  certain  teachers ; the  former  has  his 
own  scruples  unfortunately  also  — and  so  that  noble  and 
brotherly  scheme  of  National  Education  falls  to  the  ground. 
In  Louth,  the  national  school  was  standing  by  the  side  of 
the  priest’s  chapel : it  is  so  almost  everywhere  throughout 
Ireland : the  Protestants  have  rejected,  on  very  good  mo- 
tives doubtless,  the  chance  of  union  which  the  Education 


294 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK 


Board  gave  them.  Be  it  so ! if  the  children  of  either  sect 
be  educated  apart,  so  that  they  be  educated,  the  education 
scheme  will  have  produced  its  good,  and  the  union  will  come 
afterwards. 

The  church  at  Louth  stands  boldly  upon  a hill  looking 
down  on  the  village,  and  has  nothing  remarkable  in  it  but 
neatness,  except  the  monument  of  a former  rector,  Dr.  Lit- 
tle, which  attracts  the  spectator’s  attention  from  the  extreme 
inappropriateness  of  the  motto  on  the  coat-of-arms  of  the 
reverend  defunct.  It  looks  rather  unorthodox  to  read  in  a 
Christian  temple,  where  a man’s  bones  have  the  honor  to 
lie  — and  where,  if  anywhere,  humility  is  requisite  — that 
there  is  multum  in  Parvo  : “ a great  deal  in  Little.”  0 Lit- 
tle, in  life  you  were  not  much,  and  lo  ! you  are  less  now  ; 
why  should  filial  piety  engrave  that  pert  pun  upon  your 
monument,  to  cause  people  to  laugh  in  a place  where  they 
ought  to  be  grave  ? The  defunct  doctor  built  a very  hand- 
some rectory-house,  with  a set  of  stables  that  would  be  use- 
ful to  a nobleman,  but  are  rather  too  commodious  for  a 
peaceful  rector  who  does  not  ride  to  hounds ; and  it  was  in 
Little’s  time,  I believe,  that  the  church  was  removed  from 
the  old  abbey,  where  it  formerly  stood,  to  its  present  proud 
position  on  the  hill. 

The  abbey  is  a fine  ruin,  the  windows  of  a good  style,  the 
tracings  of  carvings  on  many  of  them ; but  a great  number 
of  stones  and  ornaments  were  removed  formerly  to  build 
farm-buildings  withal,  and  the  place  is  now  as  rank  and 
ruinous  as  the  generality  of  Irish  burying-places  seem  to  be. 
Skulls  lie  in  clusters  amongst  nettle-beds  by  the  abbey 
walls  ; graves  are  only  partially  covered  with  rude  stones ; 
a fresh  coffin  was  lying  broken  in  pieces  within  the  abbey ; 
and  the  surgeon  of  the  dispensary  hard  by  might  procure 
subjects  here  almost  without  grave-breaking.  Hard  by  the 
abbey  is  a building  of  which  I beg  leave  to  offer  the  follow- 
ing interesting  sketch.  The  legend  in  the  country  goes 
that  the  place  was  built  for  the  accommodation  of  “ Saint 
Murtogh,”  who  lying  down  to  sleep  here  in  the  open  fields, 
not  having  any  place  to  house  under,  found  to  his  surprise, 
on  waking  in  the  morning,  the  above  edifice,  which  the 
angels  had  built.  The  angelic  architecture,  it  will  be  seen, 
is  of  rather  a rude  kind  ; and  the  village  antiquary,  who 
takes  a pride  in  showing  the  place,  says  that  the  building 
was  erected  two  thousand  years  ago.  In  the  handsome 
grounds  of  the  rectory  is  another  spot  visited  by  popular 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK 


295 


tradition  — a fairy’s  ring : a regular  mound  of  some  thirty 
feet  in  height,  flat  and  even  on  the  top,  and  provided  with 
a winding  path  for  the  foot-passengers  to  ascend.  Some 
trees  grew  on  the  mound,  one  of  which  was  removed  in  or- 
der to  make  the  walk.  But  the  country  people  cried  out 
loudly  at  this  desecration,  and  vowed  that  the  “ little  peo- 
ple ” had  quitted  the  countryside  forever  in  consequence. 

While  walking  in  the  town,  a woman  meets  the  rector 
with  a number  of  courtesies  and  compliments,  and  vows  that 
“ ’tis  your  reverence  is  the  friend  of  the  poor,  and  may  the 
Lord  preserve  you  to  us  and  lady  ” ; and  having  poured  out 
blessings  innumerable,  concludes  by  producing  a paper  for 
her  son  that’s  in  throuble  in 
England.  The  paper  ran  to 
the  effect  that  *“We,  the 
undersigned,  inhabitants  of 
the  parish  of  Louth,  have 
known  Daniel  Horgan  ever 
since  his  youth,  and  can 
speak  confidently  as  to  his 
integrity,  piety,  and  good  conduct.”  In  fact,  the  paper  stated 
that  Daniel  Horgan  was  an  honor  to  his  country,  and  conse- 
quently quite  incapable  of  the  crime  of  — sack-stealing  I 
think  — with  which  at  present  he  was  charged,  and  lay  in 
prison  in  Durham  Castle.  The  paper  had,  I should  think, 
come  down  to  the  poor  mother  from  Durham,  with  a direc- 
tion ready  written  to  despatch  it  back  again  when  signed, 
and  was  evidently  the  work  of  one  of  those  benevo- 
lent individuals  in  assize-towns,  who,  following  the  pro- 
fession of  the  law,  delight  to  extricate  unhappy  young 
men  of  whose  innocence  (from  various  six-and-eight penny 
motives)  they  feel  convinced.  There  stood  the  poor  mother, 
as  the  rector  examined  the  document,  with  a huge  wafer 
in  her  hand,  ready  to  forward  it  so  soon  as  it  was  signed  : 
for  the  truth  is  that  “We  the  undersigned,”  were  as  yet 
merely  imaginary. 

“ You  don’t  come  to  church,”  says  the  rector.  “I  know 
nothing  of  you  or  your  son : why  don’t  you  go  to  the 
priest  ? ” 

“Oh,  your  reverence,  my  son’s  to  be  tried  next  Tuesday,” 
whimpered  the  woman.  She  then  said  the  priest  was  not 
in  the  way,  but,  as  we  had  seen  him  a few  minutes  before, 
recalled  the  assertion,  and  confessed  that  she  had  been  to 
the  priest  and  that  he  would  not  sign  ; and  fell  to  prayers, 


296 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


tears,  and  unbounded  supplications  to  induce  the  rector  to 
give  his  signature.  But  the  hard-hearted  divine,  stating 
that  he  had  not  known  Daniel  Horgan  from  his  youth  up- 
wards, that  he  could  not  certify  as  to  his  honesty  or  dishon- 
esty, enjoined  the  woman  to  make  an  attempt  upon  the 
R.  C.  curate,  to  whose  handwriting  he  would  certify  if  need 
were. 

The  upshot  of  the  matter  was  that  the  woman  returned 
with  a certificate  from  the  R.  C.  durate  as  to  her  son’s  good 
behavior  while  in  the  village,  and  the  rector  certified  that 
the  handwriting  was  that  of  the  R.  C.  clergyman  in  ques- 
tion, and  the  woman  popped  her  big  red  wafer  into  the  let- 
ter and  went  her  way. 

Tuesday  is  passed  long  ere  this : Mr.  H organ’s  guilt  or 
innocence  is  long  since  clearly  proved,  andTie  celebrates  the 
latter  in  freedom,  or  expiates  the  former  at  the  mill.  In- 
deed, I don’t  know  that  there  was  any  call  to  introduce  his 
adventures  to  the  public,  except  perhaps  it  may  be  good  to 
see  how  in  this  little  distant  Irish  village  the  blood  of  life 
is  running.  Here  goes  a happy  party  to  a marriage,  and 
the  parson  prays  a “ God  bless  you  ! ” upon  them,  and  the 
world  begins  for  them.  Yonder  lies  a stall-fed  rector  in 
his  tomb,  flaunting  over  his  nothingness  his  pompous  heral- 
dic motto  : and  yonder  lie  the  fresh  fragments  of  a nameless 
deal  coffin,  which  any  foot  may  kick  over.  Presently  you 
hear  the  clear  voices  of  little  children  praising  God ; and 
here  comes  a mother  wringing  her  hands  and  asking  for  suc- 
cor for  her  lad,  who  was  a child  but  the  other  day.  Such 
motus  animorum  atque  hcec  certamina  tanta  are  going  on  in 
an  hour  of  an  October  day  in  a little  pinch  of  clay  in  the 
county  Louth. 

Perhaps  being  in  the  moralizing  strain,  the  honest  sur- 
geon at  the  dispensary  might  come  in  as  an  illustration. 
He  inhabits  a neat  humble  house,  a story  higher  than  his 
neighbors’,  but  with  a thatched  roof.  He  relieves  a thou- 
sand patients  yearly  at  the  dispensary,  he  visits  seven  hun- 
dred in  the  parish,  he  supplies  the  medicines  gratis  ; and  re- 
ceiving for  these  services  the  sum  of  about  one  hundred 
pounds  yearly,  some  county  economists  and  calculators  are 
loud  against  the  extravagance  of  his  salary,  and  threaten 
his  removal.  All  these  individuals  and  their  histories  we 
presently  turn  our  backs  upon,  for,  after  all,  dinner  is  at 
five  o’clock,  and  we  have  to  see  the  new  road  to  Dundalk, 
which  the  county  has  lately  been  making. 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


297 


Of  this  undertaking,  which  shows  some  skilful  engineer- 
ing — some  gallant  cutting  of  rocks  and  hills,  and  filling  of 
valleys,  with  a tall  and  handsome  stone  bridge  thrown 
across  the  river,  and  connecting  the  high  embankments  on 
which  the  new  road  at  that  place  is  formed  — I can  say  lit- 
tle, except  that  it  is  a vast  convenience  to  the  county,  and 
a great  credit  to  the  surveyor  and  contractor  too  ; for  the 
latter,  though  a poor  man,  and  losing  heavily  by  his  bar- 
gain, has  yet  refused  to  mulct  his  laborers  of  their  wages ; 
and,  as  cheerfully  as  he  can,  still  pays  them  their  shilling 
a day. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 


NEWRY,  ARMAGH,  BELFAST FROM  DUNDALK  TO  NEWRY. 

kind  host  gave  orders  to 
the  small  ragged  boy  that 
drove  the  car  to  take  “ par- 
ticular care  of  the  little 
gentleman  ” ; and  the  car- 
boy, grinning  in  apprecia- 
tion of  the  joke,  drove  off 
at  his  best  pace,  and  landed 
his  cargo  at  Xewry  after  a 
pleasant  two  hours’  drive. 
The  country  for  the  most 
part  is  wild,  but  not  gloomy  ; 
the  mountains  round  about 
are  adorned  with  woods  and 
gentlemen’s  seats  ; and  the 
car-boy  pointed  out  one  hill 
— that  of  Slie  vegullion, 
which  kept  us  company  all 
the  way  — as  the  highest  hill  in  Ireland.  Ignorant  or 
deceiving  car-boy  ! I have  seen  a dozen  hills,  each  the 
highest  in  Ireland,  in  my  way  through  the  country,  of 
which  the  inexorable  Guide-book  gives  the  measurement 
and  destroys  the  claim.  Well,  it  was  the  tallest  hill, 
in  the  estimation  of  the  car-boy ; and  in  this  respect,  the 
world  is  full  of  car-boys.  Has  not  every  mother  of  a 
family  a Slievegullion  of  a son,  who,  according  to  her 
measurement,  towers  above  all  other  sons  ? Is  not  the 
patriot,  who  believes  himself  equal  to  three  Frenchmen, 
a car-boy  in  heart  ? There  was  a kind  young  creature, 
with  a child  in  her  lap,  that  evidently  held  this  notion. 
She  paid  the  child  a series  of  compliments,  which  would 
have  led  one  to  fancy  he  was  an  angel  from  heaven  at 
the  least ; and  her  husband  sat  gravely  by,  very  silent,  with 
his  arms  round  a barometer. 


298 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK 


299 


Beyond  these  there  were  no  incidents  or  characters  of 
note,  except  an  old  hostler  that  they  said  was  ninety  years 
old,  and  watered  the  horse  at  a lone  inn  on  the  road. 
“ Stop ! ” cried  this  wonder  of  years  and  rags,  as  the 
car,  after  considerable  parley,  got  under  weigh.  The 
car-boy  pulled  up,  thinking  a fresh  passenger  was  coming 
out  of  the  inn. 

“ Stop , till  one  of  the  gentlemen  gives  me  something  ” 
says  the  old  man,  coming  slowly  up  with  us : which  speech 
created  a laugh,  and  got  him  a penny  : he  received  it  with- 
out the  least  thankfulness,  and  went  away  grumbling  to 
his  pail. 

Newry  is  remarkable  as  being  the  only  town  I have  seen 
which  had  no  cabin  suburb : strange  to  say,  the  houses 
begin  all  at  once,  handsomely  coated  and  hatted  with  stone 
and  slate ; and  if  Dundalk  was  prosperous,  Newry  is  better 
still.  Such  a sight  of  neatness  and  comfort  is  exceedingly 
welcome  to  an  English  traveller,  who,  moreover,  finds 
himself,  after  driving  through  a plain  bustling  clean 
street,  landed  at  a large  plain  comfortable  inn,  where 
business  seems  to  be  done,  where  there  are  smart  waiters 
to  receive  him,  and  a comfortable  warm  coffee-room  that 
bears  no  traces  of  dilapidation. 

What  the  merits  of  the  cuisine  may  be  I can’t  say  for 
the  information  of  travellers  ; a gentleman  to  whom  I 
had  brought  a letter  from  Dundalk  taking  care  to  provide 
me  at  his  own  table,  accompanying*  me  previously  to 
visit  the  lions  of  the  town.  A river  divides  it,  and  the 
counties  of  Armagh  and  Down  : the  river  runs  into  the 
sea  at  Carlingford  Bay,  and  is  connected  by  a canal  with 
Lough  Neagh,  and  thus  with  the  North  of  Ireland. 
Steamers  to  Liverpool  and  Glasgow  sail  continually. 
There  are  mills,  foundries,  and  manufactories  of  which 
the  Guide-book  will  give  particulars  ; and  the  town  of 
13,000  inhabitants  is  the  busiest  and  most  thriving  that  I 
have  yet  seen  in  Ireland. 

Our  first  walk  was  to  the  church  : a large  and  handsome 
building,  although  built  in  the  unlucky  period  when  the 
Gothic  style  was  coming  into  vogue.  Hence  one  must 
question  the  propriety # of  many  of  the  ornaments,  though 
the  whole  is  massive,  well-finished,  and  stately.  Near 
the  church  stands  the  Roman  Catholic  chapel,  a very  fine 
building,  the  work  of  the  same  architect,  Mr.  Duff,  who 
erected  the  chapel  at  Dundalk ; but,  like  almost  all  other 


300 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK . 


edifices  of  the  kind  in  Ireland  that  I have  seen,  the 
interior,  is  quite  unfinished,  and  already  so  dirty  and 
ruinous,  that  one  would  think  a sort  of  genius  for  dilapida- 
tion must  have  been  exercised  in  order  to  bring  it  to  its 
present  condition.  There  are  tattered  green-baize  doors 
to  enter  at,  a dirty  clay  floor,  and  cracked  plaster  walls, 
with  an  injunction  to  the  public  not  to  spit  on  the  floor. 
Maynooth  itself  is  scarcely  more  dreary.  The  architect’s 
work,  however,  does  him  the  highest  credit : the  interior 
of  the  church  is  noble  and  simple  in  style  ; and  one  can’t 
but  grieve  to  see  a fine  work  of  art,  that  might  have  done 
good  to  the  country,  so  defaced  and  ruined  as  this  is. 

The  Newry  poor-house  is  as  neatly  ordered  and  comfort- 
able as  any  house,  public  or  private,  in  Ireland : the  same 
look  of  health  which  was  so  pleasant  to  see  among  Naas 
children  of  the  union-house  was  to  be  remarked  here: 
the  same  care  and  comfort  for  the  old  people.  Of  able- 
bodied  there  were  but  few  in  the  house : it  is  in  winter 
that  there  are  most  applicants  for  this  kind  of  relief : 
the  sunshine  attracts  the  women  out  of  the  place,  and 
the  harvest  relieves  it  of  the  men.  Cleanliness,  the  mat- 
ron said,  is  more  intolerable  to  most  of  the  inmates  than 
any  other  regulation  of  the  house  ; and  instantly  on  quitting 
the  house  they  relapse  into  their  darling  dirt,  and  of 
course  at  their  periodical  return  are  subject  to  the  unavoid- 
able initiatory  lustration. 

Newry  has  many  comfortable  and  handsome  public 
buildings : the  streets  have  a businesslike  look,  the  shops 
and  people  are  not  too  poor,  and  the  southern  grandilo- 
quence is  not  shown  here  in  the  shape  of  fine  words  for 
small  wares.  Even  the  beggars  are  not  so  numerous, 
I fancy,  or  so  coaxing  and  wheedling  in  their  talk.  Per- 
haps, too,  among  the  gentry,  the  same  moral  change  may 
be  remarked,  and  they  seem  more  downright  and  plain  in 
their  manner;  but  one  must  not  pretend  to  speak  of 
national  characteristic  from  such  a small  experience  as  a 
couple  of  evenings’  intercourse  may  give. 

Although  not  equal  in  natural  beauty  to  a hundred  other 
routes  which  the  traveller  takes  in  the  South,  the  ride  from 
Newry  to  Armagh  is  an  extremely  pleasant  one,  on  account 
of  the  undeniable  increase  of  prosperity  which  is  visible 
through  the  country.  Well-tilled  fields,  neat  farm-houses, 
well-dressed  people,  meet  one  everywhere,  and  people  and 
landscape  alike  have  a plain,  hearty,  flourishing  look. 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK . 


301 


The  greater  part  of  Armagh  has  the  aspect  of  a good 
stout  old  English  town,  although  round  about  the  steep  on 
which  the  cathedral  stands  (the  Roman  Catholics  have 
taken  possession  of  another  hill,  and  are  building  an 
opposition  cathedral  on  this  eminence)  there  are  some 
decidedly  Irish  streets,  and  that  dismal  combination  of 
house  and  pigsty  which  is  so  common  in  Munster  and  Con- 
naught. 

But  the  main  streets,  though  not  fine,  are  bustling,  sub- 
stantial, and  prosperous ; and  a fine  green  has  some  old 
trees  and  some  good  houses,  and  even  handsome  stately 
public  buildings,  round  it,  that  remind  one  of  a comfort- 
able cathedral  city  across  the  water. 

The  cathedral  service  is  more  completely  performed 
here  than  in  any  English  town,  I think.  The  church  is 
small,  but  extremely  neat,  fresh  and  handsome  — almost 
too  handsome ; covered  with  spick-and-span  gilding  and 
carved-wood  in  the  style  of  the  thirteenth  century  : every 
pew  as  smart  and  well-cushioned  as  my  lord’s  own  seat  in 
the  country  church;  and  for  the  clergy  and  their  chief, 
stalls  and  thrones  quite  curious  for  their  ornament  and 
splendor.  The  Primate  with  his  blue  ribbon  and  badge 
(to  whom  the  two  clergymen  bow  reverently  as,  passing 
between  them,  he  enters  at  the  gate  of  the  altar  rail)  looks 
like  a noble  Prince  of  the  Church ; and  I had  heard  enough 
of  his  magnificent  charity  and  kindness  to  look  with  rever- 
ence at  his  lofty  handsome  features. 

Will  it  be  believed  that  the  sermon  lasted  only  for 
twenty  minutes  ? Can  this  be  Ireland  ? I think  this 
wonderful  circumstance  impressed  me  more  than  any 
other  with  the  difference  between  North  and  South,  and, 
having  the  Primate’s  own  countenance  for  the  opinion, 
may  confess  a great  admiration  for  orthodoxy  in  this  par- 
ticular. 

A beautiful  monument  to  Archbishop  Stuart,  by  Chan- 
trey  ; a magnificent  window,  containing  the  arms  of  the 
clergy  of  the  diocese  (in  the  very  midst  of  which  I was 
glad  to  recognize  the  sober  old  family  coat  of  the  venerable 
rector  of  Louth),  and  numberless  carvings  and  decorations, 
will  please  the  lover  of  church  architecture  here.  I must 
confess,  however,  that  in  my  idea  the  cathedral  is  quite 
too  complete.  It  is  of  the  twelfth  century,  but  not  the 
least  venerable.  It  is  as  neat  and  trim  as  a lady’s  draw- 
ing-room. It  wants  a hundred  years  at  least  to  cool  the 


302 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK . 


raw  colors  of  the  stones,  and  to  dull  the  brightness  of  the 
gilding : all  which  benefits,  no  doubt,  time  will  bring 
to  pass,  and  future  Cockneys  setting  off  from  London 
Bridge  after  breakfast  in  an  aerial  machine  may  come  to 
hear  the  morning  service  here,  and  not  remark  the  faults 
which  have  struck  a too  susceptible  tourist  of  the  nine- 
teenth century. 

Strolling  round  the  town  after  service,  I saw  more 
decided  signs  that  Protestantism  was  there  in  the  ascend- 
ant. I saw  no  less  than  three  different  ladies  on  the  prowl, 
dropping  religious  tracts  at  various  doors : and  felt  not  a 
little  ashamed  to  be  seen  by  one  of  them  getting  into  a car 
with  bag  and  baggage,  being  bound  for  Belfast. 

The  ride  of  ten  miles  from  Armagh  to  Portadown  was 
not  the  prettiest,  but  one  of  the  pleasantest  drives  I have 
had  in  Ireland,  for  the  country  is  well  cultivated  along  the 
whole  of  the  road,  the  trees  in  plenty,  and  villages  and 
neat  houses  always  in  sight.  The  little  farms,  with  their 
orchards  and  comfortable  buildings,  were  as  clean  and 
trim  as  could  be  wished : they  are  mostly  of  one  story, 
with  long  thatched  roofs  and  shining  windows,  such  as 
may  be  seen  in  Normandy  and  Picardy.  As  it  was  Sunday 
evening,  all  the  people  seemed  to  be  abroad,  some  saunter- 
ing quietly  down  the  roads,  a pair  of  girls  here  and  there 
pacing  leisurely  in  a field,  a little  group  seated  under  the 
trees  of  an  orchard,  which  pretty  adjunct  to  the  farm  is 
very  common  in  this  district;  and  the  crop  of  apples 
seemed  this  year  to  be  extremely  plenty.  The  physiog- 
nomy of  the  people  too  has  quite  changed : the  girls 
have  their  hair  neatly  braided  up,  not  loose  over  their 
faces  as  in  the  south ; and  not  only  are  bare  feet  very  rare, 
and  stockings  extremely  neat  and  white,  but  I am  sure  I 
saw  at  least  a dozen  good  silk  gowns  upon  women  along 
the  road,  and  scarcely  one  which  was  not  clean  and  in  good 
order.  The  men  for  the  most  part  figured  in  jackets,  caps, 
and  trousers,  eschewing  the  old  well  of  a hat  which  covers 
the  popular  head  at  the  other  end  of  the  island,  the 
breeches,  and  the  long  ill-made  tail-coat.  The  people’s 
faces  are  sharp  and  neat,  not  broad,  lazy,  knowing-looking, 
like  that  of  many  a shambling  Diogenes  who  may  be  seen 
lounging  before  his  cabin  in  Cork  or  Kerry.  As  for  the 
cabins,  they  have  disappeared;  and  the  houses  of  the 
people  may  rank  decidedly  as  cottages.  The  accent,  too, 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


303 


is  quite  different;  but  this  is  hard  to  describe  in  print. 
The  people  speak  with  a Scotch  twang,  and,  as  I fancied, 
much  more  simply  and  to  the  point.  A man  gives  you 
a downright  answer,  without  any  grin  or  joke,  or  attempt  at 
flattery.  To  be  sure,  these  are  rather  early  days  to  begin 
to  judge  of  national  characteristics ; and  very  likely  the 
above  distinctions  have  been  drawn  after  profoundly 
studying  a Northern  and  a Southern  waiter  at  the  inn  at 
Armagh. 

At  any  rate,  it  is  clear  that  the  towns  are  vastly  improved, 
the  cottages  and  villages  no  less  so  ; the  people  look  active 
and  well-dressed ; a sort  of  weight  seems  all  at  once  to  be 
taken  from  the  Englishman’s  mind  on  entering  the  prov- 
ince, when  he  finds  himself  once  more  looking  upon  com- 
fort, and  activity,  and  resolution.  What  is  the  cause  of 
this  improvement  ? Protest  antisin  is,  more  than  one 
Church-of-England  man  said  to  me  ; but,  for  Protestantism, 
would  it  not  be  as  well  to  read  Scotchism  ? — meaning 
thrift,  prudence,  perseverance,  boldness,  and  common-sense : 
with  which  qualities  any  body  of  men,  of  any  Christian 
denomination,  would  no  doubt  prosper. 

The  little  brisk  town  of  Portadown,  with  its  comfortable 
unpretending  houses,  its  squares  and  market-place,  its 
pretty  quay,  with  craft  along  the  river,  — a steamer  build- 
ing on  the  dock,  close  to  mills  and  warehouses  that  look  in 
a full  state  of  prosperity,  — was  a pleasant  conclusion  to 
this  ten  miles’  drive,  that  ended  at  the  newly  opened  rail- 
way-station. The  distance  hence  to  Belfast  is  twenty-five 
miles ; Lough  Neagh  may  be  seen  at  one  point  of  the  line, 
and  the  Guide-book  says  that  the  station-towns  of  Lurgan 
and  Lisburn  are  extremely  picturesque  ; but  it  was  night 
when  I passed  by  them,  and  after  a journey  of  an  hour  and 
a quarter  reached  Belfast. 

That  city  has  been  discovered  by  another  eminent  Cock- 
ney traveller  (for  though  born  in  America,  the  dear  old 
Bow-bell  blood  must  run  in  the  veins  of  Mr.  N.  P.  Willis), 
and  I have  met,  in  the  periodical  works  of  the  country, 
with  repeated  angry  allusions  to  his  description  of  Belfast, 
the  pink  heels  of  the  chamber-maid  who  conducted  him  to 
bed  (what  business  had  he  to  be  looking  at  the  young 
woman’s  legs  at  all  ?)  and  his  wrath  at  the  beggary  of  the 
town  and  the  laziness  of  the  inhabitants,  as  marked  by  a 
line  of  dirt  running  along  the  walls,  and  showing  where 
they  were  in  the  habit  of  lolling. 


304 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


These  observations  struck  me  as  rather  hard  when  ap- 
plied to  Belfast,  though  possibly  pink  heels  and  beggary 
might  be  remarked  in  other  cities  of  the  kingdom ; but  the 
town  of  Belfast  seemed  to  me  really  to  be  as  neat,  prosper- 
ous, and  handsome  a city  as  need  be  seen ; and,  with  re- 
spect to  the  inn,  that  in  which  I stayed,  “ Kearn’s,”  was  as 
comfortable  and  well-ordered  an  establishment  as  the  most 
fastidious  Cockney  can  desire,  and  with  an  advantage  which 
some  people  perhaps  do  not  care  for,  that  the  dinners  which 
cost  seven  shillings  at  London  Taverns  are  here  served  for 
half  a crown ; but,  I must  repeat  here,  in  justice  to  the 
public,  what  I stated  to  Mr.  William  the  waiter,  viz.,  that 
half  a pint  of  port  wine  does  contain  more  than  two  glasses 
— at  least  it  does  in  happy,  happy  England.  . . . Only,  to 
be  sure,  here  the  wine  is  good,  whereas  the  port-wine  in 
England  is  not  port,  but  for  the  most  part  an  abominable 
drink,  of  which  it  would  be  a mercy  only  to  give  us  two 
glasses : which,  however,  is  clearly  wandering  from  the 
subject  in  hand. 

They  call  Belfast  the  Irish  Liverpool.  If  people  are  for 
calling  names,  it  would  be  better  to  call  it  the  Irish  London 
at  once  — the  chief  city  of  the  kingdom  at  any  rate.  It 
looks  hearty,  thriving,  and  prosperous,  as  if  it  had  money 
in  its  pockets  and  roast  beef  for  dinner : it  has  no  preten- 
sions to  fashion,  but  looks  mayhap  better  in  its  honest 
broadcloth  than  some  jjeople  in  their  shabby  brocade.  The 
houses  are  as  handsome  as  at  Dublin,  with  this  advantage, 
that  the  people  seem  to  live  in  them.  They  have  no 
attempt  at  ornament  for  the  most  part,  but  are  grave,  stout, 
red-brick  edifices,  laid  out  at  four  angles  in  orderly  streets 
and  squares. 

The  stranger  cannot  fail  to  be  struck  (and  haply  a little 
frightened)  by  the  great  number  of  meeting-houses  that 
decorate  the  town,  and  give  evidence  of  great  sermonizing 
on  Sundays.  These  buildings  do  not  affect  the  Gothic,  like 
many  of  the  meagre  edifices  of  the  Established  and  the 
Boman  Catholic  churches,  but  have  a physiognomy  of  their 
own  — a thick-set  citizen  look.  Porticos  have  they,  to  be 
sure,  and  ornaments  Doric,  Ionic,  and  what  not  ? but  the 
meeting-house  peeps  through  all  these  classical  friezes  and 
entablatures  : and  though  one  reads  of  “ Imitations  of  the 
Ionic  Temple  of  Ilissus,  near  Athens/7  the  classic  temple  is 
made  to  assume  a bluff,  downright,  Presbyterian  air,  which 
would  astonish  the  original  builder,  doubtless.  The 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


305 


churches  of  the  Establishment  are  handsome  and  stately. 
The  Catholics  are  building  a brick  cathedral,  no  doubt  of 
the  Tudor  style  : the  present  chapel,  flanked  by  the  national 
schools,  is  an  exceedingly  unprepossessing  building  of  the 
Strawberry  Hill  or  Castle  of  Otranto  Gothic  : the  keys  and 
mitre  figuring  in  the  centre  — “ The  cross-keys  and  night- 
cap,” as  a hard-hearted  Presbyterian  called  them  to  me, 
with  his  blunt  humor. 

The  three  churches  are  here  pretty  equally  balanced  : 
Presbyterians  25,000,  Catholics  20,000,  Episcopalians  17,000. 
Each  party  has  two  or  more  newspaper  organs ; and  the 
wars  between  them  are  dire  and  unceasing,  as  the  reader 
may  imagine.  For  whereas  in  other  parts  of  Ireland  where 
Catholics  and  Episcopalians  prevail,  and  the  Presbyterian 
body  is  too  small,  each  party  has  but  one  opponent  to  be- 
labor : here  the  Ulster  politician,  whatever  may  be  his  way 
of  thinking,  has  the  great  advantage  of  possessing  two  ene- 
mies on  whom  he  may  exercise  his  eloquence  : and  in  this 
triangular  duel  all  do  their  duty  nobly.  Then  there  are 
subdivisions  of  hostility.  For  the  Church  there  is  a High 
Church  and  a Low  Church  journal ; for  the  Liberals  there 
is  a “ Repeal”  journal  and  a “No-repeal”  journal ; for  the 
Presbyterians  there  are  yet  more  varieties  of  journalistic 
opinion,  on  which  it  does  not  become  a stranger  to  pass  a 
judgment.  If  the  Northern  Whig  says  that  the  Banner  of 
Ulster  “ is  a polluted  rag,  which  has  hoisted  the  red  banner 
of  falsehood  ” (which  elegant  words  may  be  found  in  the 
first-named  journal  of  the  13th  October),  let  us  be  sure  the 
Banner  has  a compliment  for  the  Northern  Whig  in  return ; 
if  the  “Repeal”  Vindicator  and  the  priests  attack  the 
Presbyterian  journals  and  the  “home  missions,”  the  rever- 
end gentlemen  of  Geneva  are  quite  as  ready  with  the  pen 
as  their  brethren  of  Rome,  and  not  much  more  scrupulous 
in  their  language  than  the  laity.  When  I was  in  Belfast, 
violent  disputes  were  raging  between  Presbyterian  and 
Episcopalian  Conservatives  with  regard  to  the  Marriage 
Bill ; between  Presbyterians  and  Catholics  on  the  subject 
of  the  “ home  missions  ” ; between  the  Liberals  and  Con- 
servatives, of  course.  “ Thank  God,”  for  instance,  writes  a 
“Repeal”  journal,  “that  the  honor  and  power  of  Ireland 
are  not  involved  in  the  disgraceful  Afghan  war ! ” — -a 
sentiment  insinuating  Repeal  and  something  more  ; disown- 
ing, not  merely  this  or  that  Ministry,  but  the  sovereign 
and  her  jurisdiction  altogether.  But  details  of  these  quar- 
VOL.  II.  — 20 


306 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


rels,  religious  or  political,  can  tend  to  edify  but  few  readers 
out  of  the  country.  Even  in  it,  as  there  are  some  nine 
shades  of  politico-religious  differences,  an  observer  pre- 
tending to  impartiality  must  necessarily  displease  eight 
parties,  and  almost  certainly  the  whole  nine ; and  the  reader 
who  desires  to  judge  the  politics  of  Belfast  must  study  for 
himself.  Nine  journals,  publishing  four  hundred  numbers 
in  a year,  each  number  containing  about  as  much  as  an 
octavo  volume : these,  and  the  back  numbers  of  former 
years,  sedulously  read,  will  give  the  student  a notion  of  the 
subject  in  question.  And  then,  after  having  read  the 
statements  on  either  side,  he  must  ascertain  the  truth  of 
them,  by  which  time  more  labor  of  the  same  kind  will  have 
grown  upon  him,  and  he  will  have  attained  a good  old  age. 

Amongst  the  poor,  the  Catholics  and  Presbyterians  are 
said  to  go  in  a pretty  friendly  manner  to  the  national 
schools ; but  among  the  Presbyterians  themselves  it  appears 
there  are  great  differences  and  quarrels,  by  which  a fine 
institution,  the  Belfast  Academy,  seems  to  have  suffered 
considerably.  It  is  almost  the  only  building  in  this  large 
and  substantial  place,  that  bears,  to  the  stranger’s  eye,  an 
unprosperous  air.  A vast  building,  standing  fairly  in  the 
midst  of  a handsome  green  and  place,  and  with  snug,  com- 
fortable red-brick  streets  stretching  away  at  neat  right 
angles  all  around,  the  Presbyterian  College  looks  handsome 
enough  at  a short  distance,  but  on  a nearer  view  is  found 
in  a woful  state  of  dilapidation.  It  does  not  possess  the 
supreme  dirt  and  filth  of  Maynooth  — that  can  but  belong 
to  one  place,  even  in  Ireland ; but  the  building  is  in  a dis- 
mal state  of  unrepair,  steps  and  windows  broken,  doors  and 
stairs  battered.  Of  scholars  I saw  but  a few,  and  these 
were  in  the  drawing  academy.  The  fine  arts  do  not  appear 
as  yet  to  flourish  in  Belfast.  The  models  from  which  the 
lads  were  copying  were  not  good : one  was  copying  a bad 
copy  of  a drawing  by  Prout ; one  was  coloring  a print. 
The  ragged  children  in  a German  national  school  have 
better  models  before  them,  and  are  made  acquainted  with 
truer  principles  of  art  and  beauty. 

Hard  by  is  the  Belfast  Museum,  where  an  exhibition  of 
pictures  was  in  preparation,  under  the  patronage  of  the 
Belfast  Art  Union.  Artists  in  all  parts  of  the  kingdom 
had  been  invited  to  send  their  works,  of  which  the  Union 
pays  the  carriage ; and  the  porters  and  secretary  were  busy 
unpacking  cases,  in  which  I recognized  some  of  the  works 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


307 


which  had  before  figured  on  the  walls  of  the  London  Exhi- 
bition rooms. 

The  book-shops  which  I saw  in  this  thriving  town  said 
much  for  the  religious  disposition  of  the  Belfast  public : 
there  were  numerous  portraits  of  reverend  gentlemen,  and 
their  works  of  every  variety  : — “ The  Sinner’s  Friend/’ 
“The  Watchman  on  the  Tower/’  “The  Peep  of  Day/’ 
“Sermons  delivered  at  Bethesda  Chapel/’  by  so-and-so; 
with  hundreds  of  the  neat  little  gilt  books  with  bad  prints, 
scriptural  titles,  and  gilt  edges,  that  come  from  one  or  two 
serious  publishing  houses  in  London,  and  in  considerable 
numbers  from  the  neighboring  Scotch  shores.  As  for  the 
theatre,  with  such  a public  the  drama  can  be  expected  to 
find  but  little  favor;  and  the  gentleman  who  accompanied 
me  in  my  walk,  and  to  whom  I am  indebted  for  many  kind- 
nesses during  my  stay,  said  not  only  that  he  had  never  been 
in  the  playhouse,  but  that  he  never  heard  of  any  one  going 
thither.  I found  out  the  place  where  the  poor  neglected 
Dramatic  Muse  of  Ulster  hid  herself ; and  was  of  a party 
of  six  in  the  boxes,  the  benches  of  the  pit  being  dotted  over 
with  about  a score  more.  Well,  it  was  a comfort  to  see 
that  the  gallery  was  quite  full,  and  exceedingly  happy  and 
noisy  : they  stamped,  and  stormed,  and  shouted,  and  clapped 
in  a way  that  was  pleasant  to  hear.  One  young  god, 
between  the  acts,  favored  the  public  with  a song,  — ex- 
tremely ill  sung  certainly,  but  the  intention  was  everything ; 
and  his  brethren  above  stamped  in  chorus  with  roars  of 
delight. 

As  for  the  piece  performed,  it  was  a good  old  melodrama 
of  the  British  sort,  inculcating  a thorough  detestation  of 
vice  and  a warm  sympathy  with  suffering  virtue.  The 
serious  are  surely  too  hard  upon  poor  play-goers.  We  never 
for  a moment  allow  rascality  to  triumph  beyond  a certain 
part  of  the  third  act : we  sympathize  with  the  woes  of 
young  lovers  — her  in  ringlets  and  a Polish  cap,  him  in 
tights  and  a Vandyke  collar ; we  abhor  avarice  or  tyranny 
in  the  person  of  “ the  first  old  man  ” with  the  white  wig 
and  red  stockings,  or  of  the  villain  with  the  roaring  voice 
and  black  whiskers ; we  applaud  the  honest  wag  (he  is  a 
good  fellow  in  spite  of  his  cowardice)  in  his  hearty  jests  at 
the  tyrant  before  mentioned ; and  feel  a kindly  sympathy 
with  all  mankind  as  the  curtain  falls  over  all  the  characters 
in  a group,  of  which  successful  love  is  the  happy  centre. 
Reverend  gentlemen  in  meeting-house  and  church,  who 


308 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


shout  against  the  immoralities  of  this  poor  stage,  and 
threaten  all  play-goers  with  the  fate  which  is  awarded  to 
unsuccessful  plays,  should  try  and  bear  less  hardly  upon  us. 

An  artist — who,  in  spite  of  the  Art  Union,  can  scarcely, 

I should  think,  flourish  in  a place  that  seems  devoted  to 
preaching,  politics,  and  trade  — has  somehow  found  his  way 
to  this  humble  little  theatre,  and  decorated  it  with  some 
exceedingly  pretty  scenery  — almost  the  only  indication  of 
a taste  for  the  fine  arts  which  I have  found  as  yet  in  the 
country. 

A fine  night-exhibition  in  the  town  is  that  of  the  huge  - 
spinning-mills  which  surround  it,  and  of  which  the  thousand 

windows  are  lighted  up  at  night- 
fall, and  may  be  seen  from  al- 
most all  quarters  of  the  city. 

A gentleman  to  whom  I had 
brought  an  introduction,  good- 
naturedly  left  his  work  to  walk 
with  me  to  one  of  these  mills, 
and  stated  by  whom  he  had 
been  introduced  to  me  to  the 
mill -proprietor,  Mr.  Mulhol- 
1 a n d.  u That  recommenda- 
tion,^ said  Mr.  Mulholland,  gal- 
lantly, “ is  welcome  anywhere.” 
It  was  from  my  kind  friend  Mr. 
Lever.  What  a privilege  some 
men  have,  who  can  sit  quietly 
in  their  studies  and  make 
friends  all  the  world  over ! 

Here  is  the  figure  of  a girl 
sketched  in  the  place : there 
are  nearly  five  hundred  girls  employed  in  it.  They  work 
in  huge  long  chambers,  lighted  by  numbers  of  windows,  hot 
with  steam,  buzzing  and  humming  with  hundreds  of  thou- 
sands of  whirling  wheels,  that  all  take  their  motion  from  a 
steam-engine  which  lives  apart  in  a hot  cast-iron  temple  of 
its  own,  from  which  it  communicates  with  the  innumerable 
machines  that  the  five  hundred  girls  preside  over.  They 
have  seemingly  but  to  take  away  the  work  when  done  — 
the  enormous  monster  in  the  cast-iron  room  does  it  all.  He 
cards  the  flax,  and  combs  it,  and  spins  it,  and  beats  it,  and 
twists  it : the  five  hundred  girls  stand  by  to  feed  him,  or 
take  the  material  from  him,  when  he  has  had  his  will  of  it, 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


309 


There  is  something  frightful  in  the  vastness  as  in  the  mi- 
nuteness of  this  power.  Every  thread  writhes  and  twirls  as 
the  steam-fate  orders  it,  — every  thread,  of  which  it  would 
take  a hundred  to  make  the  thickness  of  a hair. 

I have  seldom,  I think,  seen  more  good  looks  than 
amongst  the  young  women  employed  in  this  place.  They 
work  for  twelve  hours  daily,  in  rooms  of  which  the  heat  is 
intolerable  to  a stranger ; but  in  spite  of  it  they  looked  gay, 
stout,  and  healthy  ; nor  were  their  forms  much  concealed 
by  the  very  simple  clothes  they  wear  while  in  the  mill. 

The  stranger  will  be  struck  by  the  good  looks  not  only  of 
these  spinsters,  but  of  almost  all  the  young  women  in  the 
streets.  I never  saw  a town  where  so  many  women  are  to 
be  met  — so  many  and  so  pretty  — with  and  without  bon- 
nets, with  good  figures,  in  neat  homely  shawls  and  dresses. 
The  grisettes  of  Belfast  are  among  the  handsomest  orna- 
ments of  it ; and  as  good,  no  doubt,  and  irreproachable  in 
morals  as  their  sisters  in  the  rest  of  Ireland. 

Many  of  the  merchants’  counting-houses  are  crowded  in 
little  old-fashioned  “ entries,”  or  courts,  such  as  one  sees 
about  the  Bank  in  London.  In  and  about  these,  and  in  the 
principal  streets  in  the  daytime,  is  a great  activity,  and 
homely  unpretending  bustle.  The  men  have  a business 
look,  too ; and  one  sees  very  few  flaunting  dandies,  as  in 
Dublin.  The  shopkeepers  do  not  brag  upon  their  sign- 
boards, or  keep  “ emporiums,”  as  elsewhere,  — their  places 
of  business  being  for  the  most  part  homely ; though  one 
may  see  some  splendid  shops,  which  are  not  to  be  surpassed 
by  London.  The  docks  and  quays  are  busy  with  their 
craft  and  shipping,  upon  the  beautiful  borders  of  the 
Lough;  — the  large  red  warehouses  stretching  along  the 
shores,  with  ships  loading,  or  unloading,  or  building,  ham- 
mers clanging,  pitch  pots  flaming  and  boiling,  seamen 
cheering  in  the  ships,  or  lolling  lazily  on  the  shore.  The 
life  and  movement  of  a port  here  give  the  stranger  plenty 
to  admire  and  observe.  And  nature  has  likewise  done 
everything  for  the  place  — surrounding  it  with  picturesque 
hills  and  water ; — for  which  latter  I must  confess  I was  not 
very  sorry  to  leave  the  town  behind  me,  and  its  mills,  and 
its  meeting-houses,  and  its  commerce,  and  its  theologians, 
and  its  politicians. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 


BELFAST  TO  THE  CAUSEWAY. 


HE  Lough  of  Belfast  has 
a reputation  for  beauty  al- 
most as  great  as  that  of  the 
Bay  of  Dubin  ; but  though, 
on  the  clay  I left  Belfast 
for  Larne,  the  morning  was 
fine,  and  the  sky  clear  and 
blue  above,  an  envious  mist 
lay  on  the  water,  which 
hid  all  its  beauties  from 
the  dozen  of  passengers  on 
the  Larne  coach.  All  we 
could  see  were  ghostly- 
looking  silhouettes  of 
ships  gliding  here  and 
there  through  the  clouds ; 
and  I am  sure  the  coach- 
man’s remark  was  quite  correct,  that  it  was  a pity  the  day 
vvas  so  misty.  I found  myself,  before  I was  aware,  entrapped 
into  a theological  controversy  with  two  grave  gentle- 
men outside  the  coach  — another  fog,  which  did  not  subside 
much  before  we  reached  Carrickfergus.  The  road  from  the 
Ulster  capital  to  that  little  town  seemed  meanwhile  to  be 
extremely  lively : cars  and  omnibuses  passed,  thickly 
peopled.  For  some  miles  along  the  road  is  a string  of 
handsome  country-houses,  belonging  to  the  rich  citizens  of 
the  town;  and  we  passed  by  neat-looking  churches  and 
chapels,  factories  and  rows  of  cottages  clustered  round 
them,  like  villages  of  old  at  the  foot  of  feudal  castles. 
Furthermore  it  was  hard  to  see,  for  the  mist  which  lay  on 
the  water  had  enveloped  the  mountains  too,  and  we  only 
had  a glance  or  two  of  smiling  comfortable  fields  and  gar- 
dens. 

Carrickfergus  rejoices  in  a real  romantic-looking  castle, 

310 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK 


311 


jutting  bravely  into  the  sea,  and  famous  as  a background 
for  a picture.  It  is  of  use  for  little  else  now,  luckily  ; nor 
has  it  been  put  to  any  real  warlike  purposes  since  the  day 
when  honest  Thurot  stormed,  took,  and  evacuated  it.  Let 
any  romancer  who  is  in  want  of  a hero  peruse  the  second 
volume,  or  it  may  be  the  third,  of  the  “ Annual  Register,” 
where  the  adventures  of  that  gallant  fellow  are  related. 
He  was  a gentleman,  a genius,  and,  to  crown  all,  a smug- 
gler. He  lived  for  some  time  in  Ireland,  and  in  England, 
in  disguise  ; he  had  love-passages  and  romantic  adventures ; 
he  landed  a body  of  his  countrymen  on  these  shores,  and 
died  in  the  third  volume,  after  a battle  gallantly  fought  on 
both  sides,  but  in  which  victory  rested  with  the  British 
arms.  What  can  a novelist  want  more  ? William  III. 
also  landed  here ; and  as  for  the  rest,  “ M‘Skimin,  the  ac- 
curate and  laborious  historian  of  the  town,  informs  us  that 
the  founding  of  the  castle  is  lost  in  the  depths  of  antiquity.” 
It  is  pleasant  to  give  a little  historic  glance  at  a place  as  one 
passes  through.  The  above  facts  may  be  relied  on  as  com- 
ing from  Messrs.  Curry’s  excellent  new  Guide-book ; with 
the  exception  of  the  history  of  Mons.  Thurot,  which  is 
“ private  information,”  drawn  years  ago  from  the  scarce 
work  previously  mentioned.  By  the  way,  another  excellent 
companion  to  the  traveller  in  Ireland  is  the  collection  of  the 
“Irish  Penny  Magazine,”  which  may  be  purchased  for  a 
guinea,  and  contains  a mass  of  information  regarding  the 
customs  and  places  of  the  country.  Willis’s  work  is  amus- 
ing, as  everything  is,  written  by  that  lively  author,  and  the 
engravings  accompanying  it  as  unfaithful  as  any  ever  made. 

Meanwhile,  asking  pardon  for  this  double  digression, 
which  has  been  made  while  the  guard-coachman  is  deliver- 
ing his  mail-bags  — while  the  landlady  stands  looking  on  in 
the  sun,  her  hands  folded  a little  below  the  waist  — while  a 
company  of  tall  burly  troops  from  the  castle  has  passed  by, 
“ surrounded  ” by  a very  mean,  mealy-faced,  uneasy-looking 
little  subaltern  — while  the  poor  epileptic  idiot  of  the  town, 
wallowing  and  grinning  in  the  road,  and  snorting  out  sup- 
plications for  a half-penny,  has  tottered  away  in  possession 
of  the  coin  : — meanwhile,  fresh  horses  are  brought  out,  and 
the  small  boy  who  acts  behind  the  coach  makes  an  unequal 
and  disagreeable  tootooing  on  a horn  kept  to  warn  sleepy 
carmen  and  celebrate  triumphal  entries  into  and  exits  from 
cities.  As  the  mist  clears  up,  the  country  shows  round 
about  wild  but  friendly : at  one  place  we  passed  a village 


312 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


where  a crowd  of  Avell-dressed  people  were  collected  at  an 
auction  of  farm-furniture,  and  many  more  figures  might  be 
seen  coming  over  the  fields  and  issuing  from  the  mist.  The 
owner  of  the  carts  and  machines  is  going  to  emigrate  to 
America.  Presently  we  come  to  the  demesne  of  Bed  Hall, 
“ through  which  is  a pretty  drive  of  upwards  of  a mile  in 
length  : it  contains  a rocky  glen,  the  bed  of  a mountain 
stream  — which  is  perfectly  dry,  except  in  winter  — and 
the  woods  about  it  are  picturesque,  and  it  is  occasionally 
the  resort  of  summer-parties  of  pleasure.”  Nothing  can  be 
more  just  than  the  first  part  of  the  description,  and  there  is 
very  little  doubt  that  the  latter  paragraph  is  equally  as 
faithful ; — with  which  we  come  to  Larne,  a “ most  thriving 
town/’  the  same  authority  says,  but  a most  dirty  and  nar- 
row-streeted  and  ill-built  one.  Some  of 
the  houses  reminded  one  of  the  south.  A 
benevolent  fellow-passenger  said  that 
the  window  was  “a  convanience.”  And 
here,  after  a drive  of  nineteen  miles  upon 
a comfortable  coach,  we  were  transferred 
with  the  mail-bags  to  a comfortable  car 
that  makes  the  journey  to  Bally  castle. 
There  is  no  harm  in  saying  that  there 
ivas  a very  pretty  smiling  buxom  young 
lass  for  a travelling  companion ; and  somehow,  to  a lonely  per- 
son, the  landscape  always  looks  prettier  in  such  society. 
The  “ Antrim  coast-road/’  which  we  now,  after  a few  miles, 
begin  to  follow,  besides  being  one  of  the  most  noble  and 
gallant  works  of  art  that  is  to  be  seen  in  any  country,  is 
likewise  a route  highly  picturesque  and  romantic ; the  sea 
spreading  wide  before  the  spectator’s  eyes  upon  one  side  of 
the  route,  the  tall  cliffs  of  limestone  rising  abruptly  above 
him  on  the  other.  There  are  in  the  map  of  Curry’s  Guide- 
book points  indicating  castles  and  abbey  ruins  in  the  vicinity 
of  Glenarm  ; and  the  little  place  looked  so  comfortable,  as 
we  abruptly  came  upon  it,  round  a rock,  that  I was  glad  to 
have  an  excuse  for  staying,  and  felt  an  extreme  curiosity 
with  regard  to  the  abbey  and  the  castle. 

The  abbey  only  exists  in  the  unromantic  shape  of  a wall ; 
the  castle,  however,  far  from  being  a ruin,  is  an  antique  in 
the  most  complete  order  — an  old  castle  repaired  so  as  to 
look  like  new,  and  increased  by  modern  wings,  towers,  gables, 
and  terraces,  so  extremely  old  that  the  whole  forms  a grand 
and  imposing-looking  baronial  edifice,  towering  above  the 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


313 


little  town  which  it  seems  to  protect,  and  with  which  it  is 
connected  by  a bridge  and  a severe-looking  armed  tower  and 
gate.  In  the  town  is  a town-house,  with  a campanile  in  the 
Italian  taste,  and  a school  or  chapel  opposite  in  the  early 
English;  so  that  the  inhabitants  can  enjoy  a considerable 
architectural  variety.  A grave-looking  church,  with  a beau- 
tiful steeple,  stands  amid  some  trees  hard  by  a second  hand- 
some bridge  and  the  little  quay ; and  here,  too,  was  perched 
a poor  little  wandering  theatre  (gallery  1 d.,  pit  2d.),  and 
proposing  that  night  to  play  “Bombastes  Furioso,  and  the 
Comic  Bally  of  Glenarm  in  an  Uproar.”  I heard  the 
thumping  of  the  drum  in  the  evening ; but,  as  at  Bound- 
wood,  nobody  patronized  the  poor  players.  At  nine  o’clock 
there  was  not  a single  taper  lighted  under  their  awning, 
and  my  heart  (perhaps  it  is  too  susceptible)  bled  for  Fus- 
bos. 

The  severe  gate  of  the  castle  was  opened  by  a kind,  good- 
natured  old  porteress,  instead  of  a rough  gallowglass  with  a 
battle-axe  and  yellow  shirt  (more  fitting  guardian  of  so  stern 
a postern),  and  the  old  dame  insisted  upon  my  making  an 
application  to  see  the  grounds  of  the  castle,  which  request 
was  very  kindly  granted,  and  afforded  a delightful  half- 
hour’s  walk.  The  grounds  are  beautiful,  and  excellently 
kept ; the  trees  in  their  autumn  livery  of  red,  yellow,  and 
brown,  except  some  stout  ones  that  keep  to  their  green 
summer  clothes,  and  the  laurels  and  their  like,  who  wear 
pretty  much  the  same  dress  all  the  year  round.  The  birds 
were  singing  with  the  most  astonishing  vehemence  in  the 
dark  glistening  shrubberies ; but  the  only  sound  in  the 
walks  was  that  of  the  rakes  pulling  together  the  falling 
leaves.  There  was  of  these  walks  one  especially,  flanked 
towards  the  river  by  a turreted  wall  covered  with  ivy,  and 
having  on  the  one  side  a row  of  lime-trees  that  had  turned 
quite  yellow,  while  opposite  them  was  a green  slope,  and  a 
quaint  terrace-stair,  and  a long  range  of  fantastic  gables, 
towers,  and  chimneys ; — there  was,  I say,  one  of  these 
walks  which  Mr.  Cattermole  would  hit  off  with  a few  strokes 
of  his  gallant  pencil,  and  which  I could  fancy  to  be  fre- 
quented by  some  of  those  long-trained,  tender,  gentle-look- 
ing young  beauties  whom  Mr.  Stone  loves  to  design.  Here 
they  come,  talking  of  love  in  a tone  that  is  between  a sigh 
and  whisper,  and  gliding  in  rustling  shot  silks  over  the 
fallen  leaves. 

There  seemed  to  be  a good  deal  of  stir  in  the  little  port, 


314 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK 


where,  says  the  Guide-book,  a couple  of  hundred  vessels 
take  in  cargoes  annually  of  the  produce  of  the  district. 
Stone  and  lime  are  the  chief  articles  exported,  of  which  the 
cliffs  for  miles  give  an  unfailing  supply ; and,  as  one  travels 
the  mountains  at  night,  the  kilns  may  be  seen  lighted  up  in 
the  lonely  places,  and  flaring  red  in  the  darkness. 

If  the  road  from  Larne  to  Glenarm  is  beautiful,  the  coast 
route  from  the  latter  place  to  Cushendall  is  still  more  so ; 
and,  except  peerless  Westport,  I have  seen  nothing  in  Ire- 
land so  picturesque  as  this  noble  line  of  coast  scenery.  The 
new  road,  luckily,  is  not  yet  completed,  and  the  lover  of 
natural  beauties  had  better  hasten  to  the  spot  in  time,  ere, 
by  flattening  and  improving  the  road,  and  leading  it  along 
the  sea-shore,  half  the  magnificent  prospects  are  shut  out, 
now  visible  from  along  the  mountainous  old  road ; which, 
according  to  the  good  old  fashion,  gallantly  takes  all  the 
hills  in  its  course,  disdaining  to  turn  them.  At  three  miles 
distance,  near  the  village  of  Cairlough,  Glenarm  looks  more 
beautiful  than  when  you  are  close  upon  it ; and,  as  the  car 
travels  on  to  the  stupendous  Garron  Head,  the  traveller, 
looking  back,  has  a view  of  the  whole  line  of  coast  south- 
ward as  far  as  Isle  Magee,  with  its  bays  and  white  villages, 
and  tall  precipitous  cliffs,  green,  white,  and  gray.  Eyes 
left,  you  may  look  with  wonder  at  the  mountains  rising 
above,  or  presently  at  the  pretty  park  and  grounds  of  Drum- 
nasole.  Here,  near  the  woods  of  Eappan,  which  are  dressed 
in  ten  thousand  colors  — ash-leaves  turned  yellow,  nut-trees 
red,  birch-leaves  brown,  lime-leaves  speckled  over  with  black 
spots  (marks  of  a disease  which  they  will  never  get  over) 
— stands  a school-house  that  looks  like  a French  chateau, 
having  probably  been  a villa  in  former  days,  and  discharges 
as  we  pass  a cluster  of  fair-haired  children,  that  begin  run- 
ning madly  down  the  hill,  their  fair  hair  streaming  behind 
them.  Down  the  hill  goes  the  car,  madly  too,  and  you  won- 
der and  bless  your  stars  that  the  horse  does  not  fall,  or 
crush  the  children  that  are  running  before,  or  you  that  are 
sitting  behind.  Every  now  and  then,  at  a trip  of  the  horse, 
a disguised  lady’s-maid,  with  a canary-bird  in  her  lap  and  a 
vast  anxiety  about  her  best  bonnet  in  the  band-box,  begins 
to  scream : at  which  the  car-boy  grins,  and  rattles  down  the 
bill  only  the  quicker.  The  road,  which  almost  always 
skirts  the  hillside,  has  been  torn  sheer  through  the  rock 
here  and  there : an  immense  work  of  levelling,  shovelling, 
picking,  blasting,  filling,  is  going  on  along  the  whole  line. 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOH 


315 


As  I was  looking  up  a vast  cliff,  decorated  with  patches  of 
green  here  and  there  at  its  summit,  and  at  its  base,  where 
the  sea  had  beaten  until  now,  with  long,  thin,  waving  grass, 
that  I told  a grocer,  my  neighbor,  was  like  mermaid’s  hair 
(though  he  did  not  in  the  least  coincide  in  the  simile)  — as 
I was  looking  up  the  hill,  admiring  two  goats  that  were 
browsing  on  a little  patch  of  green,  and  two  sheep  perched 
yet  higher  (I  had  never  seen  such  agility  in  mutton)  — as, 
I say  once  more,  I was  looking  at  these  phenomena,  the 
grocer  nudges  me  and  says,  “ Look  on  to  this  side  — that’s 
Scotland  yon  .”  If  ever  this  book  reaches  a second  edition,  a 
sonnet  shall  be  inserted  in  this  place,  describing  the  author’s 
feelings  on  his  first  view  of  Scotland.  Meanwhile,  the 
Scotch  mountains  remain  undisturbed,  looking  blue  and  sol- 
emn, far  away  in  the  placid  sea. 

Bounding  Garron  Head,  we  come  upon  the  inlet  which  is 
called  Bed  Bay,  the  shores  and  sides  of  which  are  of  red 
clay,  that  has  taken  the  place  of  limestone,  and  towards 
which,  between  two  noble  ranges  of  mountains,  stretches  a 
long  green  plain,  forming,  together  with  the  hills  that  pro- 
tect it  and  the  sea  that  washes  it,  one  of  the  most  beautiful 
landscapes  of  this  most  beautiful  country.  A fair  writer, 
whom  the  Guide-book  quotes,  breaks  out  into  strains  of 
admiration  in  speaking  of  this  district ; calls  it  “ Switzer- 
land in  miniature,”  celebrates  its  mountains  of  Glenariff  and 
Lurgethan,  and  lauds,  in  terms  of  equal  admiration,  the 
rivers,  waterfalls,  and  other  natural  beauties  that  lie  within 
the  glen. 

The  writer’s  enthusiasm  regarding  this  tract  of  country 
is  quite  warranted,  nor  can  any  praise  in  admiration 
of  it  be  too  high ; but  alas ! in  calling  a place  “ Swit- 
zerland in  miniature,”  do  we  describe  it  ? In  joining 
together  cataracts,  valleys,  rushing  streams,  and  blue 
mountains,  with  all  the  emphasis  and  picturesqueness 
of  which  type  is  capable,  we  cannot  get  near  to  a copy 
of  Nature’s  sublime  countenance;  and  the  writer  can’t 
hope  to  describe  such  grand  sights  so  as  to  make  them 
visible  to  the  fireside  reader,  but  can  only,  to  the  best  of 
his  taste  and  experience,  warn  the  future  traveller  where 
he  may  look  out  for  objects  to  admire.  I think  this  senti- 
ment has  been  repeated  a score  of  times  in  this  journal ; 
but  it  comes  upon  one  at  every  new  display  of  beauty  and 
magnificence,  such  as  here  the  Almighty  in  his  bounty  has 
set  before  us ; and  every  such  scene  seems  to  warn  one 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK . 


316 

that  it  is  not  made  to  talk  about  too  much,  but  to  think  of 
and  love,  and  be  grateful  for. 

Bounding  this  beautiful  bay  and  valley,  we  passed  by 
some  caves  that  penetrate  deep  into  the  red  rock,  and  are 
inhabited  — one  by  a blacksmith,  whose  forge  was  blazing 
in  the  dark ; one  by  cattle ; and  one  by  an  old  woman  that 
has  sold  whiskey  here  for  time  out  of  mind.  The  road 
then  passes  under  an  arch  cut  in  the  rock  by  the  same 
spirited  individual  who  has  cleared  away  many  of  the  diffi- 
culties in  the  route  to  Glenarm,  and  beside  a conical  hill, 
where  for  some  time  previous  have  been  visible  the  ruins 
of  the  “ ancient  ould  castle  ” of  Bed  Bay.  At  a distance, 
it  looks  very  grand  upon  its  height  ; but  on  coming  close  it 
has  dwindled  down  to  a mere  wall,  and  not  a high  one. 
Hence  quickly  we  reached  Cushendall,  where  the  grocer’s 
family  are  on  the  lookout  for  him : the  driver  begins  to 
blow  his  little  bugle,  and  the  disguised  lady’s-maid  begins 
to  smooth  her  bonnet  and  hair. 

At  this  place  a good  dinner  of  fresh  whiting,  broiled 
bacon,  and  small  beer  was  served  up  to  me  for  the  sum  of 
eightpence,  while  the  lady’s-maid  in  question  took  her  tea. 
“ This  town  is  full  of  Papists,”  said  her  ladyship,  with  an 
extremely  genteel  air ; and,  either  in  consequence  of  this, 
or  because  she  ate  up  one  of  the  fish,  which  she  had  clearly 
no  right  to,  a disagreement  arose  between  us,  and  we  did 
not  exchange  another  word  for  the  rest  of  the  journey. 
The  road  led  us  for  fourteen  miles  by  wild  mountains,  and 
across  a fine  aqueduct  to  Ballycastle ; but  it  was  dark  as 
we  left  Cushendall,  and  it  was  difficult  to  see  more  in  the 
gray  evening  but  that  the  country  was  savage  and  lonely, 
except  where  the  kilns  were  lighted  up  here  and  there  in 
the  hills,  and  a shining  river  might  be  seen  winding  in  the 
dark  ravines.  Not  far  from  Ballycastle  lies  a little  old 
ruin,  called  the  Abbey  of  Bonamargy  : by  it  the  Margy 
river  runs  into  the  sea,  upon  which  you  come  suddenly  ; 
and  on  the  shore  are  some  tall  buildings  and  factories,  that 
looked  as  well  in  the  moonlight  as  if  they  had  not  been 
in  ruins ; and  hence  a fine  avenue  of  limes  leads  to  Bally- 
castle. They  must  have  been  planted  at  the  time  recorded 
in  the  Guide-book,  when  a mine  was  discovered  near  the 
town,  and  the  works  and  warehouses  on  the  quay  erected. 
At  present,  the  place  has  little  trade,  and  half  a dozen 
oarts  with  apples,  potatoes,  dried  fish,  and  turf,  seem  to 
contain  the  commerce  of  the  market. 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


317 


The  picturesque  sort  of  vehicle  designed  on  the  next 
page  is  said  to  be  going  much  out  of  fashion  in  the 
country,  the  solid  wheels  giving  place  to  those  common  to 
the  rest  of  Europe.  A fine  and  edifying  conversation  took 
place  between  the  designer  and  the  owner  of  the  vehicle. 
“ Stand  still  for  a minute,  you  and  the  car.  and  I will  give 
you  twopence  ! ” “ What  do  you  want  to  do  with  it  ? ” 

says  the  latter.  “ To  draw  it.”  “ To  draw  it ! ” says  he, 
with  a wild  look  of  surprise.  “ And  is  it  you'll  draw  it  ? ” 
“ I mean  I want  to  take  a picture  of  it ; you  know  what  a 
picture  is!  ” “No,  I don’t.”  “Here’s  one,”  says  I,  show- 
ing him  a book.  “ Oh,  faith,  sir,”  says  the  carman,  draw- 
ing back  rather  alarmed,  “ I’m  no  scholar ! ” And  he  con- 
cluded by  saying,  “ Will  you  buy  the  turf  \ or  will  you  not  ? ” 


By  which  straightforward  question  he  showed  himself  to 
be  a real  practical  man  of  sense ; and,  as  he  got  an  unsatis- 
factory reply  to  this  query,  he  forthwith  gave  a lash  to  his 
pony  and  declined  to  wait  a minute  longer.  As  for  the 
twopence,  he  certainly  accepted  that  handsome  sum,  and 
put  it  into  his  pocket,  but  with  an  air  of  extreme  wonder 
at  the  transaction,  and  of  contempt  for  the  giver;  which 
very  likely  was  perfectly  justifiable.  I have  seen  men 
despised  in  genteel  companies  with  not  half  so  good  a 
cause. 

In  respect  to  the  fine  arts,  I am  bound  to  say  that  the 
people  in  the  South  and  West  showed  much  more  curiosity 
and  interest  with  regard  to  a sketch  and  its  progress  than 
has  been  shown  by  the  badauds  of  the  North  ; the  former 
looking  on  by  dozens  and  exclaiming,  “ That’s  Frank 


318 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


Mahony’s  house  ! 77  or  “ Look  at  Biddy  Mullins  and  the 
child  ! 77  or  “ He’s  taking  off  the  chimney  now  ! 77  as  the 
case  may  be ; whereas,  sketching  in  the  North,  I have  col- 
lected no  such  spectators,  the  people  not  taking  the  slight- 
est notice  of  the  transaction. 

The  little  town  of  Ballycastle  does  not  contain  much  to 
occupy  the  traveller;  behind  the  church  stands  a ruined 
old  mansion  with  round  turrets,  that  must  have  been  a 
stately  tower  in  former  days.  The  town  is  more  modern, 
but  almost  as  dismal  as  the  tower.  A little  street  behind 
it  slides  off  into  a potato-field  — the  peaceful  barrier  of  the 
place ; and  hence  I could  see  the  tall  rock  of  Bengore,  with 
the  sea  beyond  it,  and  a pleasing  landscape  stretching 
towards  it. 

Dr.  Hamilton’s  elegant  and  learned  book  has  an  awful 
picture  of  yonder  head  of  Bengore  ; and  hard  by  it  the 
Guide-book  says  is  a coal  mine,  where  Mr.  Barrow  found  a 
globular  stone  hammer,  which,  he  infers,  was  used  in  the 
coal-mine  before  weapons  of  iron  were  invented.  The 
former  writer  insinuates  that  the  mine  must  have  been 
worked  more  than  a thousand  years  ago,  “ before  the  tur- 
bulent chaos  of  events  that  succeeded  the  eighth  century.77 
Shall  I go  and  see  a coal-mine  that  may  have  been  worked 
a thousand  years  since  ? Why  go  see  it  ? says  idleness. 
To  be  able  to  say  that  I have  seen  it.  Sheridan’s  advice  to 
his  son  here  came  into  my  mind ; * and  I shall  reserve  a 
description  of  the  mine,  and  an  antiquarian  dissertation 
regarding  it,  for  publication  elsewhere. 

Ballycastle  must  not  be  left  without  recording  the  fact 
that  one  of  the  snuggest  inns  in  the  country  is  kept  by  the 
postmaster  there ; who  has  also  a stable  full  of  good  horses 
for  travellers  who  take  his  little  inn  on  the  way  to  the 
Giant’s  Causeway. 

The  road  to  the  Causeway  is  bleak,  wild,  and  hilly.  The 
cabins  along  the  road  are  scarcely  better  than  those  of 
Kerry,  the  inmates  as  ragged,  and  more  fierce  and  dark- 
looking. I never  was  so  pestered  by  juvenile  beggars  as 
in  the  dismal  village  of  Ballintoy.  A crowd  of  them 
rushed  after  the  car,  calling  for  money  in  a fierce  manner, 
as  if  it  was  their  right : dogs  as  fierce  as  the  children  came 
yelling  after  the  vehicle  ; and  the  faces  which  scowled  out 

* “I  want  to  go  into  a coal-mine,”  says  Tom  Sheridan,  “ in  order 
to  say  I have  been  there.”  “Well,  then,  say  so,”  replied  the  admi- 
rable father. 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  ROOK . 


319 


of  the  black  cabins  were  not  a whit  more  good-humored. 
We  passed  by  one  or  two  more  clumps  of  cabins,  with  their 
turf  and  corn-stacks  lying  together  at  the  foot  of  the  hills  ; 
placed  there  for  the  convenience  of  the  children,  doubtless, 
who  can  thus  accompany  the  car  either  way,  and  shriek 
out  their  “ Bonny  gantleman,  gi’e  us  a ha’p’ny.”  A couple 
of  churches,  one  with  a pair  of  its  pinnacles  blown  off, 
stood  in  the  dismal  open  country,  and  a gentleman’s  house 
here  and  there  : there  were  no  trees  about  them,  but  a 
brown  grass  round  about  — hills  rising  and  falling  in  front, 
and  the  sea  beyond.  The  occasional  view  of  the  coast  was 
noble wild  Bengore  towering  eastwards  as  we  went  along  ; 
Raghery  Island  before  us,  in  the  steep  rocks  and  caves  of 
which  Bruce  took  shelter  when  driven  from  yonder  Scot- 
tish coast,  that  one  sees  stretching  blue  in  the  north- 
east. 

I think  this  wild  gloomy  tract  through  which  one  passes 
is  a good  prelude  for  what  is  to  be  the  great  sight  of  the 
day,  and  got  my  mind  to  a proper  state  of  awe  by  the  time 
we  were  near  the  journey’s  end.  Turning  away  shorewards 
by  the  fine  house  of  Sir  Brands  Macnaghten,  I went 
towards  a lone  handsome  inn,  that  stands  close  to  the 
Causeway.  The  landlord  at  Ballycastle  had  lent  me 
Hamilton’s  book  to  read  on  the  road ; but  I had  not 
time  then  to  read  more  than  half  a dozen  pages  of  it. 

They  described  how  the  author,  a clergyman  distin- 
guished as  a man  of  science,  had  been  thrust  out  of  a 
friend’s  house  by  the  frightened  servants  one  wild  night, 
and  butchered  by  some  Whiteboys  who  were  waiting  out- 
side and  called  for  his  blood.  I had  been  told  at  Belfast 
that  there  was  a corpse  in  the  inn  : was  it  there  now  ? It 
had  driven  off,  the  car-boy  said,  “in  a handsome  hearse 
and  four,  to  Dublin  the  whole  way.”  It  was  gone,  but  I 
thought  the  house  looked  as  if  the  ghost  was  there.  See, 
yonder  are  the  black  rocks  stretching  to  Portrush  : how 
leaden  and  gray  the  sea  looks ! how  gray  and  leaden  the 
sky ! You  hear  the  waters  roaring  evermore,  as  they  have 
done  since  the  beginning  of  the  world.  The  car  drives  up 
with  a dismal  grinding  noise  of  the  wheels  to  the  big  lone 
house : there’s  no  smoke  in  the  chimneys ; the  doors  are 
locked.  Three  savage -looking  men  rush  after  the  car : are 
they  the  men  who  took  out  Mr.  Hamilton  — took  him  out 
and  butchered  him  in  the  moonlight  ? Is  everybody,  I 
wonder,  dead  in  that  big  house  ? Will  they  let  us  in 


320 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  ROOK 


before  those  men  are  up  ? Out  comes  a pretty  smiling 
girl,  with  a courtesy,  just  as  the  savages  are  at  the  car,  and 
you  are  ushered  into  a very  comfortable  room  ; and  the 
men  turn  out  to  be  guides.  Well,  thank  heaven  it’s  no 
worse  ! I had  fifteen  pounds  still  left ; and,  when  des- 
perate, have  no  doubt  should  fight  like  a lion. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 


THE  GIANT’S  CAUSEWAY COLERAINE PORTRUSH. 

HE  traveller  no  sooner 
issues  from  the  inn  by  a 
back  door,  which  he  is 
informed  will  lead  him 
straight  to  the  Causeway, 
than  the  guides  pounce 
upon  him,  with  a dozen 
rough  boatmen  who  are 
likewise  lying  in  wait ; 
and  a crew  of  shrill  beg- 
gar-boys, with  boxes  of 
spars,  ready  to  tear  him 
and  each  other  to  pieces 
seemingly,  yell  and  bawl 
incessantly  round  him. 
“ I’m  the  guide  Miss 
Henry  r e c o mm  end s,” 
shouts  one.  “ I’m  Mr.  Macdonald’s  guide,”  pusnes  in  an- 
other. “ This  way,”  roars  a third,  and  drags  his  prey  down 
a precipice ; the  rest  of  them  clambering  and  quarrelling 
after.  I had  no  friends : I was  perfectly  helpless.  I 
wanted  to  walk  down  to  the  shore  by  myself,  but  they 
would  not  let  me,  and  I had  nothing  for  it  but  to  yield 
myself  into  the  hands  of  the  guide  who  had  seized  me,  who 
hurried  me  down  the  steep  to  a little  wild  bay,  flanked  on 
each  side  by  rugged  cliffs  and  rocks,  against  which  the 
waters  came  tumbling,  frothing,  and  roaring  furiously. 
Upon  some  of  these  black  rocks  two  or  three  boats  were 
lying : four  men  seized  a boat,  pushed  it  shouting  into  the 
water,  and  ravished  me  into  it.  We  had  slid  between  two 
rocks,  where  the  channel  came  gurgling  in : we  were  up 
one  swelling  wave  that  came  in  a huge  advancing  body  ten 
feet  above  us,  and  were  plunging  madly  down  another  (the 
descent  causes  a sensation  in  the  lower  regions  of  the  stom- 
VOL.  II. — 21  321 


322 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


ach  which  it  is  not  at  all  necessary  here  to  describe),  before 
I had  leisure  to  ask  myself  why  the  deuce  I was  in  that 
boat,  with  four  rowers  hurrooing  and  bounding  madly  from 
one  huge  liquid  mountain  to  another  — four  rowers  whom 
I was  bound  to  pay.  I say,  the  query  came  qualmishly 
across  me,  why  the  devil  I was  there,  and  why  not  walking 
calmly  on  the  shore  ? 

The  guide  began  pouring  his  professional  jargon  into  my 
ears.  “ Every  one  of  them  bays/5  says  he,  “ has  a name 
(take  my  place,  and  the  spray  won’t  come  over  you)  : that 
is  Port  Noffer,  and  the  next,  Port  na  Gauge ; them  rocks  is 
the  Stookawns  (for  every  rock  has  its  name  as  well  as 
every  bay)  ; and  yonder  — give  way,  my  boys,  — hurray, 
we’re  over  it  now : has  it  wet  you  much,  sir  ? — that’s  the 
little  cave : it  goes  five  hundred  feet  under  ground,  and  the 
boats  goes  into  it  easy  of  a calm  day.” 

“ Is  it  a fine  day  or  a rough  one  now  ? ” said  I ; the  inter- 
nal disturbance  going  on  with  more  severity  than  ever. 

“ It’s  betwixt  and  between ; or,  I may  say,  neither  one 
nor  the  other.  Sit  up,  sir.  Look  at  the  entrance  of  the 
cave.  Don’t  be  afraid,  sir  : never  has  an  accident  happened 
in  any  of  these  boats,  and  the  most  delicate  ladies  has  rode 
in  them  on  rougher  days  than  this.  Now,  boys,  pull  to  the 
big  cave.  That,  sir,  is  six  hundred  and  sixty  yards  in 
length,  though  some  say  it  goes  for  miles  inland,  where 
the  people  sleeping  in  their  houses  hear  the  waters  roaring 
under  thei^.” 

The  water  was  tossing  and  tumbling  into  the  mouth  of 
the  little  cave.  I looked,  — for  the  guide  would  not  let  me 
alone  till  I did,  — and  saw  what  might  be  expected  : a 
black  hole  of  some  forty  feet  high,  into  which  it  was  no 
more  possible  to  see  than  into  a millstone.  “ For  heaven’s 
sake,  sir,”  says  I,  “ if  you’ve  no  particular  wish  to  see  the 
mouth  of  the  big  cave,  put  about  and  let  us  see  the  Cause- 
way and  get  ashore.”  This  was  done,  the  guide  meanwhile 
telling  some  story  of  a ship  of  the  Spanish  Armada  having 
fired  her  guns  at  two  peaks  of  rock,  then  visible,  which  the 
crew  mistook  for  chimney-pots  — what  benighted  fools 
these  Spanish  Armadilloes  must  have  been : it  is  easier  to 
see  a rock  than  a chimney-pot ; it  is  easy  to  know  that 
chimney-pots  do  not  grow  on  rocks.  — “ But  where,  if  you 
please,  is  the  Causeway  ? ” 

“ That’s  the  Causeway  before  you,”  says  the  guide. 

“ Which?” 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK . 


323 


“That  pier  which  you  see  jutting  out  into  the  bay,  right 
ahead/’ 

“ Mon  I)ieu  ! and  have  I travelled  a hundred  and  fifty 
miles  to  see  that  ? ” 

I declare,  upon  my  conscience,  the  barge  moored  at  Hun- 
gerford  market  is  a more  majestic  object,  and  seems  to 


occupy  as  much  space.  As  for  telling  a man  that  the 
Causeway  is  merely  a part  of  the  sight ; that  he  is  there 
for  the  purpose  of  examining  the  surrounding  scenery  ; that 
if  he  looks  to  the  westward  he  will  see  Portrush  and  Done- 
gal Head  before  him : that  the  cliffs  immediately  in  his 
front  are  green  in  some  places,  black  in  others,  interspersed 
with  blotches  of  brown  and  streaks  of  verdure  ; — what  is 
all  this  to  a lonely  individual  lying  sick  in  a boat,  between 
two  immense  waves  that  only  give  him  momentary  glimpses 
of  the  land  in  question,  to  show  that  it  is  frightfully  near, 


324 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK . 


and  yet  you  are  an  hour  from  it  ? They  won’t  let  you  go 
away  — that  cursed  guide  will  tell  out  his  stock  of  legends 
and  stories.  The  boatmen  insist  upon  your  looking  at 
boxes  of  “ specimens/’  which  you  must  buy  of  them  ; they 
laugh  as  you  grow  paler  and  paler ; they  offer  you  more 
and  more  “ specimens”;  even  the  dirty  lad  who  pulls  num- 
ber three,  and  is  not  allowed  by  his  comrades  to  speak, 
puts  in  his  oar,  and  hands  you  over  a piece  of  Irish  dia- 
mond (it  looks  like  half-sucked  elecampane),  and  scorns 
you.  “ Hurray,  lads,  now  for  it,  give  way  !”  how  the  oars 
do  hurtle  in  the  rowlocks,  as  the  boat  goes  up  an  aqueous 
mountain,  and  then  down  into  one  of  those  cursed  maritime 
valleys  where  there  is  no  rest  as  on  shore ! 

At  last,  after  they  had  pulled  me  enough  about,  and  sold 
me  all  the  boxes  of  specimens,  I was  permitted  to  land  at 
the  spot  whence  we  set  out,  and  whence,  though  we  had 
been  rowing  for  an  hour,  we  had  never  been  above  five  hun- 
dred yards  distant.  Let  all  Cockneys  take  warning  from 
this  ; let  the  solitary  one  caught  issuing  from  the  back  door 
of  the  hotel,  shout  at  once  to  the  boatmen  to  be  gone  — that 
he  will  have  none  of  them.  Let  him,  at  any  rate,  go  first 
down  to  the  water  to  determine  whether  it  be  smooth 
enough  to  allow  him  to  take  any  decent  pleasure  by  riding 
on  its  surface.  For  after  all,  it  must  be  remembered  that 
it  is  pleasure  we  come  for  — that  we  are  not  obliged  to  take 
those  boats.  — Well,  well ! I paid  ten  shillings  for  mine, 
and  ten  minutes  before  would  cheerfully  have  paid  five 
pounds  to  be  allowed  to  quit  it : it  was  no  hard  bargain 
after  all.  As  for  the  boxes  of  spar  and  specimens,  I at 
once,  being  on  terra  firma,  broke  my  promise,  and  said  I 

would  see  them  all first.  It  is  wrong  to  swear,  I 

know ; but  sometimes  it  relieves  one  so  much ! 

The  first  act  on  shore  was  to  make  a sacrifice  to  Sanctis- 
sima  Tellus ; offering  up  to  her  a neat  and  becoming  Tag- 
lioni  coat,  bought  for  a guinea  in  Covent  Garden  only  three 
months  back.  I sprawled  on  my  back  on  the  smoothest  of 
rocks  that  is,  and  tore  the  elbows  to  pieces : the  guide 
picked  me  up ; the  boatmen  did  not  stir,  for  they  had  had 
their  will  of  me ; the  guide  alone  picked  me  up,  I say,  and 
bade  me  follow  him.  We  went  across  a boggy  ground  in 
one  of  the  little  bays,  round  which  rise  the  green  walls  of 
the  cliff,  terminated  on  either  side  by  a black  crag,  and  the 
line  of  the  shore  washed  by  the  poluphloisboiotic,  nay,  the 
poluphloisboiotatotic  sea.  Two  beggars  stepped  over  the 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK . 


325 


bog  after  us  howling  for  money,  and  each  holding  up  a 
cursed  box  of  specimens.  No  oaths,  threats,  entreaties, 
would  drive  these  vermin  away  ; for  some  time  the  whole 
scene  had  been  spoilt  by  the  incessant  and  abominable  jar- 
gon of  them,  the  boatmen,  and  the  guides.  I was  obliged 
to  give  them  money  to  be  left  in  quiet,  and  if,  as  no  doubt 
will  be  the  case,  the  Giant’s  Causeway  shall  be  a still 
greater  resort  of  travellers  than  ever,  the  county  must  put 
policemen  on  the  rocks  to  keep  the  beggars  away,  or  fling 
them  in  the  water  when  they  appear. 

And  now,  by  force  of  money,  having  got  rid  of  the  sea 
and  land  beggars,  you  are  at  liberty  to  examine  at  your 
leisure  the  wonders  of  the  place.  There  is  not  the  least 
need  for  a guide  to  attend  the  stranger,  unless  the  latter 
have  a mind  to  listen  to  a parcel  of  legends,  which  may  be 
well  from  the  mouth  of  a wild  simple  peasant  who  believes 
in  his  tales,  but  are  odious  from  a dullard  who  narrates 
them  at  the  rate  of  sixpence  a lie.  Fee  him  and  the  other 
beggars,  and  at  last  you  are  left  tranquil  to  look  at  the 
strange  scene  with  your  own  eyes  and  enjoy  your  own 
thoughts  at  leisure. 

That  is,  if  the  thoughts  awakened  by  such  a scene  may 
be  called  enjoyment ; but  for  me,  T confess,  they  are  too 
near  akin  to  fear  to  be  pleasant ; and  I don’t  know  that  I 
would  desire  to  change  that  sensation  of  awe  and  terror 
which  the  hour’s  walk  occasioned,  for  a greater  familiarity 
with  this  wild,  sad,  lonely  place.  The  solitude  is  awful. 
I can’t  understand  how  those  chattering  guides  dare  to  lift 
up  their  voices  here,  and  cry  for  money. 

It  looks  like  the  beginning  of  the  world,  somehow : the 
sea  looks  older  than  in  other  places,  the  hills  and  rocks 
strange,  and  formed  differently  from  other  rocks  and  hills 
— as  those  vast  dubious  monsters  were  formed  who  pos- 
sessed the  earth  before  man.  The  hill-tops  are  shattered 
into  a thousand  cragged  fantastical  shapes  ; the  water  comes 
swelling  into  scores  of  little  strange  creeks,  or  goes  off  with 
a leap,  roaring  into  those  mysterious  caves  yonder,  which 
penetrate  who  knows  how  far  into  our  common  world  ? 
The  savage  rock-sides  are  painted  of  a hundred  colors. 
Does  the  sun  ever  shine  here  ? When  the  world  was 
moulded  and  fashioned  out  of  formless  chaos,  this  must 
have  been  the  bit  over  — a remnant  of  chaos!  Think  of 
that!  — it  is  a tailor’s  simile.  Well,  I am  a Cockney:  I 
wish  I were  in  Pall  Mall!  Yonder  is  a kelp-burner:  a 


326 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK . 


lurid  smoke  from  his  burning  kelp  rises  up  to  the  leaden 
sky,  and  he  looks  as  naked  and  herce  as  Cain.  Bubbling 
up  out  of  the  rocks  at  the  very  brim  of  the  sea  rises  a little 
crystal  spring : how  comes  it  there  ? and  there  is  an  old 
gray  hag  beside,  who  has  been  there  for  hundreds  and  hun- 
dreds of  years,  and  there  sits  and  sells  whiskey  at  the  ex- 
tremity of  creation ! How  do  you  dare  to  sell  whiskey 
there,  old  woman  ? Did  you  serve  old  Saturn  with  a 
glass  when  he  lay  along  the  Causeway  here  ? In  reply, 
she  says,  she  has  no  change  for  a shilling:  she  never  has  ; 
but  her  whiskey  is  good. 

This  is  not  a description  of  the  Giant’s  Causeway  (as 
some  clever  critic  will  remark),  but  of  a Londoner  there, 
who  is  by  no  means  so  interesting  an  object  as  the  natural 
curiosity  in  question.  That  single  hint  is  sufficient ; I 
have  not  a word  more  to  say.  “If,”  says  he,  “you  cannot 
describe  the  scene  lying  before  us  — if  you  cannot  state  from 
your  personal  observation  that  the  number  of  basaltic 
pillars  composing  the  Causeway  has  been  computed  at 
about  forty  thousand,  which  vary  in  diameter,  their  surface 
presenting  the  appearance  of  a tessellated  pavement  of 
polygonal  stones  — that  each  pillar  is  formed  of  several* 
distinct  joints,  the  convex  end  of  the  one  being  accurately 
bitted  in  the  concave  of  the  next,  and  the  length  of 
the  joints  varying  from  five  feet  to  four  inches  — that 
although  the  pillars  are  polygonal,  there  is  but  one  of  three 
sides  in  the  whole  forty  thousand  (think  of  that !),  but 
three  of  nine  sides,  and  that  it  may  be  safely  computed 
that  ninety-nine  out  of  one  hundred  pillars  have  either 
five,  six,  or  seven  sides ; if  you  cannot  state  something 
useful,  you  had  much  better,  sir,  retire  and  get  your 
dinner.” 

Never  was  summons  more  gladly  obeyed.  The  dinner 
must  be  ready  by  this  time  ; so,  remain  you,  and  look  on  at 
the  awful  scene,  and  copy  it  down  in  words  if  you  can.  If 
at  the  end  of  the  trial  you  are  dissatisfied  with  your  skill 
as  a painter,  and  find  that  the  biggest  of  your  words  can- 
not render  the  hues  and  vastness  of  that  tremendous  swell- 
ing sea  — of  those  lean  solitary  crags  standing  rigid  along 
the  shore,  where  they  have  been  watching  the  ocean  ever 
since  it  was  made  — of  those  gray  towers  of  Dunluce 
standing  upon  a leaden  rock,  and  looking  as  if  some  old, 
old  princess,  of  old,  old  fairy  times,  were  dragon-guarded 
within  — of  yon  flat  stretches  of  sand  where  the  Scotch 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK 


327 


and  Irish  mermaids  hold  conference  — come  away  too,  and 
prate  no  more  about  the  scene ! There  is  that  in  nature, 
dear  Jenkins,  which  passes  even  our  powers.  We  can  feel 
the  beauty  of  a magnificent  landscape,  perhaps : but  we 
can  describe  a leg  of  mutton  and  turnips  better.  Come, 
then,  this  scene  is  for  our  betters  to  depict.  If  Mr.  Tenny- 
son were  to  come  hither  for  a month,  and  brood  over  the 
place,  he  might,  in  some  of  those  lofty  heroic  lines  which 
the  author  of  the  “ Morte  d7  Arthur  77  knows  how  to  pile  up, 
convey  to  the  reader  a sense  of  this  gigantic  desolate 
scene.  What ! you,  too,  are  a poet  ? Well,  then,  Jenkins, 
stay  ! but  believe  me,  you  had  best  take  my  advice,  and 
come  off. 

The  worthy  landlady  made  her  appearance  with  the 
politest  of  bows  and  an  apology,  — for  what  does  the 
reader  think  a lady  should  apologize  in  the  most  lonely 
rude  spot  in  the  world?  — because  a plain  servant-woman 
was  about  to  bring  in  the  dinner,  the  waiter  being  absent 
on  leave  at  Coleraine ! 0 heaven  and  earth ! where  will 

the  genteel  end  ? I replied  philosophically  that  I did  not 
care  twopence  for  the  plainness  or  beauty  of  the  waiter, 
but  that  it  was  the  dinner  I looked  to,  the  frying  whereof 
made  a great  noise  in  the  huge  lonely  house  ; and  it  must 
be  said,  that  though  the  lady  was  plain,  the  repast  was 
exceedingly  good.  “ I have  expended  my  little  all/7  says 
the  landlady,  stepping  in  with  a speeeh  after  dinner,  “ in 
the  building  of  this  establishment ; and  though  to  a man 
its  profits  may  appear  small,  to  such  a being  as  I am  it  will 
bring,  I trust,  a sufficient  return 77 ; and  on  my  asking 
her  why  she  took  the  place,  she  replied  that  she  had 
always,  from  her  earliest  youth,  a fancy  to  dwell  in  that 
spot,  and  had  accordingly  realized  her  wish  by  building 
this  hotel  — this  mausoleum.  In  spite  of  the  bright  fire,  and 
the  good  dinner,  and  the  good  wine,  it  was  impossible  to 
feel  comfortable  in  the  place ; and  when  the  car  wheels 
were  heard,  I jumped  up  with  joy  to  take  my  departure 
and  forget  the  awful  lonely  shore,  and  that  wild,  dismal, 
genteel  inn.  A ride  over  a wide  gusty  country,  in  a gray, 
misty,  half-moonlight,  the  loss  of  a wheel  a^  Bushmills, 
and  the  escape  from  a tumble,  were  the  delightful  varieties 
after  the  late  awful  occurrences.  “ Such  a being  77  as  I am, 
would  die  of  loneliness  in  that  hotel ; and  so  let  all  brother 
Cockneys  be  warned. 


328 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK . 


Some  time  before  we  came  to  it,  we  saw  the  long  line  of 
mist  that  lay  above  the  Bann,  and  coming  through  a dirty 
suburb  of  low  cottages,  passed  down  a broad  street  with 
gas  and  lamps  in  it  (thank  heaven,  there  are  people  once 
more !),  and  at  length  drove  up  in  state,  across  a gas-pipe, 
in  a market-place,  before  a hotel  in  the  town  of  Coleraine, 
famous  for  linen  and  for  Beautiful  Kitty,  who  must  be 
old  and  ugly  now,  for  it’s  a good  five-and-thirty  years  since 
she  broke  her  pitcher,  according  to  Mr.  Moore’s  account  of 
her.  The  scene  as  we  entered  the  Diamond  was  rather  a 
lively  one  — a score  of  little  stalls  were  brilliant  with 
lights ; the  people  were  thronging  in  the  place  making 
their  Saturday  bargains ; the  town-clock  began  to  toll  nine ; 
and  hark ! faithful  to  a minute  the  horn  of  the  Derry  mail 
was  heard  tootooing,  and  four  commercial  gentlemen,  with 
Scotch  accents,  rushed  into  the  hotel  at  the  same  time  with 
myself.  ^ 

Among  the  beauties  of  Coleraine  may  be  mentioned  the 
price  of  beef,  which  a gentleman  told  me  may  be  had  for 
fourpence  a pound ; and  I saw  him  purchase  an  excellent 
codfish  for  a shilling.  I am  bound,  too,  to  state  for  the 
benefit  of  aspiring  Radicals,  what  two  Conservative  citizens 
of  the  place  stated  to  me,  viz., — that  though  there  were 
two  Conservative  candidates  then  canvassing  the  town,  on 
account  of  the  vacancy  in  the  representation,  the  voters 
were  so  truly  liberal  that  they  would  elect  any  person  of 
any  other  political  creed,  who  would  simply  bring  money 
enough  to  purchase  their  votes.  There  are  220  voters, 
it  appears ; of  whom  it  is  not,  however,  necessary  to 
“ argue  ” with  more  than  fifty,  who  alone  are  open  to  con- 
viction ; but  as  parties  are  pretty  equally  balanced,  the 
votes  of  the  quinquagint,  of  course,  carry  an  immense 
weight  with  them.  Well,  this  is  all  discussed  calmly 
standing  on  an  inn-steps,  with  a jolly  landlord  and  a 
profession-al  man  of  the  town  to  give  the  information. 
So,  heaven  bless  us,  the  ways  of  London  are  beginning  to 
be  known  even  here.  Gentility  has  already  taken  up  her 
seat  in  the  Giant’s  Causeway,  where  she  apologizes  for  the 
plainness  of  her  look  : and,  lo  ! here  is  bribery,  as  bold  as 
in  the  moat  civilized  places  — hundreds  and  hundreds  of 
miles  away  from  St.  Stephen’s  and  Pall  Mall.  I wonder, 
in  that  little  island  of  Raghery,  so  wild  and  lonely,  whether 
civilization  is  beginning  to  dawn  upon  them?  — whether 
they  bribe  and  are  genteel  ? But  for  the  rough  sea  of 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


329 


yesterday,  I think  I would  have  fled  thither  to  make  the 
trial. 

The  town  of  Coleraine,  with  a number  of  cabin  suburbs 
belonging  to  it,  lies  picturesquely  grouped  on  the  Bann 
river : and  the  whole  of  the  little  city  was  echoing  with 
psalms  as  I walked  through  it  on  the  Sunday  morning. 
The  piety  of  the  people  seems  remarkable  ; some  of  the 
inns  even  will  not  receive  travellers  on  Sunday  ; and  this  is 
written  in  a hotel,  of  which  every  room  is  provided  with 
a Testament,  containing  an  injunction  on  the  part  of  the 
landlord  to  consider  this  world  itself  as  only  a passing 
abode.  Is  it  well  that  Boniface  should  furnish  his  guest 
with  Bibles  as  well  as  bills,  and  sometimes  shut  his  door 
on  a traveller,  who  has  no  other  choice  than  to  read  it  on  a 
Sunday  ? I heard  of  a gentleman  arriving  from  ship-board 
at  Kilrush  on  a Sunday,  when  the  pious  hotel-keeper  re- 
fused him  admittance ; and  some  more  tales,  which  to  go 
into  would  require  the  introduction  of  private  names  and 
circumstances,  but  would  tend  to  show  that  the  Protestant 
of  the  North  is  as  much  priest-ridden  as  the  Catholic  of 
the  South: — priest  and  old-woman  ridden,  for  there  are 
certain  expounders  of  doctrine  in  our  church,  who  are  not, 
I believe,  to  be  found  in  the  church  of  Rome  ; and  woe 
betide  the  stranger  who  comes  in  to  settle  in  these  parts, 
if  his  u seriousness  ” be  not  satisfactory  to  the  heads 
(with  false  fronts  to  most  of  them)  of  the  congregations. 

Look  at  that  little  snug  harbor  of  Portrush ! a hideous 
new  castle  standing  on  a rock  protects  it  on  one  side,  a 
snug  row  of  gentlemen’s  cottages  curves  round  the  shore 
facing  northward,  a bath-house,  an  hotel,  more  smart 
houses,  face  the  beach  westward,  defended  by  another 
mound  of  rocks.  In  the  centre  of  the  little  town  stands  a 
new-built  church ; and  the  whole  place  has  an  air  of  com- 
fort and  neatness  which  is  seldom  seen  in  Ireland.  One 
would  fancy  that  all  the  tenants  of  these  pretty  snug 
habitations,  sheltered  in  this  nook  far  away  from  the  world, 
have  nothing  to  do  but  to  be  happy,  and  spend  their  little 
comfortable  means  in  snug  little  hospitalities  among  one 
another,  and  kind  little  charities  among  the  poor.  What 
does  a man  in  active  life  ask  for  more  than  to  retire  to  such 
a competence,  to  such  a snug  nook  of  the  world  ; and  there 
repose  with  a stock  of  healthy  children  round  the  fireside, 
a friend  within  call,  and  the  means  of  decent  hospitality 
wherewith  to  treat  him. 


330 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK 


Let  any  one  meditating  this  pleasant  sort  of  retreat,  and 
charmed  with  the  look  of  this  or  that  place  as  peculiarly 
suited  to  his  purpose,  take  a special  care  to  understand  his 
neighborhood  first,  before  he  commit  himself,  by  lease- 
signing or  house-buying.  It  is  not  sufficient  that  you 
should  be  honest,  kind-hearted,  hospitable,  of  good  family 
— what  are  your  opinions  upon  religious  subjects  ? Are 
they  such  as  agree  with  the  notions  of  old  Lady  This,  or  Mrs. 
That,  who  are  the  patronesses  of  the  village  ? If  not,  woe 
betide  you  ! you  will  be  shunned  by  the  rest  of  the  society, 
thwarted  in  your  attempts  to  do  good,  whispered  against 
over  evangelical  bohea  and  serious  muffins.  Lady  This 
will  inform  every  new  arrival  that  you  are  a reprobate,  and 
lost,  and  Mrs.  That  will  consign  you  and  your  daughters, 
and  your  wife  (a  worthy  woman,  but,  alas ! united  to  that 
sad  worldly  man !)  to  damnation.  The  clergyman  who 
partakes  of  the  muffins  and  bohea,  before  mentioned,  will 
very  possibly  preach  sermons  against  you  from  the  pulpit ; 
this  was  not  done  at  Portstewart  to  my  knowledge,  but 
I have  had  the  pleasure  of  sitting  under  a minister  in 
Ireland  who  insulted  the  very  patron  who  gave  him  his 
living,  discoursing  upon  the  sinfulness  of  partridge-shoot- 
ing, and  threatening  hell-fire  as  the  last  “ meet  ” for  fox- 
hunters  ; until  the  squire,  one  of  the  best  and  most  chari- 
table resident  landlords  in  Ireland,  was  absolutely  driven 
out  of  the  church  where  his  fathers  had  worshipped  for 
hundreds  of  years,  by  the  insults  of  this  howling  evangel- 
ical inquisitor. 

So  much  as  this  I did  not  hear  at  Portstewart ; but  I was 
told  that  at  yonder  neat-looking  bath-house  a dying  woman 
was  denied  a bath  on  a Sunday.  By  a clause  of  the  lease 
by  which  the  bath-owner  rents  his  establishment,  he  is 
forbidden  to  give  baths  to  any  one  on  the  Sunday.  The 
landlord  of  the  inn,  forsooth,  shuts  his  gates  on  the  same 
day,  and  his  conscience  on  week-days  will  not  allow  him  to 
supply  his  guests  with  whiskey  or  ardent  spirits.  I was 
told  by  my  friend,  that  because  he  refused  to  subscribe  for 
some  fancy  charity,  he  received  a letter  to  state  that  “he 
spent  more  in  one  dinner  than  in  charity  in  the  course  of 
the  year.”  My  worthy  friend  did  not  care  to  contradict 
the  statement,  as  why  should  a man  deign  to  meddle  with 
such  a lie  ? But  think  how  all  the  fishes,  and  all  the 
pieces  of  meat,  and  all  the  people  who  went  in  and  out  of 
his  snug  cottage  by  the  sea-side  must  have  been  watched 


THE  HUSH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


331 


by  the  serious  round  about ! The  sea  is  not  more  constant 
roaring  there,  than  scandal  is  whispering.  How  happy  I 
felt,  while  hearing  these  histories  (demure  heads  in 
crimped  caps  peeping  over  the  blinds  at  us  as  we  walked 
on  the  beach),  to  think  I am  a Cockney,  and  don’t  know 
the  name  of  the  man  who  lives  next  door  to  me  ! 

I have  heard  various  stories  of  course  from  persons  of 
various  ways  of  thinking,  charging  their  opponents  with 
hypocrisy,  and  proving  the  charge  by  statements  clearly 
showing  that  the  priests,  the  preachers,  or  the  professing 
religionists  in  question,  belied  their  professions  wofully  by 
their  practice.  But  in  matters  of  religion,  hypocrisy  is  so 
awful  a charge  to  make  against  a man,  that  I think  it  is 
almost  unfair  to  mention  even  the  cases  in  which  it  is 
proven,  and  which,  — as,  pray  God,  they  are  but  except 
tional,  — a person  should  be  very  careful  of  mentioning, 
lest  they  be  considered  to  apply  generally.  Tar  tuff e has 
been  always  a disgusting  play  to  me  to  see,  in  spite  of  its 
sense  and  its  wit ; and  so,  instead  of  printing,  here  or  else- 
where, a few  stories  of  the  Tartuffe  kind  which  I have  heard 
in  Ireland,  the  best  way  will  be  to  try  and  forget  them.  It  is 
an  awful  thing  to  say  of  any  man  walking  under  God’s  sun 
by  the  side  of  us,  “ You  are  a hypocrite,  lying  as  you  use  the 
Most  Sacred  Name,  knowing  that  you  lie  while  you  use  it.” 
Let  it  be  the  privilege  of  any  sect  that  is  so  minded,  to 
imagine  that  there  is  perdition  in  store  for  all  the  rest  of 
God’s  creatures  who  do  not  think  with  them ; but  the  easy 
countercharge  of  hypocrisy,  which  the  world  has  been  in 
the  habit  of  making  in  its  turn,  is  surely  just  as  fatal  and 
bigoted  an  accusation  as  any  that  the  sects  make  against 
the  world. 

What  has  this  disquisition  to  do  apropos  of  a walk  on 
the  beach  at  Portstewart  ? Why,  it  may  be  made  here  as 
well  as  in  other  parts  of  Ireland,  or  elsewhere  as  well, 
perhaps,  as  here.  It  is  the  most  priest-ridden  of  countries; 
Catholic  clergymen  lord  it  over  their  ragged  flocks,  as 
Protestant  preachers,  lay  and  clerical,  over  their  more 
genteel  co-religionists.  Bound  to  inculcate  peace  and 
good-will,  their  whole  life  is  one  of  enmity  and  distrust. 

Walking  away  from  the  little  bay  and  the  disquisition 
which  has  somehow  been  raging  there,  we  went  across 
some  wild  dreary  highlands  to  the  neighboring  little  town 
of  Portrush,  where  is  a neat  town  and  houses,  and  a harbor, 
and  a new  church  too,  so  like  the  last-named  place  that  I 


332 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK . 


thought  for  a moment  we  had  only  made  a round,  and  were 
back  again  at  Portstewart.  Some  gentlemen  of  the  place, 
and  my  guide,  who  had  a neighborly  liking  for  it,  showed 
me  the  new  church,  and  seemed  to  be  well  pleased  with  the 
edifice ; which  is,  indeed,  a neat  and  convenient  one,  of  a 
rather  irregular  Gothic.  The  best  thing  about  the  church, 
I think,  was  the  history  of  it.  The  old  church  had  lain 
some  miles  off,  in  the  most  inconvenient  part  of  the  parish, 
whereupon  the  clergyman  and  some  of  the  gentry  had 
raised  a subscription  in  order  to  build  the  present  church. 
The  expenses  had  exceeded  the  estimates,  or  the  subscrip- 
tions had  fallen  short  of  the  sums  necessary ; and  the 
church,  in  consequence,  was  opened  with  a debt  on  it, 
which  the  rector  and  two  more  of  the  gentry  had  taken  on 
their  shoulders.  The  living  is  a small  one,  the  other  two 
gentlemen  going  bail  for  the  edifice  not  so  rich  as  to  think 
light  of  the  payment  of  a couple  of  hundred  pounds  beyond 
their  previous  subscriptions — the  lists  are  therefore  still 
open ; and  the  clergyman  expressed  himself  perfectly 
satisfied  either  that  he  would  be  reimbursed  one  day  or 
other,  or  that  he  would  be  able  to  make  out  the  payment 
of  the  money  for  which  he  stood  engaged.  Most  of  the 
Roman  Catholic  churches  that  I have  seen  through  the 
country  have  been  built  in  this  way,  — begun  when  money 
enough  was  levied  for  constructing  the  foundation,  elevated 
by  degrees  as  fresh  subscriptions  came  in,  and  finished — 
by  the  way,  I don’t  think  I have  seen  one  finished;  but 
there  is  something  noble  in  the  spirit  (however  certain 
economists  may  cavil  at  it)  that  leads  people  to  commence 
these  pious  undertakings  with  the  firm  trust  that  “ Heaven 
will  provide.” 

Eastward  from  Portrush,  we  came  upon  a beautiful  level 
sand  which  leads  to  the  White  Rocks,  a famous  place  of 
resort  for  the  frequenters  of  the  neighboring  watering- 
places.  Here  are  caves,  and  for  a considerable  distance  a 
view  of  the  wild  and  gloomy  Antrim  coast  as  far  as 
Bengore.  Midway,  jutting  into  the  sea  (and  I was  glad  it 
was  so  far  off),  was  the  Causeway ; and  nearer,  the  gray 
towers  of  Dunluce. 

Looking  north,  were  the  blue  Scotch  hills  and  the  neigh- 
boring Raghery  Island.  Hearer  Portrush  were  two  rocky 
islands,  called  the  Skerries,  of  which  a sportsman  of  our 
party  vaunted  the  capabilities,  regretting  that  my  stay  was 
not  longer,  so  that  I might  land  and  shoot  a few  ducks 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


333 


there.  This  unlucky  lateness  of  the  season  struck  me  also 
as  a most  afflicting  circumstance.  He  said  also  that  fish 
were  caught  off  the  island  — not  fish  good  to  eat,  but  very 
strong  at  pulling,  eager  of  biting,  and  affording  a great  deal 
of  sport.  And  so  we  turned  our  backs  once  more  upon 
the  Giant’s  Causeway,  and  the  grim  coast  on  which  it  lies ; 
and  as  my  taste  in  life  leads  me  to  prefer  looking  at  the 
smiling  fresh  face  of  a young  cheerful  beauty,  rather  than 
at  the  fierce  countenance  and  high  features  of  a dishevelled 
Meg  Merrilies,  I must  say  again  that  I was  glad  to  turn  my 
back  on  this  severe  part  of  the  Antrim  coast,  and  my  steps 
towards  Derry. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 


PEG  OF  LIMAVADDY. 

E TWEEN  Coleraine  and 
Derry  there  is  a daily  car 
(besides  one  or  two  occa- 
sional queer-looking 
coaches),  and  I had  this 
vehicle,  with  an  intelli- 
gent driver,  and,  a horse 
with  a hideous  raw  on  his 
shoulder,  entirely  to  my- 
self for  the  five-and-twenty 
miles  of  our  journey.  The 
cabins  of  Coleraine  are 
not  parted  with  in  a hurry, 
and  we  crossed  the  bridge, 
and  went  up  and  down  the 
hills  of  one  of  the  subur- 
ban streets,  the  Bann  flow- 
a large  Catholic  chapel, 
the  before-mentioned  cabins,  and,  farther  on,  some  neat- 
looking houses  and  plantations,  to  our  right.  Then  we 
began  ascending  wide  lonely  hills,  pools  of  bog  shining 
here  and  there  amongst  them,  with  birds,  both  black  and 
white,  both  geese  and  crows,  on  the  hunt.  Some  of  the 
stubble  was  already  ploughed  up,  but  by  the  side  of  most 
cottages  you  saw  a black  potato-field  that  it  was  time  to 
dig  now,  for  the  weather  was  changing  and  the  winds 
beginning  to  roar.  Woods,  whenever  we  passed  them, 
were  flinging  round  eddies  of  mustard-colored  leaves  ; the 
white  trunks  of  lime  and  ash  trees  beginning  to  look  very 
bare. 

Then  we  stopped  to  give  the  raw-backed  horse  water; 
then  we  trotted  down  a hill  with  a noble  bleak  prospect  of 
Lough  Foyle  and  the  surrounding  mountains  before  us, 
until  we  reached  the  town  of  Newtown  Limavaddy,  where 

334 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


335 


the  raw-backed  horse  was  exchanged  for  another  not  much 
more  agreeable  in  his  appearance,  though,  like  his  comrade, 
not  slow  on  the  road. 

Newtown  Limavaddy  is  the  third  town  in  the  county  of 
Londonderry.  It  comprises  three  well-built  streets,  the 
others  are  inferior;  it  is,  however,  respectably  inhabited: 
all  this  may  be  true,  as  the  well-informed  Guide-book  avers, 
but  I am  bound  to  say  that  I was  thinking  of  something 
else  as  we  drove  through  the  town,  having  fallen  eternally 
in  love  during  the  ten  minutes  of  our  stay. 

Yes,  Peggy  of  Limavaddy,  if  Barrow  and  Inglis  have 
gone  to  Connemara  to  fall  in  love  with  the  Misses  Flynn, 
let  us  be  allowed  to  come  to  Ulster  and  offer  a tribute  of 
praise  at  your  feet  — at  your  stockingless  feet,  0 Margaret! 
Do  you  remember  the  October  day  (’twas  the  first  day  of 
the  hard  weather),  when  the  way-worn  traveller  entered 
your  inn  ? But  the  circumstances  of  this  passion  had 
better  be  chronicled  in  deathless  verse. 

PEG  OF  LIMAVADDY. 


Riding  from  Coleraine 
(Famed  for  lovely  Kitty), 
Came  a Cockney  bound 
Unto  Derry  city; 


Weary  was  his  soul, 
Shivering  and  sad  he 
Bumped  along  the  road 
Leads  to  Limavaddy. 


Mountains  stretch’d  around, 
Gloomy  was  their  tinting, 

And  the  horse’s  hoofs 
Made  a dismal  dinting; 

Wind  upon  the  heath 
Howling  was  and  piping, 

On  the  heath  and  bog, 

Black  with  many  a snipe  in ; 
Mid  the  bogs  of  black, 

Silver  pools  were  flashing, 
Crows  upon  their  sides 
Picking  were  and  splashing. 
Cockney  on  the  car 
Closer  folds  his  plaidy, 
Grumbling  at  the  road 
Leads  to  Limavaddy. 

Through  the  crashing  woods 
Autumn  brawl’d  and  bluster’d, 
Tossing  round  about 
Leaves  the  hue  of  mustard ; 
Yonder  lay  Lough  Foyle, 

Which  a storm  was  whipping, 
Covering  with  mist 
Lake,  and  shores,  and  shipping. 


Up  and  down  the  hill 

(Nothing  could  be  bolder), 
Horse  went  with  a raw, 
Bleeding  on  his  shoulder. 

“ Where  are  horses  changed  ?” 
Said  I to  the  laddy 
Driving  on  the  box: 

4 ‘Sir,  at  Limavaddy.” 
Limavaddy  inn’s 
But  a humble  baithouse, 
Where  you  may  procure 
Whiskey  and  potatoes ; 
Landlord  at  the  door 
Gives  a smiling  welcome 
To  the  shivering  wights 
Who  to  his  hotel  come. 
Landlady  within 
Sits  and  knits  a stocking, 
With  a wary  foot 
Baby’s  cradle  rocking. 

To  the  chimney  nook, 

Having  found  admittance, 
There  I watch  a pup 
Playing  with  two  kittens; 


336 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK . 


(Playing  round  the  fire, 

Which  of  blazing  turf  is, 
Koaring  to  the  pot 

Which  bubbles  with  the  mur- 
phies); 

And  the  cradled  babe 

Fond  the  mother  nursed  it! 
Singing  it  a song 
As  she  twists  the  worsted ! 

Up  and  down  the  stair 
Two  more  young  ones  patter 
(Twins  were  never  seen 
Dirtier  nor  fatter) ; 

Both  have  mottled  legs, 

Both  have  snubby  noses, 

Both  have  — Here  the  Host 
Kindly  interposes: 

“ Sure  you  must  be  froze 
With  the  sleet  and  hail,  sir, 

So  will  you  have  some  punch. 

Or  will  you  have  some  ale,  sir  ? ” 

Presently  a maid 
Enters  with  the  liquor, 

(Half  a pint  of  ale 
Frothing  in  a beaker). 

Gods!  I didn’t  know 
What  my  beating  heart  meant, 
Hebe’s  self  I thought 
Enter’d  the  apartment. 

As  she  came  she  smiled, 

And  the  smile  bewitching, 

On  my  word  and  honor, 

Lighted  all  the  kitchen! 

With  a court’ sy  neat 
Greeting  the  new-comer, 
Lovely,  smiling  Peg 
Offers  me  the  rummer; 

But  my  trembling  hand 
Up  the  beaker  tilted, 

And  the  glass  of  ale 
Every  drop  I spilt  it : 

Spilt  it  every  drop 

(Dames,  who  read  my  volumes, 
Pardon  such  a word), 

On  my  whatd’ycall’ems! 


Witnessing  the  sight 
Of  that  dire  disaster, 

Out  began  to  laugh 
Missis,  maid,  and  master; 

Such  a merry  peal, 

’Specially  Miss  Peg’s  was, 

(As  the  glass  of  ale 
Trickling  down  my  legs  was), 
That  the  joyful  sound 
Of  that  ringing  laughter 
Echoed  in  my  ears 
Many  a long  day  after. 

Such  a silver  peal ! 

In  the  meadows  listening, 

You  who’ve  heard  the  bells 
Ringing  to  a christening; 

You  who  ever  heard 
Caradori  pretty, 

Smiling  like  an  angel 
Singing  “ Giovinetti,” 

Fancy  Peggy’s  laugh, 

Sweet,  and  clear  and  cheerful, 
At  my  pantaloons 
With  half  a pint  of  beer  full ! 

When  the  laugh  was  done, 

Peg,  the  pretty  hussy, 

Moved  about  the  room 
Wonderfully  busy; 

Now  she  looks  to  see 
If  the  kettle  keep  hot, 

Now  she  rubs  the  spoons, 

Now  she  cleans  the  teapot; 
Now  she  sets  the  cups 
Trimly  and  secure, 

Now  she  scours  a pot 
And  so  it  was  I drew  her. 

Thus  it  was  I drew  her 
Scouring  of  a kettle.* 

(Faith!  her  blushing  cheeks 
Redden’d  on  the  metal!) 

Ah ! but  ’tis  in  vain 
That  I try  to  sketch  it; 

The  pot  perhaps  is  like, 

But  Peggy’s  face  is  wretched 


* The  late  Mr.  Pope  represents  Camilla  as  “ scouring  the  plain,”  an 
absurd  and  useless  task.  Peggy’s  occupation  with  the  kettle  is  much 
more  simple  and  noble.  The  second  line  of  this  verse  ( whereof  the 
author  scorns  to  deny  an  obligation)  is  from  the  celebrated  “ Frithiof  ” 
of  Esaias  Tigner.  A maiden  is  serving  warriors  to  drink,  and  is 
standing  by  a shield — “ Un  die  Runde  des  Schildes  ward  wie  das 
Magdelein  roth,”  — perhaps  the  above  is  the  best  thing  in  both  poems. 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


337 


No:  the  best  of  lead, 

And  of  Indian-rubber, 

Never  could  depict 

That  sweet  kettle-scrubber! 

See  her  as  she  moves ! 

Scarce  the  ground  she  touches, 
Airy  as  a fay, 

Graceful  as  a duchess; 


Bare  her  rounded  arm, 

Bare  her  little  leg  is, 
Vestris  never  show’d 
Ankles  like  to  Peggy’s: 
Braided  is  her  hair, 

Soft  her  look  and  modest, 
Slim  her  little  waist 
Comfortably  bodiced. 


This  I do  declare, 

Happy  is  the  laddy 
Who  the  heart  can  share 
Of  Peg  of  Limavaddy; 
Married  if  she  were, 

Blest  would  be  the  daddy 
Of  the  children  fair 
Of  Peg  of  Limavaddy; 
Beauty  is  not  rare 
In  the  land  of  Paddy, 
Fair  beyond  compare 
Is  Peg  of  Limavaddy. 


Citizen  or  squire, 

Tory,  Whig,  or  Radi- 
cal would  all  desire 
Peg  of  Limavaddy. 

Had  I Homer’s  fire, 

Or  that  of  Sergeant  Taddy, 
Meetly  I’d  admire 
Peg  of  Limavaddy. 

And  till  I expire, 

Or  till  I grow  mad,  I 
Will  sing  unto  my  lyre 
Peg  of  Limavaddy ! 


VOL.  II. 22 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 


TEMPLEMO  YLE DERRY. 

ROM  Xewtown  Limavaddy 
to  Derry  the  traveller  has 
many  wild  and  noble  pros- 
pects of  Lough  Foyle  and 
the  plains  and  mountains 
round  it,  and  of  scenes 
which  may  possibly  in  this 
country  be  still  more  agree- 
able to  him  — of  smiling 
cultivation,  and  comfortable 
well-built  villages  such  as 
are  only  too  rare  in  Ireland. 
Of  a great  part  of  this  dis- 
trict the  London  Compan- 
ies are  landlords  — the  best 
of  landlords,  too,  according 
to  the  report  I could  gath- 
er ; and  their  good  stewardship  shows  itself  especially  in 
the  neat  villages  of  Muff  and  Ballikelly,  through  both  of 
which  I passed.  In  Ballikelly,  besides  numerous  simple, 
stout,  brick-built  dwellings  for  the  peasantry,  with  their 
shining  windows  and  trim  garden-plots,  is  a Presbyterian 
meeting-house,  so  well-built,  substantial,  and  handsome,  so 
different  from  the  lean,  pretentious,  sham- Gothic  ecclesiasti- 
cal edifices  which  have  been  erected  of  late  years  in  Ire- 
land, that  it  can’t  fail  to  strike  the  tourist  who  has  made 
architecture  his  study  or  his  pleasure.  The  gentlemen’s 
seats  in  the  district  are  numerous  and  handsome ; and  the 
whole  movement  along  the  road  betokened  cheerfulness  and 
prosperous  activity. 

As  the  carman  had  no  other  passengers  but  myself,  he 
made  no  objection  to  carry  me  a couple  of  miles  out  of  his 
way,  through  the  village  of  Muff,  belonging  to  the  Grocers 
of  London  (and  so  handsomely  and  comfortably  built  by 

33S 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK . 


339 


them  as  to  cause  all  Cockneys  to  exclaim,  “Well  done  our 
side  ! ”)  and  thence  to  a very  interesting  institution,  which 
was  established  some  fifteen  years  since  in  the  neighbor- 
hood— the  Agricultural  Seminary  of  Templemoyle.  It 
lies  on  a hill  in  a pretty  wooded  country,  and  is  most  curi- 
ously secluded  from  the  world  by  the  tortuousness  of  the 
road  which  approaches  it. 

Of  course  it  is  not  my  business  to  report  upon  the  agri- 
cultural system  practised  there,  or  to  discourse  on  the  state 
of  the  land  or  the  crops  y the  best  testimony  on  this  subject 
is  the  fact  that  the  Institution  hired,  at  a small  rental,  a 
tract  of  land,  which  was  reclaimed  and  farmed,  and  that  of 
this  farm  the  landlord  has  now  taken  possession,  leaving 
the  young  farmers  to  labor  on  a new  tract  of  land,  for  which 
they  pay  five  times  as  much  rent  as  for  their  former  hold- 
ing. But  though  a person  versed  in  agriculture  could  give 
a far  more  satisfactory  account  of  the  place  than  one  to 
whom  such  pursuits  are  quite  unfamiliar,  there  is  a great  deal 
about  the  establishment  which  any  citizen  can  remark  on ; 
and  he  must  be  a very  difficult  Cockney  indeed  who  won’t  be 
pleased  here. 

After  winding  in  and  out,  and  up  and  down,  and  round 
about  the  eminence  on  which  the  house  stands,  we  at  last 
found  an  entrance  to  it,  by  a court-yard,  neat,  well-built, 
and  spacious,  where  are  the  stables  and  numerous  offices  of 
the  farm.  The  scholars  were  at  dinner  off  a comfortable 
meal  of  boiled  beef,  potatoes,  and  cabbages,  when  I arrived ; 
a master  was  reading  a book  of  history  to  them  ; and 
silence,  it  appears,  is  preserved  during  the  dinner.  Seventy 
scholars  were  here  assembled,  some  young,  and  some  ex- 
panded into  six  feet  and  whiskers  — all,  however,  are  made 
to  maintain  exactly  the  same  discipline,  whether  whiskered 
or  not. 

The  “ head  farmer  ” of  the  school,  Mr.  Campbell,  a very 
intelligent  Scotch  gentleman,  was  good  enough  to  conduct 
me  over  the  place  and  the  farm,  and  to  give  a history  of 
the  establishment  and  the  course  pursued  there.  The 
Seminary  was  founded  in  1827,  by  the  North-west  of  Ire- 
land Society,  by  members  of  which  and  others  about  three 
thousand  pounds  were  subscribed,  and  the  buildings  of  the 
school  erected.  These  are  spacious,  simple,  and  comfort- 
able ; there  is  a good  stone  house,  with  airy  dormitories, 
school -rooms,  &c.,  and  large  and  convenient  offices.  The 
establishment  had,  at  first,  some  difficulties  to  contend  with, 


340 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


and  for  some  time  did  not -number  more  than  thirty  pupils. 
At  present,  there  are  seventy  scholars,  paying  ten  pounds 
a year,  with  which  sum,  and  the  labor  of  the  pupils  on  the 
farm,  and  the  produce  of  it,  the  school  is  entirely  supported. 
The  reader  will,  perhaps  like  to  see  an  extract  from  the 
Report  of  the  school,  which  contains  more  details  regard- 
ing it. 


“ TEMPLEMOYLE  WORK  AND  SCHOOL  TABLE. 

“ From  20 th  March  to  23 d September . 


“ Boys  divided  into  two  classes,  A and  B. 


Hours. 

5J  — 

All  rise. 

At  work. 

At  school. 

6—8 

8—9 

Breakfast. 

B 

9 — 1 
1—2 

Dinner  and  recreation. 

B 

2—6 

6—7 

Recreation. 

A 

7—9 
9 — 

Prepare  lessons  for  next  day. 
To  bed. 

“ On  Tuesday  B commences  work  in  the  morning  and  A at  school, 
and  so  on  alternate  days. 

4 ‘Each  class  is  again  subdivided  into  three  divisions,  over  each  of 
which  is  placed  a monitor,  selected  from  the  steadiest  and  best- 
informed  boys  ; he  receives  the  Head  Farmer’s  directions  as  to  the 
work  to  be  done,  and  superintends  his  party  while  performing  it. 

“ In  winter  the  time  of  labor  is  shortened  according  to  the  length  of 
the  day,  and  the  hours  at  school  increased. 

“ In  wet  days,  when  the  boys  cannot  work  out,  all  are  required  to 
attend  school. 


“ Dietary. 

“ Breakfast . — Eleven  ounces  of  oatmeal  made  in  stirabout,  one 
pint  of  sweet  milk. 

“ Dinner . — Sunday  — Three-quarters  of  a pound  of  beef  stewed 
with  pepper  and  onions,  or  one  half-pound  of  corned  beef  with  cab- 
bage, and  three  and  a half  pounds  of  potatoes. 

“Monday  — One  half-pound  of  pickled  beef,  three  and  a half 
pounds  of  potatoes,  one  pint  of  buttermilk. 

“Tuesday  — Broth  made  of  one  half-pound  of  beef,  with  leeks, 
cabbages,  and  parsley,  and  three  and  a half  pounds  of  potatoes. 

“Wednesday  — Two  ounces  of  butter,  eight  ounces  of  oatmeal 
made  into  bread,  three  and  a half  pounds  of  potatoes,  and  one  pint  of 
sweet  milk. 

“Thursday  — Half  a pound  of  pickled  pork,  with  cabbage  or  tur- 
nips, and  three  and  a half  pounds  of  potatoes. 

“Friday — Two  ounces  of  butter,  eight  ounces  wheat  meal  made 
into  bread,  one  pint  of  sweet  milk  or  fresh  buttermilk,  three  and  a 
half  pounds  of  potatoes. 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


341 


“ Saturday  — Two  ounces  of  butter,  one  pound  of  potatoes  mashed, 
eight  ounces  of  wheat  meal  made  into  bread,  two  and  a half  pounds 
of  potatoes,  one  pint  of  buttermilk. 

“Supper.  — In  summer,  flummery  made  of  one  pound  of  oatmeal 
seeds,  and  one  pint  of  sweet  milk.  In  winter,  three  and  a half  pounds 
of  potatoes,  and  one  pint  of  buttermilk  or  sweet  milk. 

44  Rules  for  tiie  Templemoyle  School. 

44  1.  The  pupils  are  required  to  say  their  prayers  in  the  morning, 
before  leaving  the  dormitory,  and  at  night,  before  retiring  to  rest, 
each  separately,  and  after  the  manner  to  which  he  has  been  habituated. 

44  2.  The  pupils  are  requested  to  wash  their  hands  and  faces  before 
the  commencement  of  business  in  the  morning,  on  returning  from 
agricultural  labor,  and  after  dinner. 

“3.  The  pupils  are  required  to  pay  the  strictest  attention  to  their 
instructors,  both  during  the  hours  of  agricultural  and  literary  occupa- 
tion. 

“4.  Strife,  disobedience,  inattention,  or  any  description  of  riotous 
or  disorderly  conduct,  is  punishable  by  extra  labor  or  confinement,  as 
directed  by  the  Committee,  according  to  circumstances. 

“ 5.  Diligent  and  respectful  behavior,  continued  for  a considerable 
time,  will  be  rewarded  by  occasional  permission  for  the  pupil  so  dis- 
tinguished to  visit  his  home. 

44  6.  No  pupil,  on  obtaining  leave  of  absence,  shall  presume  to  con- 
tinue it  for  a longer  period  than  that  prescribed  to  him  on  leaving  the 
Seminary. 

44  7.  During  their  rural  labor,  the  pupils  are  to  consider  themselves 
amenable  to  the  authority  of  their  Agricultural  Instructor  alone,  and 
during  their  attendance  in  the  school-room,  to  that  of  their  Literary 
Instructor  alone. 

44  8.  Non-attendance  during  any  part  of  the  time  allotted  either  for 
literary  or  agricultural  employment,  will  be  punished  as  a serious 
offence. 

44  9.  During  the  hours  of  recreation  the  pupils  are  to  be  under  the 
superintendence  of  their  Instructors,  and  not  suffered  to  pass  beyond 
the  limits  of  the  farm,  except  under  their  guidance,  or  with  a written 
permission  from  one  of  them. 

44 10.  The  pupils  are  required  to  make  up  their  beds,  and  keep  those 
clothes  not  in  immediate  use  neatly  folded  up  in  their  trunks,  and  to 
be  particular  in  never  suffering  any  garment,  book,  implement,  or 
other  article  belonging  to  or  used  by  them,  to  lie  about  in  a slovenly  or 
disorderly  manner. 

44 11.  Respect  to  superiors,  and  gentleness  of  demeanor,  both  among 
the  pupils  themselves  and  towards  the  servants  and  laborers  of  the  es- 
tablishment, are  particularly  insisted  upon,  and  will  be  considered  a 
prominent  ground  of  approbation  and  reward. 

44 12.  On  Sundays  the  pupils  are  required  to  attend  their  respective 
places  of  worship,  accompanied  by  their  Instructors  or  Monitors;  and 
it  is  earnestly  recommended  to  them  to  employ  a part  of  the  remain- 
der of  the  day  in  sincerely  reading  the  Word  of  God,  and  in  such  other 
devotional  exercises  as  their  respective  ministers  may  point  out.” 

At  certain  periods  of  the  year,  when  all  hands  are  re- 
quired, such  as  harvest,  &c.,  the  literary  labors  of  the 


342 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK . 


scholars  are  stopped,  and  they  are  all  in  the  field.  On  the 
present  occasion  we  followed  them  into  a potato-field,  where 
an  army  of  them  were  employed  digging  out  the  potatoes ; 
while  another  regiment  were  trenching-in  elsewhere  for  the 
winter : the  boys  were  leading  the  carts  to  and  fro.  To 
reach  the  potatoes  we  had  to  pass  a field,  part  of  which 
was  newly  ploughed : the  ploughing  was  the  work  of  the 
boys,  too;  one  of  them  being  left  with  an  experienced 
ploughman  for  a fortnight  at  a time,  in  which  space  the 
lad  can  acquire  some  practice  in  the  art.  Amongst  the 
potatoes  and  the  boys  digging  them,  I observed  a number 
of  girls,  taking  them  up  as  dug,  and  removing  the  soil  from 
the  roots.  Such  a society  for  seventy  young  men  would,  m 
any  other  country  in  the  world,  be  not  a little  dangerous ; 
but  Mr.  Campbell  said  that  no  instance  of  harm  had  ever 
occurred  in  consequence,  and  I believe  his  statement  may 
be  fully  relied  on : the  whole  country  bears  testimony  to 
this  noble  purity  of  morals.  Is  there  any  other  in  Europe 
which  in  this  point  can  compare  with  it  ? 

In  winter  the  farm  works  do  not  occupy  the  pupils  so 
much,  and  they  give  more  time  to  their  literary  studies. 
They  get  a good  English  education  ; they  are  grounded  in 
arithmetic  and  mathematics ; and  I saw  a good  map  of  an 
adjacent  farm,  made  from  actual  survey  by  one  of  the 
pupils.  Some  of  them  are  good  draughtsmen  likewise,  but 
of  their  performances  I could  see  no  specimen,  the  artists 
being  abroad,  occupied  wisely  in  digging  the  potatoes. 

And  here,  apropos,  not  of  the  school  but  of  potatoes,  let 
me  tell  a potato  story,  which  is,  I think,  to  the  purpose, 
wherever  it  is  told.  In  the  county  of  Mayo  a gentleman 
by  the  name  of  Crofton  is  a landed  proprietor,  in  whose 
neighborhood  great  distress  prevailed  among  the  peasantry 
during  the  spring  and  summer,  when  the  potatoes  of  the 
last  year  were  consumed,  and  before  those  of  the  present 
season  were  up.  Mr.  Crofton,  by  liberal  donations  on  his 
own  part,  and  by  a subscription  which  was  set  on  foot 
among  his  friends  in  England  as  well  as  in  Ireland,  was 
enabled  to  collect  a sum  of  money  sufficient  to  purchase 
meal  for  the  people,  which  was  given  to  them,  or  sold  at 
very  low  prices,  until  the  pressure  of  want  was  withdrawn, 
and  the  blessed  potato-crop  came  in.  Some  time  in  October, 
a smart  night’s  frost  made  Mr.  Crofton  think  that  it  was 
time  to  take  in  and  pit  his  own  potatoes,  and  he  told  his 
steward  to  get  laborers  accordingly. 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


343 


Next  day  on  going  to  the  potato-grounds,  he  found  the 
whole  fields  swarming  with  people  ; the  whole  crop  was 
out  of  the  ground,  and  again  under  it,  pitted  and  covered, 
and  the  people  gone,  in  a few  hours.  It  was  as  if  the 
fairies  that  we  read  of  in  the  Irish  legends,  as  coming  to 
the  aid  of  good  people  and  helping  them  in  their  labors, 
had  taken  a liking  to  this  good  landlord,  and  taken  in  his 
harvest  for  him.  Mr.  Crofton,  who  knew  who  his  helpers 
had  been,  sent  the  steward  to  pay  them  their  day’s  wages, 
and  to  thank  them  at  the  same  time  for  having  come  to 
help  him  at  a time  when  their  labor  was  so  useful  to  him. 
One  and  all  refused  a penny  ; and  their  spokesman  said, 
“ They  wished  they  could  do  more  for  the  likes  of  him  or 
his  family.”  I have  heard  of  many  conspiracies  in  this 
country : is  not  this  one  as  worthv  to  be  told  as  any  of 
them  ? 

Round  the  house  of  Templemoyle  is  a pretty  garden, 
which  the  pupils  take  pleasure  in  cultivating,  filled  not 
with  fruit  (for  this,  though  there  are  seventy  gardeners,  the 
superintendent  said  somehow  seldom  reached  a ripe  state), 
but  with  kitchen  herbs,  and  a few  beds  of  pretty  flowers, 
such  as  are  best  suited  to  cottage  horticulture.  Such 
simple  carpenters’  and  masons’  work  as  the  young  men  can 
do  is  likewise  confided  to  them;  and  though  the  dietary 
may  appear  to  the  Englishman  as  rather  a scanty  one,  and 
though  the  English  lads  certainly  make  at  first  very  wry 
faces  at  the  stirabout  porridge  (as  they  naturally  will  when 
first  put  in  the  presence  of  that  abominable  mixture),  yet, 
after  a time,  strange  to  say,  they  begin  to  find  it  actually 
palatable  ; and  the  best  proof  of  the  excellence  of  the  diet 
is,  that  nobody  is  ever  ill  in  the  institution ; colds  and 
fevers,  and  the  ailments  of  lazy,  gluttonous  gentility,  are 
unknown ; and  the  doctor’s  bill  for  the  last  year,  for 
seventy  pupils,  amounted  to  thirty-five  shillings.  0 beatl 
agricoliculce ! You  do  not  know  what  it  is  to  feel  a little 
uneasy  after  half  a crown’s  worth  of  raspberry -tarts,  as  lads 
do  at  the  best  public  schools ; you  don’t  know  in  what  ma- 
jestic polished  hexameters  the  Roman  poet  has  described 
your  pursuits ; you  are  not  fagged  and  flogged  into  Latin 
and  Greek  at  the  cost  of  two  hundred  pounds  a year.  Let 
these  be  the  privileges  of  your  youthful  betters  ; mean- 
while content  yourselves  with  thinking  that  you  are  pre- 
paring for  a profession,  while  they  are  not ; that  you  are 
learning  something  useful,  while  they,  for  the  most  part, 


344 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK . 


are  not : for  after  all,  as  a man  grows  old  in  the  world,  old 
and  fat,  cricket  is  discovered  not  to  be  any  longer  very 
advantageous  to  him  — even  to  have  pulled  in  the  Trinity 
boat  does  not  in  old  age  amount  to  a substantial  advan- 
tage ; and  though  to  read  a Greek  play  be  an  immense 
pleasure,  yet  it  must  be  confessed  few  enjoy  it.  In  the 
first  place,  of  the  race  of  Etonians,  and  Harrovians,  and 
Carthusians  that  one  meets  in  the  world,  very  few  can  read 
the  Greek;  of  those  few  — there  are  not,  as  I believe,  any 
considerable  majority  of  poets.  Stout  men  in  the  bow-win- 
dows of  clubs  (for  such  young  Etonians  by  time  become) 
are  not  generally  remarkable  for  a taste  for  iEschylus.* 
You  do  not  hear  much  poetry  in  Westminster  Hall,  or  I 
believe  at  the  bar-tables  afterwards  ; and  if  occasionally,  in 
the  House  of  Commons,  Sir  Robert  Peel  lets  off  a quotation 

— a pocket-pistol  wadded  with  a leaf  torn  out  of  Horace  — 
depend  on  it  it  is  only  to  astonish  the  country  gentlemen 
who  don’t  understand  him  : and  it  is  my  firm  conviction 
that  Sir  Robert  no  more  cares  for  poetry  than  you  or  I do. 

Such  thoughts  would  suggest  themselves  to  a man  who 
has  had  the  benefit  of  what  is  called  an  education  at  a 
public  school  in  England,  when  he  sees  seventy  lads  from 
all  parts  of  the  empire  learning  what  his  Latin  poets  and 
philosophers  have  informed  him  is  the  best  of  all  pursuits, 

— finds  them  educated  at  one-twentieth  part  of  the  cost 
which  has  been  bestowed  on  his  own  precious  person; 
orderly  without  the  necessity  of  submitting  to  degrading 
personal  punishment ; young,  and  full  of  health  and  blood, 
though  vice  is  unknown  among  them;  and  brought  up 
decently  and  honestly  to  know  the  things  which  it  is  good 
for  them  in  their  profession  to  know.  So  it  is,  however ; 
all  the  world  is  improving  except  the  gentlemen.  There 
are  at  this  present  writing  five  hundred  boys  at  Eton, 
kicked,  and  licked,  and  bullied,  by  another  hundred  — 
scrubbing  shoes,  running  errands,  making  false  concords, 
and  (as  if  that  were  a natural  consequence !)  putting 
their  posteriors  on  a block  for  Dr.  Hawtrey  to  lash  at;  and 
still  calling  it  education.  They  are  proud  of  it  — good 
heavens  ! — absolutely  vain  of  it ; as  what  dull  barbarians 
are  not  proud  of  their  dulness  and  barbarism  ? They  call  it 
the  good  old  English  system : nothing  like  classics,  says  Sir 

* And  then,  liow  much  Latin  and  Greek  does  the  public  school- 
boy know  ? Also,  does  he  know  anything  else,  and  what  ? Is  it 
history,  or  geography,  or  mathematics,  or  divinity  ? 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


345 


John,  to  give  a boy  a taste,  you  know,  and  a habit  of  read- 
ing— (Sir  John,  who  reads  the  “Bacing  Calendar,”  and 
belongs  to  a race  of  men  of  all  the  world  the  least  given  to 
reading),  — it’s  the  good  old  English  system  ; every  boy 
lights  for  himself  — hardens  ’em,  eh,  Jack  ? Jack  grins, 
and  helps  himself  to  another  glass  of  claret,  and  presently 
tells  you  how  Tibbs  and  Miller  fought  for  an  hour  and 
twenty  minutes  “like  good  uns.”  . . . Let  us  come  to 
an  end,  however,  of  this  moralizing;  the  car-driver  has 
brought  the  old  raw-shouldered  horse  out  of  the  stable,  and 
says  it  is  time  to  be  off  again. 

Before  quitting  Templemoyle,  one  thing  more  may  be 
said  in  its  favor.  It  is  one  of  the- very  few  public  estab- 
lishments in  Ireland  where  pupils  of  the  two  religious 
denominations  are  received,  and  where  no  religious  dis- 
putes have  taken  place.  The  pupils  are  called  upon,  morn- 
ing and  evening,  to  say  their  prayers  privately.  On  Sun- 
day, each  division,  Presbyterian,  Homan  Catholic,  and 
Episcopalian,  is  marched  to  its  proper  place  of  worship. 
The  pastors  of  each  sect  may  visit  their  young  flock  when 
. so  inclined ; and  the  lads  devote  the  Sabbath  evening  to 
reading  the  books  pointed  out  to  them  by  their  clergymen. 

Would  not  the  Agricultural  Society  of  Ireland,  of  the 
success  of  whose  peaceful  labors  for  the  national  prosperity 
every  Irish  newspaper  I read  brings  some  new  indication, 
do  well  to  show  some  mark  of  its  sympathy  for  this  excel- 
lent institution  of  Templemoyle  ? A silver  medal  given 
by  the  Society  to  the  most  deserving  pupil  of  the  year, 
would  be  a great  object  of  emulation  amongst  the  young 
men  educated  at  the  place,  and  would  be  almost  a certain 
passport  for  the  winner  in  seeking  for  a situation  in  after 
life.  I do  not  know  if  similar  seminaries  exist  in  Eng- 
land. Other  seminaries  of  a like  nature  have  been  tried  in 
this  country,  and  have  failed : but  English  country  gentle- 
men cannot,  I should  think,  find  a better  object  of  their 
attention  than  this  school ; and  our  farmers  would  surely 
find  such  establishments  of  great  benefit  to  them  : where 
their  children  might  procure  a sound  literary  education  at 
a small  charge,  and  at  the  same  time  be  made  acquainted 
with  the  latest  improvements  in  their  profession.  I can’t 
help  saying  here,  once  more,  what  I have  said  apropos  of 
the  excellent  school  at  Dundalk,  and  begging  the  English 
middle  classes  to  think  of  the  subject.  If  Government 
will  not  act  (upon  what  never  can  be  effectual,  perhaps, 


346 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


until  it  become  a national  measure),  let  small  communi- 
ties act  for  themselves,  and  tradesmen  and  the  middle 
classes  set  up  cheap  proprietary  schools.  Will  country 
newspaper  editors,  into  whose  hands  this  book  may  fall,  be 
kind  enough  to  speak  upon  this  hint,  and  extract  the  tables 
of  the  Templemoyle  and  Dundalk  establishments,  to  show 
how,  and  with  what  small  means,  boys  may  be  well, 
soundly,  and  humanely  educated  — not  brutally,  as  some 
of  us  have  been,  under  the  bitter  fagging  and  the  shame- 
ful rod.  It  is  no  plea  for  the  barbarity  that  use  has  made 
us  accustomed  to  it ; and  in  seeing  these  institutions  for 
humble  lads,  where  the  system  taught  is  at  once  useful, 
manly,  and  kindly,  and  thinking  of  what  I had  undergone 
in  my  own  youth, — of. the  frivolous  monkish  trifling  in 
which  it  was  wasted,  of  the  brutal  tyranny  to  which  it  was 
subjected,  — I could  not  look  at  the  lads  but  with  a sort  of 
envy : please  God,  their  lot  will  be  shared  by  thousands  of 
their  equals  and  their  betters  before  long  ! 

It  was  a proud  day  for  Dundalk,  Mr.  Thackeray  well 
said,  when,  at  the  end  of  one  of  the  vacations  there,  four- 
teen English  boys,  and  an  Englishman  with  his  little  son 
in  his  hand,  landed  from  the  Liverpool  packet,  and  walking 
through  the  streets  of  the  town,  went  into  the  school-house 
quite  happy.  That  was  a proud  day  in  truth  for  a distant 
Irish  town,  and  I can’t  help  saying  that  I grudge  them  the 
cause  of  their  pride  somewhat.  Why  should  there  not  be 
schools  in  England  as  good,  and  as  cheap,  and  as  happy  ? 

With  this,  shaking  Mr.  Campbell  gratefully  by  the  hand, 
and  begging  all  English  tourists  to  go  and  visit  his  estab- 
lishment, we  trotted  off  for  Londonderry,  leaving  at  about 
a mile’s  distance  from  the  town,  and  at  the  pretty  lodge  of 
Saint  Columb’s,  a letter,  which  was  the  cause  of  much  de- 
lightful hospitality. 

Saint  Columb’s  Chapel,  the  walls  of  which  still  stand 
picturesquely  in  Sir  George  Hill’s  park,  and  from  which 
that  gentleman’s  seat  takes  its  name,  was  here  since  the 
sixth  century.  It  is  but  fair  to  give  precedence  to  the 
mention  of  the  old  abbey,  which  was  the  father,  as  it  would 
seem,  of  the  town.  The  approach  to  the  latter  from  three 
quarters,  certainly,  by  which  various  avenues  I had  occa- 
sion to  see  it,  is  always  noble.  We  had  seen  the  spire  of 
the  cathedral  peering  over  the  hills  for  four  miles  on  our 
way  ; it  stands,  a stalwart  and  handsome  building,  upon  an 
eminence,  round  which  the  old-fashioned  stout  red  houses 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK . 


347 


of  the  town  cluster,  girt  in  with  the  ramparts  and  walls 
that  kept  out  James’s  soldiers  of  old.  Quays,  factories, 
huge  red  warehouses,  have  grown  round  this  famous  old 
barrier,  and  now  stretch  along  the  river.  A couple  of 
large  steamers  and  other  craft  lay  within  the  bridge ; and, 
as  we  passed  over  that  stout  wooden  edifice,  stretching- 
eleven  hundred  feet  across  the  noble  expanse  of  the  Foyle, 
we  heard  along  the  quays  a great  thundering  and  clatter- 
ing of  iron-work  in  an  enormous  steam  frigate  which  has 
been  built  in  Derry,  and  seems  to  lie  alongside  a whole 
street  of  houses.  The  suburb,  too,  through  which  we 
passed  was  bustling  and  comfortable  ; and  the  view  was 
not  only  pleasing  from  its  natural  beauties,  but  has  a 
manly,  thriving,  honest  air  of  prosperity,  which  is  no  bad 
feature,  surely,  for  a landscape. 

Nor  does  the  town  itself,  as  one  enters  it,  belie,  as  many 
other  Irish  towns  do,  its  first  flourishing  look.  It  is  not 
splendid,  but  comfortable ; a brisk  movement  in  the  streets  ; 
good  downright  shops,  without  particularly  grand  titles ; 
few  beggars.  Nor  have  the  common  people,  as  they  address 
you,  that  eager  smile,  — that  manner  of  compound  fawning 
and  swaggering,  which  an  Englishman  finds  in  the  towns- 
people of  the  West  and  South.  As  in  the  North  of  Eng- 
land, too,  when  compared  with  other  districts,  the  people 
are  greatly  more  familiar,  though  by  no  means  disrespectful 
to  the  stranger. 

On  the  other  hand,  after  such  a commerce  as  a traveller 
has  with  the  race  of  waiters,  postboys,  porters,  and  the  like 
(and  it  may  be  that  the  vast  race  of  postboys,  &c.,  whom  I 
did  not  see  in  the  North,  are  quite  unlike  those  unlucky 
specimens  with  whom  I came  in  contact),  I was  struck  by 
their  excessive  greediness  after  the  traveller’s  gratuities, 
and  their  fierce  dissatisfaction  if  not  sufficiently  rewarded. 
To  the  gentleman  who  brushed  my  clothes  at  the  comfort- 
able hotel  at  Belfast,  and  carried  my  bags  to  the  coach,  I 
tendered  the  sum  of  two  shillings,  which  seemed  to  me 
quite  a sufficient  reward  for  his  services : he  battled  and 
brawled  with  me  for  more,  and  got  it  too ; for  a street- 
dispute  with  a porter  calls  together  a number  of  delighted 
bystanders,  whose  remarks  and  company  are  by  no  means 
agreeable  to  a solitary  gentleman.  Then,  again,  there  was 
the  famous  case  of  Boots  of  Bally  castle,  which,  being  upon 
the  subject,  I may  as  well  mention  here : Boots  of  Bally- 
castle,  that  romantic  little  village  near  the  Giant’s  Cause- 


348 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


way,  had  cleaned  a pair  of  shoes  for  me  certainly,  but 
declined  either  to  brush  my  clothes,  or  to  carry  down  my 
two  carpet-bags  to  the  car;  leaving  me  to  perform  those 
offices  for  myself,  which  I did : and  indeed  they  were  not 
very  difficult.  But  immediately  I was  seated  on  the  car, 
Mr.  Boots  stepped  forward  and  wrapped  a mackintosh  very 
considerately  around  me,  and  begged  me  at  the  same  time 
to  “ remember  him.” 

There  was  an  old  beggar-woman  standing  by,  to  whom  I 
had  a desire  to  present  a penny ; and  having  no  coin  of  that 
value,  I begged  Mr.  Boots,  out  of  a sixpence  which  I ten- 
dered to  him,  to  subtract  a penny,  and  present  it  to  the 
old  lady  in  question.  Mr.  Boots  took  the  money,  looked  at 
me,  and  his  countenance,  not  naturally  good-humored,  as- 
sumed an  expression  of  the  most  indignant  contempt  and 
hatred  as  he  said,  “ I’m  thinking  I’ve  no  call  to  give 
my  money  away.  Sixpence  is  my  right  for  what  I?ve 
done.” 

“Sir,”  says  I,  “you  must  remember  that  you  did  but 
black  one  pair  of  shoes,  and  that  you  blacked  them  very 
badly  too.” 

“ Sixpence  is  my  right,”  says  Boots  ; “a  gentleman  would 
give  me  sixpence  ! ” and  though  I represented  to  him  that 
a pair  of  shoes  might  be  blacked  in  a minute  — that  five- 
pence  a minute  was  not  usual  wages  in  the  country  — that 
many  gentlemen,  half-pay  officers,  briefless  barristers,  un- 
fortunate literary  gentlemen,  would  gladly  black  twelve 
pairs  of  shoes  per  diem  if  rewarded  with  five  shillings  for 
so  doing,  there  was  no  means  of  convincing  Mr.  Boots.  I 
then  demanded  back  the  sixpence,  which  proposal,  however, 
he  declined,  saying,  after  a struggle,  he  would  give  the 
money,  but  a gentleman  would  have  given  sixpence : and  so 
left  me  with  furious  rage  and  contempt. 

As  for  the  city  of  Derry,  a carman  who  drove  me  one  mile 
out  to  dinner  at  a gentleman’s  house,  where  he  himself  was 
provided  with  a comfortable  meal,  was  dissatisfied  with 
eighteenpence,  vowing  that  a “ dinner  job  ” was  always  paid 
half  a crown,  and  not  only  asserted  this,  but  continued  to 
assert  it  for  a quarter  of  an  hour  with  the  most  noble 
though  unsuccessful  perseverance.  A second  car-boy,  to 
whom  I gave  a shilling  for  a drive  of  two  miles  altogether, 
attacked  me  because  I gave  the  other  boy  eighteenpence ; 
and  the  porter  who  brought  my  bags  fifty  yards  from  the 
coach,  entertained  me  with  a dialogue  that  lasted  at  least  a 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK . 


349 


couple  of  minutes,  and  said,  “ I should  have  had  sixpence 
for  carrying  one  of  ’em” 

For  the  car  which  carried  me  two  miles  the  landlord  of 
the  inn  made  me  pay  the  sum  of  live  shillings.  He  is  a 
godly  landlord,  has  Bibles  in  the  coffee-room,  the  drawing- 
room, and  every  bedroom  in  the  house,  with  this  inscrip- 
tion— 


UT  MIGBATUBUS  HABITA. 

THE  TRAVELLER’S  TRUE  REFUGE. 

Jones’s  Hotel,  Londonderry. 

This  pious  double  or  triple  entendre,  the  reader  will,  no 
doubt,  admire  — the  first  simile  establishing  the  resemblance 
between  this  life  and  an  inn : the  second  allegory  showing 
that  the  inn  and  the  Bible  are  both  the  traveller’s  refuge. 

In  life  we  are  in  death — the  hotel  in  question  is  about 
as  gay  as  a family  vault : a severe  figure  of  a landlord,  in 
seedy  black,  is  occasionally  seen  in  the  dark  passages  or  on 
the  creaking  old  stairs  of  the  black  inn.  He  does  not  bow 
to  you  — very  ' few  landlords  in  Ireland  condescend  to 
acknowledge  their  guests  — he  only  warns  you  : — a silent 
solemn  gentleman  who  looks  to  be  something  between  a 
clergyman  and  a sexton  — “ut  migraturus  habita!’’ — the 
“ migraturus  ” was  a vast  comfort  in  the  clause. 

It  must,  however,  be  said,  for  the  consolation  of  future 
travellers,  that  when  at  evening,  in  the  old  lonely  parlor  of 
the  inn,  the  great  gaunt  fireplace  is  filled  with  coals,  two 
dreary  funereal  candles  and  sticks  glimmering  upon  the 
old  fashioned  round  table,  the  rain  pattering  fiercely  with- 
out, the  wind  roaring  and  thumping  in  the  streets,  this 
worthy  gentleman  can  produce  a pint  of  port  wine  for  the 
use  of  his  migratory  guest,  which  causes  the  latter  to  be 
almost  reconciled  to  the  cemetery  in  which  he  is  resting 
himself,  and  he  finds  himself,  to  his  surprise,  almost  cheer- 
ful. There  is  a mouldy -looking  old  kitchen,  too,  which, 
strange  to  say,  sends  out  an  excellent  comfortable  dinner,  so 
that  the  sensation  of  fear  gradually  wears  off. 

As  in  Chester,  the  ramparts  of  the  town  form  a pleasant 
promenade  ; and  the  batteries,  with  a few  of  the  cannon,  are 
preserved,  with  which  the  stout  ’prentice  boys  of  Derry 
beat  off  King  James  in  ’88.  The  guns  bear  the  names  of  the 
London  Companies  — venerable  Cockney  titles  ! It  is  pleas- 


350 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


ant  for  a Londoner  to  read  them,  and  see  how,  at  a pinch, 
the  sturdy  citizens  can  do  their  work. 

The  public  buildings  of  Derry  are,  I think,  among  the 
best  I have  seen  in  Ireland;  and  the  Lunatic  Asylum, 
especially,  is  to  be  pointed  out  as  a model  of  neatness  and 
comfort.  When  will  the  middle  classes  be  allowed  to  send 
their  own  afflicted  relatives  to  public  institutions  of  this 
excellent  kind,  where  violence  is  never  practised  — where 
it  is  never  to  the  interest  of  the  keeper  of  the  asylum  to  ex- 
aggerate his  patient’s  malady,  or  to  retain  him  in  durance, 
for  the  sake  of  the  enormous  sums  which  the  sufferer’s  rela- 
tives are  made  to  pay  ! The  gentry  of  three  counties  which 
contribute  to  the  Asylum  have  no  such  resource  for  mem- 
bers of  their  own  body,  should  any  be  so  afflicted  — the 
condition  of  entering  this  admirable  asylum  is,  that  the 
patient  must  be  a pauper,  and  on  this  account  he  is  supplied 
with  every  comfort  and  the  best  curative  means,  and  his 
relations  are  in  perfect  security.  Are  the  rich  in  any  way 
so  lucky  ? — and  if  not,  why  not  ? 

The  rest  of  the  occurrences  at  Derry  belong,  unhappily, 
to  the  domain  of  private  life,  and  though  very  pleasant  to 
recall,  are  not  honestly  to  be  printed.  Otherwise,  what 
popular  descriptions  might  be  written  of  the  hospitalities  of 
St.  Columb’s,  of  the  jovialities  of  the  mess  of  the  — th 
Regiment,  of  the  speeches  made  and  the  songs  sung,  and 
the  devilled  turkey  at  twelve  o’clock,  and  the  headache 
afterwards ; all  which  events  could  be  described  in  an  ex- 
ceedingly facetious  manner.  But  these  amusements  are  to 
be  met  with  in  every  other  part  of  her  Majesty’s  dominions  ; 
and  the  only  point  which  may  be  mentioned  here  as 
peculiar  to  this  part  of  Ireland,  is  the  difference  of  the 
manner  of  the  gentry  to  that  in  the  South.  The  Northern 
manner  is  far  more  English  than  that  of  the  other  provinces 
of  Ireland  — whether  it  is  better  for  being  English  is  a 
question  of  taste,  of  which  an  Englishman  can  scarcely  be 
a fair  judge. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 


DUBLIN  AT  LAST. 


WEDDING-PARTY  that 
went  across  Derry  Bridge 
to  the  sound  of  bell  and 
cannon,  had  to  flounder 
through  a thick  coat  of 
frozen  snow,  that  covered 
the  slippery  planks,  and 
the  hills  round  about  were 
whitened  over  by  the  same 
inclement  material.  Nor 
was  the  weather,  implac- 
able towards  young  lovers 
and  unhappy  buckskin 
postilions  shivering  in 
white  favors,  at  all  more 
polite  towards  the  pas- 
sengers of  her  Majesty’s 
mail  that  runs  from 
Derry  to  Bally  shannon. 

Hence  the  aspect  of  the  country  between  those  two 
places  can  only  be  described  at  the  rate  of  nine  miles  an 
hour,  and  from  such  points  of  observation  as  may  be  had 
through  a coach  window,  starred  with  ice  and  mud.  While 
horses  were  changed  we  saw  a very  dirty  town,  called 
Strabane ; and  had  to  visit  the  old  house  of  the  O’Donnel’s 
in  Donegal  during  a quarter  of  an  hour’s  pause  that  the 
coach  made  there  — and  with  an  umbrella  overhead.  The 
pursuit  of  the  picturesque  under  umbrellas  let  us  leave  to 
more  venturesome  souls:  the  flue  weather  of  the  finest 
season  known  for  many  long  years  in  Ireland  was  over,  and 
I thought  with  a great  deal  of  yearning  of  Pat  the  waiter, 
at  the  “ Shelburne  Hotel,”  Stephen’s  Green,  Dublin,  and 
the  gas-lamps,  and  the  covered  cars,  and  the  good  dinners 
to  which  they  take  you. 


351 


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THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


Farewell,  then,  0 wild  Donegal ! and  ye  stern  passes 
through  which  the  astonished  traveller  windeth  ! Farewell, 
Ballyshannon,  and  thy  salmon-leap,  and  thy  bar  of  sand, 
over  which  the  white  head  of  the  troubled  Atlantic  was 
peeping  ! Likewise,  adieu  to  Lough  Erne,  and  its  number- 
less green  islands,  and  winding  river-lake,  and  wavy  hr-clad 
hills  ! Good-bye,  moreover,  neat  Enniskillen,  over  the  bridge 
and  churches  whereof  the  sun  peepeth  as  the  coach  starteth 
from  the  inn  ! See,  how  he  shines  now  on  Lord  Belmore’s 
stately  palace  and  park,  with  gleaming  porticos  and  brilliant 
grassy  chases : now,  behold  he  is  yet  higher  in  the  heavens, 
as  the  twanging  horn  proclaims  the  approach  to  beggar- 
ly Cavan,  where  a beggarly  breakfast  awaits  the  hungry 
voyager. 

Snatching  up  a roll  wherewith  to  satisfy  the  pangs  of 
hunger  sharpened  by  the  mockery  of  breakfast,  the  tourist 
now  hastens  in  his  arduous  course,  through  Virginia,  Kells, 
Kavan,  by  Tara’s  threadbare  mountain,  and  Skreen’s  green 
hill ; day  darkens,  and  a hundred  thousand  lamps  twinkle 
in  the  gray  horizon  — see  above  the  darkling  trees  a stumpy 
column  rise,  see  on  its  base  the  name  of  Wellington  (though 
this,  because  ’tis  night,  thou  canst  not  see),  and  cry  “ It  is 
th q Phaynix  ! ” — On  and  on,  across  the  iron  bridge,  and 
through  the  streets  (dear  streets,  though  dirty,  to  the  citi- 
zen’s heart  how  dear  you  be  !),  and  lo,  now,  with  a bump,  the 
dirty  coach  stops  at  the  seedy  inn,  six  ragged  porters  battle 
for  the  bags,  six  wheedling  carmen  recommend  their  cars, 
and  (giving  first  the  coachman  eighteenpence)  the  Cockney 
says,  “ Drive,  car-boy,  to  the  ‘ Shelburne.’  ” 

And  so  having  reached  Dublin,  it  becomes  necessary  to 
curtail  the  observations  which  were  to  be  made  upon  that 
city ; which  surely  ought  to  have  a volume  to  itself : the 
humors  of  Dublin  at  least  require  so  much  space.  For 
instance,  there  was  the  dinner  at  the  Kildare  Street  Club, 
or  the  Hotel  opposite,  — the  dinner  in  Trinity  College  Hall, 

— that  at  Mr.  , the  publisher’s,  where  a dozen  of  the 

literary  men  of  Ireland  were  assembled,  — and  those  (say 
fifty)  with  Harry  Lorrequer  himself,  at  his  mansion  of 
Templeogue.  What  a favorable  opportunity  to  discourse 
upon  the  peculiarities  of  Irish  character  ! to  describe  men  of 
letters,  of  fashion,  and  university  dons  ! 

Sketches  of  these  personages  may  be  prepared,  and  sent 
over,  perhaps,  in  confidence  to  Mrs.  Sigourney  in  America 

— (who  will  of  course  not  print  them)  — but  the  English 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK . 


353 


habit  does  not  allow  of  these  happy  communications  between 
writers  and  the  public ; and  the  author  who  wishes  to  dine 
again  at  his  friend’s  cost,  must  needs  have  a care  how  he 
puts  him  in  print. 

Suffice  it  to  say,  that  at  Kildare  Street  we  had  white 
neck-cloths,  black  waiters,  wax-candles,  and  some  of  the 

best  wine  in  Europe ; at  Mr.  -,  the  publisher’s,  wax- 

candles,  and  some  of  the  best  wine  in  Europe ; at  Mr. 
Lever’s,  wax -candles,  and  some  of  the  best  wine  in  Europe ; 
at  Trinity  College  — but  there  is  no  need  to  mention  what 
took  place  at  Trinity  College  ; for  on  returning  to  London, 
and  recounting  the  circumstances  of  the  repast,  my  friend 
B , a Master  of  Arts  of  that  university,  solemnly  de- 

clared the  thing  was  impossible  : — no  stranger  could  dine 
at  Trinity  College  ; it  was  too  great  a privilege  — in  a word, 
he  would  not  believe  the  story,  nor  will  he  to  this  day  ; and 
why,  therefore,  tell  it  in  vain  ? 

I am  sure  if  the  Fellows  of  Colleges  in  Oxford  and  Cam- 
bridge were  told  that  the  Fellows  of  T.  C.  IX  only  drink 
beer  at  dinner,  they  would  not  believe  that.  Such,  how- 
ever, was  the  fact : or  may  be  it  was  a dream,  which  was 
followed  by  another  dream  of  about  four-and-twenty  gentle- 
men seated  round  a common-room  table  after  dinner ; and, 
by  a subsequent  vision  of  a tray  of  oysters  in  the  apart- 
ments of  a tutor  of  the  university,  sometime  before  mid- 
night. Did  we  swallow  them  or  not  ? — the  oysters  are  an 
open  question. 

Of  the  Catholic  College  of  Maynooth,  I must  likewise 
speak  briefly,  for  the  reason  that  an  accurate  description  of 
that  establishment  would  be  of  necessity  so  disagreeable 
that  it  is  best  to  pass  it  over  in  a few  words.  An  Irish 
union-house  is  a palace  to  it.  Ruin  so  needless,  filth  so 
disgusting,  such  a look  of  lazy  squalor,  no  Englishman  who 
has  not  seen  can  conceive.  Lecture-room  and  dining-hall, 
kitchen  and  students’-room,  were  all  the  same.  I shall 
never  forget  the  sight  of  scores  of  shoulders  of  mutton 
lying  on  the  filthy  floor  in  the  former,  or  the  view  of  a bed 
and  dressing-table  that  I saw  in  the  other.  Let  the  next 
Maynooth  grant  include  a few  shillings’-worth  of  white- 
wash and  a few  hundredweights  of  soap ; and  if  to  this  be 
added  a half-score  of  drill  sergeants,  to  see  that  the  students 
appear  clean  at  lecture,  and  to  teach  them  to  keep  their 
heads  up  and  to  look  people  in  the  face,  Parliament  will 
introduce  some  cheap  reforms  into  the  seminary,  which 
VOL.  II. — 23 


354 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK . 


were  never  needed  more  than  here.  Why  should  the  place 
be  so  shamefully  ruinous  and  foully  dirty  ? Lime  is  cheap, 
and  water  plenty  at  the  canal  hard  by.  Why  should  a 
stranger,  after  a week’s  stay  in  the  country,  be  able  to  dis- 
cover a priest  by  the  scowl  on  his  face,  and  his  doubtful 
downcast  manner  ? Is  it  a point  of  discipline  that  his  rev- 
erence should  be  made  to  look  as  ill-humored  as  possible  ? 
And  I hope  these  words  will  not  be  taken  hostilely.  It 
would  have  been  quite  as  easy,  and  more  pleasant,  to  say  the 
contrary,  had  the  contrary  seemed  to  me  to  have  been  the 
fact ; and  to  have  declared  that  the  priests  were  remarkable 
for  their  expression  of  candor,  and  their  college  for  its 
extreme  neatness  and  cleanliness. 

This  complaint  of  neglect  applies  to  other  public  institu- 
tions besides  Maynooth.  The  Mansion-house,  when  I saw 
it,  was  a very  dingy  abode  for  the  Eight  Honorable  Lord 
Mayor,  and  that  Lord  Mayor  Mr.  O’Connell.  I saw  him 
in  full  council,  in  a brilliant  robe  of  crimson  velvet,  orna- 
mented with  white  satin  bows  and  sable  collar,  in  an  enor- 
mous cocked-hat,  like  a slice  of  an  eclipsed  moon. 

The  Aldermen  and  Common  Council,  m a black  oak 
parlor,  and  at  a dingy  green  table,  were  assembled  around 
him,  and  a debate  of  thrilling  interest  to  the  town  ensued. 
It  related,  I think,  to  water-pipes ; the  great  man  did  not 
speak  publicly,  but  was  occupied  chiefly  at  the  end  of  the 
table,  giving  audiences  to  at  least  a score  of  clients  and 
petitioners. 

The  next  day  I saw  him  in  the  famous  Corn  Exchange. 
The  building  without  has  a substantial  look,  but  the  hall 
within  is  rude,  dirty,  and  ill-kept.  Hundreds  of  persons 
were  assembled  in  the  black,  steaming  place ; no  inconsid- 
erable share  of  frieze-coats  were  among  them ; and  many 
small  Eepealers,  who  could  but  lately  have  assumed  their 
breeches,  ragged  as  they  were.  These  kept  up  a great 
chorus  of  shouting,  and  “ hear,  hear ! ” at  every  pause  in 
the  great  Eepealer’s  address.  Mr.  O’Connell  was  reading  a 
report  from  his  Eepeal-wardens ; which  proved  that  when 
Eepeal  took  place,  commerce  and  prosperity  would  in- 
stantly flow  into  the  country ; its  innumerable  harbors 
would  be  filled  with  countless  ships,  its  immense  water- 
power would  be  directed  to  the  turning  of  myriads  of  mills  ; 
its  vast  energies  and  resources  brought  into  full  action.  At 
the  end  of  the  report,  three  cheers  were  given  for  Eepeal, 
and  in  the  midst  of  a great  shouting  Mr.  O’Connell  leaves 
the  room. 


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355 


“ Mr.  Quiglan,  Mr.  Quiglan ! 99  roars  an  active  aide-de- 
camp  to  the  door-keeper,  “a  covered  kyar  for  the  Lard 
Mayre.”  The  covered  car  came;  I saw  his  lordship  get 
into  it.  Next  day  he  was  Lord  Mayor  no  longer ; but 
Alderman  O’Connell  in  his  state-coach,  with  the  handsome 
grays  whose  manes  were  tied  up  with  green  ribbon,  follow- 
ing the  new  Lord  Mayor  to  the  right  honorable  inaugura- 
tion. Javelin  men,  city  marshals  (looking  like  military 
undertakers),  private  carriages,  glass  coaches,  cars,  covered 


and  uncovered,  and  thousands  of  yelling  ragamuffins,  formed 
the  civic  procession  of  that  faded,  worn-out,  insolvent  old 
Dublin  Corporation. 

The  walls  of  this  city  had  been  placarded  with  huge 
notices  to  the  public  that  O’Connell’s  rent-day  was  at  hand ; 
and  I went  round  to  ail  the  chapels  in  town  on  that  Sunday 
(not  a little  to  the  scandal  of  some  Protestant  friends),  to 
see  the  popular  behavior.  Every  door  was  barred,  of  course, 
with  plate-holders  ; and  heaps  of  pence  at  the  humble 
entrances,  and  bank-notes  at  the  front  gates,  told  the  wil- 
lingness of  the  people  to  reward  their  champion.  The  car- 
boy who  drove  me  had  paid  his  little  tribute  of  fourpence 
at  morning  mass ; the  waiter  who  brought  my  breakfast 


356 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK . 


had  added  to  the  national  subscription  with  his  humble 
shilling ; and  the  Catholic  gentleman  with  whom  I dined, 
and  between  whom  and  Mr.  O’Connell  there  is  no  great 
love  lost,  pays  his  annual  donation  out  of  gratitude  for  old 
services,  and  to  the  In  an  who  won  Catholic  Emancipation 
for  Ireland.  The  piety  of  the  people  at  the  chapels  is  a 
sight,  too,  always  well  worthy  to  behold.  Nor  indeed  is 
this  religious  fervor  less  in  the  Protestant  places  of  worship : 
the  warmth  and  attention  of  the  congregation,  the  enthu- 
siasm with  which  hymns  are  sung  and  responses  uttered, 
contrasts  curiously  with  the  cool  formality  of  worshippers 
at  home. 

The  service  at  St.  Patrick’s  is  finely  sung;  and  the 
shameless  English  custom  of  retreating  after  the  anthem, 
is  properly  prevented  by  locking  the  gates,  and  having  the 
music,  after  the  sermon.  The  interior  of  the  cathedral 
itself,  however,  to  an  Englishman  who  has  seen  the  neat 
and  beautiful  edifices  of  his  own  country,  will  be  anything 
but  an  object  of  admiration.  The  greater  part  of  the  huge 
old  building  is  suffered  to  remain  in  gaunt  decay,  and  with 
its  stalls  of  sham  Gothic,  and  the  tawdry  old  rags  and  gim- 
cracks  of  the  “most  illustrious  order  of  Saint  Patrick” 
(whose  pasteboard  helmets,  and  calico  banners,  and  lath 
swords,  well  characterize  the  humbug  of  chivalry  which 
they  are  made  to  represent),  looks  like  a theatre  behind  the 
scenes.  “Paddy’s  Opera,”  however,  is  a noble  perform- 
ance ; and  the  Englishman  may  here  listen  to  a half-hour 
sermon,  and  in  the  anthem  to  a bass  singer  whose  voice  is 
one  of  the  finest  ever  heard. 

The  Drama  does  not  flourish  much  more  in  Dublin  than 
in  any  other  part  of  the  country.  Operatic  stars  make 
their  appearance  occasionally,  and  managers  lose  money. 
I was  at  a fine  concert,  at  which  Lablache  and  others  per- 
formed, where  there  were  not  a hundred  people  in  the  pit 
of  the  pretty  theatre,  and  where  the  only  encore  given  was 
to  a young  woman  in  ringlets  and  yellow  satin,  who  stepped 
forward  and  sang,  “Coming  through  the  rye,”  or  some 
other  scientific  composition,  in  an  exceedingly  small  voice. 
On  the  nights  when  the  regular  drama  was  enacted,  the 
audience  was  still  smaller.  The  theatre  of  Eishamble 
Street  was  given  up  to  the  performances  of  the  Bev.  Mr. 
Gregg  and  bis  Protestant  company,  whose  soirees  I did  not 
attend ; and,  at  the  Abbey  Street  Theatre,  whither  I went 
in  order  to  see,  if  possible,  some  specimens  of  the  national 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK 


357 


humor,  I found  a company  of  English  people  ranting 
through  a melodrama,  the  tragedy  whereof  was  the  only 
laughable  thing  to  be  witnessed. 

Humbler  popular  recreations  may  be  seen  by  the  curious. 
One  night  I paid  twopence  to  see  a puppet-show  - — such  an 
entertainment  as  may  have  been  popular  a hundred  and 
thirty  years  ago,  and  is  described  in  the  Spectator.  But  the 
company  here  assembled  were  not,  it  scarcely  need  be  said, 
of  the  genteel  sort.  There  were  a score  of  boys,  how- 
ever, and  a dozen  of  laboring  men,  who  were  quite  happy 
and  contented  with  the  piece  performed,  and  loudly  ap- 
plauded. Then  in  passing  homewards  of  a night,  you  hear 
at  the  humble  public-houses  the  sound  of  many  a fiddle, 
and  the  stamp  of  feet  dancing  the  good  old  jig,  which  is 
still  maintaining  a struggle  with  teetotalism,  and,  though 
vanquished  now,  may  rally  some  day  and  overcome  the 
enemy.  At  Kingstown,  especially,  the  old  “ fire-worship- 
pers ” yet  seem  to  muster  pretty  strongly ; loud  is  the 
music  to  be  heard  in  the  taverns  there,  and  the  cries  of  en- 
couragement to  the  dancers. 

Of  the  numberless  amusements  that  take  place  in  the 
P hay  nix , it  is  not  very  necessary  to  speak.  Here  you  may 
behold  garrison  races,  and  reviews ; lord-lieutenants  in 
brown  great-coats ; aides-de-camp  scampering  about  like 
mad  in  blue;  fat  colonels  roaring  “ charge ” to  immense 
heavy  dragoons;  dark  riflemen  lining  woods  and  firing; 
galloping  cannoneers  banging  and  blazing  right  and  left. 
Here  comes  his  Excellency  the  Commander-in-Chief,  with 
his  huge  feathers,  and  white  hair,  and  hooked  nose  ; and 
yonder  sits  his  Excellency  the  Ambassador  from  the  repub- 
lic of  Topinambo  in  a glass  coach,  smoking  a cigar.  The 
honest  Dublinites  make  a great  deal  of  such  small  digni- 
taries as  his  Excellency  of  the  glass  coach ; you  hear  every- 
body talking  of  him,  and  asking  which  is  he ; and  when 
presently  one  of  Sir  Robert  Peeks  sons  makes  his  appear- 
ance on  the  course,  the  public  rush  delighted  to  look  at 
him. 

They  love  great  folks,  those  honest  Emerald  Islanders, 
more  intensely  than  any  people  I ever  heard  of,  except  the 
Americans.  They  still  cherish  the  memory  of  the  sacred 
George  IV.  They  chronicle  genteel  small  beer  with  never- 
failing  assiduity.  They  go  in  long  trains  to  a sham  court 
— simpering  in  tights  and  bags,  with  swords  between  their 
legs.  0 heaven  and  earth,  what  joy  ! Why  are  the  Irish 


358 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


noblemen  absentees  ? If  their  lordships  like  respect,  where 
would  they  get  it  so  well  as  in  their  own  country  ? 

The  Irish  noblemen  are  very  likely  going  through  the 
same  delightful  routine  of  duty  before  their  real  sovereign 
— in  real  tights  and  bag-wigs,  as  it  were,  performing  their 
graceful  and  lofty  duties,  and  celebrating  the  august  ser- 
vice of  the  throne.  These,  of  course,  the  truly  loyal  heart 
can  only  respect : and  I think  a drawing-room  at  St. 
James’s  the  grandest  spectacle  that  ever  feasted  the  eye 
or  exercised  the  intellect.  The  crown,  surrounded  by  its 
knights  and  nobles,  its  priests,  its  sages,  and  their  respec- 
tive ladies ; illustrious  foreigners,  men  learned  in  the  law, 
heroes  of  land  and  sea,  beef-eaters,  gold-sticks,  gentlemen- 
at-arms,  rallying  round  the  throne  and  defending  it  with 
those  swords  which  never  knew  defeat  (and  would  surely, 
if  tried,  secure  victory) : these  are  sights  and  characters 
which  every  man  must  look  upon  with  a thrill  of  respectful 
awe,  and  count  amongst  the  glories  of  his  country.  What 
lady  that  sees  this  will  not  confess  that  she  reads  every 
one  of  the  drawing-room  costumes,  from  Majesty  down  to 
Miss  Ann  Maria  Smith ; and  all  the  names  of  the  presenta- 
tions, from  Prince  Baccabocksky  (by  the  Russian  ambassa- 
dor) to  Ensign  Stubbs  on  his  appointment  ? 

We  are  bound  to  read  these  accounts.  It  is  our  pride, 
our  duty  as  Britons.  But  though  one  may  honor  the  re- 
spect of  the  aristocracy  of  the  land  for  the  sovereign,  yet 
there  is  no  reason  why  those  who  are  not  of  the  aristocracy 
should  be  aping  their  betters : and  the  Dublin  Castle  busi- 
ness has,  I cannot  but  think,  a very  high-life-below-stairs 
look.  There  is  no  aristocracy  in  Dublin.  Its  magnates 
are  tradesmen  — Sir  Fiat  Haustus,  Sir  Blacker  Dosy,  Mr. 
Serjeant  Bluebag,  or  Mr.  Counsellor  O’Fee.  Brass  plates 
are  their  titles  of  honor,  and  they  live  by  their  boluses 
or  their  briefs.  What  call  have  these  worthy  people  to 
be  dangling  and  grinning  at  lord-lieutenants’  levees,  and 
playing  sham  aristocracy  before  a sham  sovereign  ? Oh, 
that  old  humbug  of  a castle ! It  is  the  greatest  sham  of 
all  the  shams  in  Ireland. 

Although  the  season  may  be  said  to  have  begun,  for  the 
Courts  are  opened,  and  the  noblesse  de  la  robe  have  assem- 
bled, I do  not  think  the  genteel  quarters  of  the  town  look 
much  more  cheerful.  They  still,  for  the  most  part,  wear 
their  faded  appearance  and  lean,  half-pay  look.  There  is 
the  beggar  still  dawdling  here  and  there.  Sounds  of  car- 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


359 


riages  or  footmen  do  not  deaden  the  clink  of  the  burly 
policeman’s  boot-heels.  You  may  see,  possibly,  a smutty- 
faced  nursemaid  leading  out  her  little  charges  to  walk ; or 
the  observer  may  catch  a glimpse  of  Mick  the  footman 
lolling  at  the  door,  and  grinning  as  he  talks  to  some  du- 
bious tradesman.  Mick  and  John  are  very  different  char- 
acters externally  and  inwardly ; — profound  essays  (involv- 
ing the  histories  of  the  two  countries  for  a thousand  years) 
might  be  written  regarding  Mick  and  John,  and  the  moral 
and  political  influences  which  have  developed  the  flunkies 
of  the  two  nations.  The  friend,  too,  with  whom  Mick 
talks  at  the  door  is  a puzzle  to  a Londoner.  I have  hardly 
ever  entered  a Dublin  house  without  meeting  with  some 
such  character  on  my  way  in  or  out.  He  looks  too  shabby 
for  a dun,  and  not  exactly  ragged  enough  for  a beggar  — a 
doubtful,  lazy,  dirty  family  vassal  — a guerilla  footman. 
I think  it  is  he  who  makes  a great  noise,  and  whispering, 
and  clattering,  handing  in  the  dishes  to  Mick  from  outside 
of  the  dining-room  door.  When  an  Irishman  comes  to  Lon- 
don he  brings  Erin  with  him  ; and  ten  to  one  you  will  find 
one  of  these  queer  retainers  about  his  place. 

London  one  can  only  take  leave  of  by  degrees : the  great 
town  melts  away  into  suburbs,  which  soften,  as  it  were,  the 
parting  between  the  Cockney  and  his  darling  birthplace. 
But  you  pass  from  some  of  the  stately  fine  Dublin  streets 
straight  into  the  country.  After  No.  46,  Eccles  Street,  for 
instance,  potatoes  begin  at  once.  You  are  on  a wide  green 
plain,  diversified  by  occasional  cabbage-plots,  by  drying- 
grounds  white  with  chemises,  in  the  midst  of  which  the 
chartered  wind  is  revelling ; and  though  in  the  map  some 
fanciful  engineer  has  laid  down  streets  and  squares, 
they  exist  but  on  paper;  nor,  indeed,  can  there  be  any 
need  of  them  at  present,  in  a quarter  where  houses  are  not 
wanted  so  much  as  people  to  dwell  in  the  same. 

If  the  genteel  portions  of  the  town  look  to  the  full  as 
melancholy  as  they  did,  the  downright  poverty  ceases,  I 
fear,  to  make  so  strong  an  impression  as  it  made  four 
months  ago.  Going  over  the  same  ground  again,  places  ap- 
pear to  have  quite  a different  aspect;  and,  with  their 
strangeness,  poverty  and  misery  have  lost  much  of  their 
terror.  The  people,  though  dirtier  and  more  ragged,  seem 
certainly  happier  than  those  in  London. 

Near  to  the  King’s  Court,  for  instance  (a  noble  building, 
as  are  almost  all  the  public  edifices  of  the  city),  is  a strag- 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


360 


gling  green  suburb,  containing  numberless  little  shabby, 
patched,  broken-windowed  huts,  with  rickety  gardens  dotted 
with  rags  that  have  been  washed,  and  children  that  have 
not ; and  thronged  with  all  sorts  of  ragged  inhabitants. 
Near  to  the  suburb  in  the  town  is  a dingy  old  mysterious 
district,  called  Stoneybatter,  where  some  houses  have  been 
allowed  to  reach  an  old  age,  extraordinary  in  this  country 
of  premature  ruin,  and  look  as  if  they  had  been  built  some 
sixscore  years  since.  In  these  and  the  neighboring  tene- 
ments, not  so  old,  but  equally  ruinous  and  mouldy,  there  is 
a sort  of  vermin  swarm  of  humanity ; dirty  faces  at  all  the 
dirty  windows : children  on  all  the  broken  steps ; smutty 
slipshod  women  clacking  and  bustling  about,  and  old  men 
dawdling.  Well,  only  paint  and  prop  the  tumbling  gates 
and  huts  in  the  suburb,  and  fancy  the  Stoneybatterites 
clean,  and  you  would  have  rather  a gay  and  agreeable  pic- 
ture of  human  life  — of  work-people  and  their  families  re- 
posing after  their  labors.  They  are  all* happy,  and  sober, 
and  kind-hearted,  — they  seem  kind,  and  play  with  the 
children  — the  young  women  having  a gay  good-natured 
joke  for  the  passer-by ; the  old  seemingly  contented,  and 
buzzing  to  one  another.  It  is  only  the  costume,  as  it  were, 
that  has  frightened  the  stranger,  and  made  him  fancy  that 
people  so  ragged  must  be  unhappy.  Observation  grows 
used  to  the  rags  as  much  as  the  people  do,  and  my  impres- 
sion of  the  walk  through  this  district,  on  a sunshiny,  clear 
autumn  evening,  is  that  of  a fete.  I am  almost  ashamed  it 
should  be  so. 

Near  to  Stoneybatter  lies  a group  of  huge  gloomy  edifices 
— an  hospital,  a penitentiary,  a mad-house,  and  a poor- 
house.  I visited  the  latter  of  these,  the  North  Dublin 
Union-house,  an  enormous  establishment,  which  accommo- 
dates two  thousand  beggars.  Like  all  the  public  institu- 
tions of  the  country,  it  seems  to  be  well  conducted,  and  is 
a vast,  orderly,  and  cleanly  place,  wherein  the  prisoners 
are  better  clothed,  better  fed,  and  better  housed  than  they 
can  hope  to  be  when  at  liberty.  We  were  taken  into  all 
the  wards  in  due  order : the  schools  and  nursery  for  the 
children ; the  dining-rooms,  day-rooms,  &c.,  of  the  men  and 
women.  Each  division  is  so  accommodated,  as  also  with  a 
large  court  or  ground  to  walk  and  exercise  in. 

Among  the  men,  there  are  very  few  able-bodied  : the 
most  of  them,  the  keeper  said,  having  gone  out  for  the 
harvest-time,  or  as  soon  as  the  potatoes  came  in.  If  they 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


361 


go  out,  they  cannot  return  before  the  expiration  of  a month  : 
the  guardians  have  been  obliged  to  establish  this  prohibi- 
tion, lest  the  persons  requiring  relief  should  go  in  and  out 
too  frequently.  The  old  men  were  assembled  in  consider- 
able numbers  in  a long  day-room  that  is  comfortable  and 
warm.  Some  of  them  were  picking  oakum  by  way  of  em- 
ployment, but  most  of  them  were  past  work ; all  such  in- 
mates of  the  house  as  are  able-bodied  being  occupied  upon 
the  premises.  Their  hall  was  airy  and  as  clean  as  brush 
and  water  could  make  it:  the  men  equally  clean,  and  their 
gray  jackets  and  Scotch  caps  stout  and  warm.  Thence  we 
were  led,  with  a sort  of  satisfaction,  by  the  guardian,  to  the 
kitchen  — a large  room,  at  the  end  of  which  might  be  seen 
certain  coppers,  emitting,  it  must  be  owned,  a very  faint 
inhospitable  smell.  It  was  Friday,  and  rice-milk  is  the 
food  on  that  day,  each  man  being  served  with  a pint-canful, 
of  which  cans  a great  number  stood  smoking  upon  stretch- 
ers — the  platters  were  laid,  each  with  its  portion  of  salt,  i?i 
the  large  clean  dining-room  hard  by.  “ Look  at  that  rice,” 
said  the  keeper,  taking  up  a bit ; “ try  it,  sir,  it’s  delicious.” 
Fm  sure  I hope  it  is. 

The  old  women’s  room  was  crowded  with,  I should  think, 
at  least  four  hundred  old  ladies  — neat  and  nice,  in  white 
clothes  and  caps — sitting  demurely  on  benches,  doing 
nothing  for  the  most  part ; but  some  employed,  like  the  old 
men,  in  fiddling  with  the  oakum.  “ There’s  tobacco  here,” 
says  the  guardian  in  a loud  voice;  “ who’s  smoking 
tobacco?”  “ Faith,  and  I wish  dere  was  some  tabaecy 
here,”  says  one  old  lady,  “ and  my  service  to  you,  Mr.  Leary, 
and  I hope  one  of  the  gentlemen  has  a snuff-box,  and  a pinch 
for  a poor  old  woman.”  But  we  had  no  boxes  ; and  if  any 
person  who  reads  this  visit,  goes  to  a poor-house  or  a 
lunatic  asylum,  let  him  carry  a box,  if  for  that  day  only  — 
a pinch  is  like  Dives’s  drop  of  water  to  those  poor  limboed 
souls.  Some  of  the  poor  old  creatures  began  to  stand  up  as 
we  came  in  — I can’t  say  how  painful  such  an  honor  seemed 
to  me. 

There  was  a separate  room  for  the  able-bodied  females ; 
and  the  place  and  courts  were  full  of  stout,  red-cheeked, 
bouncing  women.  If  the  old  ladies  looked  respectable,  I 
cannot  say  the  young  ones  were  particularly  good-looking ; 
there  were  some  Hogarthian  faces  amongst  them  — sly, 
leering  and  hideous.  I fancied  I could  see  only  too 
well  what  these  girls  had  been.  Is  it  charitable  or  not 


362 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


to  hope  that  such  bad  faces  could  only  belong  to  bad 
women  ? 

“ Here,  sir,  is  the  nursery,”  said  the  guide,  flinging  open 
the  door  of  a long  room.  There  may  have  been  eighty 
babies  in  it,  with  as  many  nurses  and  mothers.  Close  to 
the  door  sat  one  with  as  beautiful  a face  as  I almost  ever 
saw  : she  had  at  her  breast  a very  sickly  and  puny  child, 
and  looked  up,  as  we  entered,  with  a pair  of  angelical  eyes, 
and  a face  that  Mr.  Eastlake  could  paint  — a face  that  had 
been  angelical,  that  is ; for  there  was  the  snow  still,  as  it 
were,  but  with  the  footmark  on  it.  I asked  her  how  old 
she  was  — she  did  not  know.  She  could  not  have  been 
more  than  fifteen  years,  the  poor  child.  She  said  she  had 
been  a servant  — and  there  was  no  need  of  asking  anything 
more  about  her  story.  I saw  her  grinning  at  one  of  her 
comrades  as  we  went  out  of  the  room ; her  face  did  not 
look  angelical  then.  Ah,  young  master  or  old,  young  or 
old  villain,  who  did  this  ! — have  you  not  enough  wicked- 
ness of  your  own  to  answer  for,  that  you  must  take 
another’s  sins  upon  your  shoulders ; and  be  this  wretched 
child’s  sponsor  in  crime  ? . . . 

But  this  chapter  must  be  made  as  short  as  possible : and 
so  I will  not  say  how  much  prouder  Mr.  Leary,  the  keeper, 
was  of  his  fat  pigs  than  of  his  paupers  — how  he  pointed 
us  out  the  burial-ground  of  the  family  of  the  poor  — their 
coffins  were  quite  visible  through  the  niggardly  mould ; 
and  the  children  might  peep  at  their  fathers  over  the 
burial-ground-play-ground-wall  — nor  how  we  went  to  see  the 
Linen  Hall  of  Dublin  — that  huge,  useless,  lonely,  decayed 
place,  in  the  vast  windy  solitudes  of  which  stands  the  simper- 
ing statue  of  George  IV.,  pointing  to  some  bales  of  shirting, 
over  which  he  is  supposed  to  extend  his  august  protection. 

The  cheers  of  the  rabble  hailing  the  new  Lord  Mayor 
were  the  last  sounds  that  I heard  in  Dublin : and  I quitted 
the  kind  friends  I had  made  there  with  the  sincerest  regret. 
As  for  forming  “an  opinion  of  Ireland,”  such  as  is  occa- 
sionally asked  from  a traveller  on  his  return  — that  is  as 
difficult  an  opinion  to  form  as  to  express ; and  the  puzzle 
which  has  perplexed  the  gravest  and  wisest,  may  be  con- 
fessed by  a humble  writer  of  light  literature,  whose  aim  it 
only  was  to  look  at  the  manners  and  the  scenery  of  the 
country,  and  who  does  not  venture  to  meddle  with  ques- 
tions of  more  serious  import. 

To  have  “an  opinion  about  Ireland,”  one  must  begin  by 


THE  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK. 


363 


getting  at  the  truth ; and  where  is  it  to  be  had  in  the  coun- 
try ? Or  rather,  there  are  two  truths,  the  Catholic  truth 
and  the  Protestant  truth.  The  two  parties  do  not  see 
things  with  the  same  eyes.  I recollect,  for  instance,  a 
Catholic  gentleman  telling  me  that  the  Primate  had  forty- 
three  thousand  five  hundred  a year ; a Protestant  clergy- 
man gave  me,  chapter  and  verse,  the  history  of  a shameful 
perjury  and  malversation  of  money  on  the  part  of  a Catho- 
lic priest : nor  was  one  tale  more  true  than  the  other.  But 
belief  is  made  a party  business ; and  the  receiving  of  the 
archbishop’s  income  would  probably  not  convince  the  Cath- 
olic, any  more  than  the  clearest  evidence  to  the  contrary 
altered  the  Protestant’s  opinion.  Ask  about  an  estate : 
you  may  be  sure  almost  that  people  will  make  misstate- 
ments, or  volunteer  them  if  not  asked.  Ask  a cottager 
about  his  rent,  or  his  landlord : you  cannot  trust  him.  I 
shall  never  forget  the  glee  with  which  a gentleman  in 
Munster  told  me  how  he  had  sent  off  MM.  Tocqueville  and 
Beaumont  u with  such  a set  of  stories.”  Inglis  was  seized, 
as  I am  told,  and  mystified  in  the  same  way.  In  the 
midst  of  all  these  truths,  attested  with  “I  give  ye  my 
sacred  honor  and  word,”  which  is  the  stranger  to  select  ? 
And  how  are  we  to  trust  philosophers  who  make  theories 
upon  such  data  ? 

Meanwhile  it  is  satisfactory  to  know,  upon  testimony  so 
general  as  to  be  equivalent  almost  to  fact,  that,  wretched  as 
it  is,  the  country  is  steadily  advancing,  nor  nearly  so 
wretched  now  as  it  was  a score  of  years  since ; and  let  us 
hope  that  the  middle  class , which  this  increase  of  prosperity 
must  generate  (and  of  which  our  laws  have  hitherto  for- 
bidden the  existence  in  Ireland,  making  there  a population 
of  Protestant  aristocracy  and  Catholic  peasantry),  will  exer- 
cise the  greatest  and  most  beneficial  influence  over  the 
country.  Too  independent  to  be  bullied  by  priest  or  squire 
— having  their  interest  in  quiet,  and  alike  indisposed  to 
servility  or  to  rebellion ; may  not  as  much  be  hoped  from 
the  gradual  formation  of  such  a class,  as  from  any  legisla- 
tive meddling?  It  is  the  want  of  the  middle  class  that  has 
rendered  the  squire  so  arrogant,  and  the  clerical  or  political 
demagogue  so  powerful ; and  I think  Mr.  O’Connell  himself 
would  say  that  the  existence  of  such  a body  would  do  more 
for  the  steady  acquirement  of  orderly  freedom,  than  the 
occasional  outbreak  of  any  crowd,  influenced  by  any  elo- 
quence from  altar  or  tribune. 


CHARACTER  SKETCHES. 


CAPTAIN  ROOK  AND  MR.  PIGEON. 


IE  statistic-mongers  and 
dealers  in  geography  have 
calculated  to  a nicety  how 
many  quartern  loaves,  bars 
of  iron,  pigs  of  lead,  sacks 
of  wool,  Turks,  Quakers, 
Methodists,  J ews,  Catholics, 
and  C h u r c h-o  f -E  n g 1 a n d 
men  are  consumed  or  pro- 
duced in  the  different  coun- 
tries of  this  wicked  world  : 
I should  like  to  see  an 
accurate  table  showing  the 
rogues  and  dupes  of  each 
nation;  the  calculation 
would  form  a pretty  matter 
for  a philosopher  to  specu- 
late upon.  The  mind  loves 
to  repose  and  broods  benevolently  over  this  expanded 
theme.  What  thieves  are  there  in  Paris,  0 heavens  ! and 
what  a power  of  rogues  with  pigtails  and  mandarin  buttons 
at  Pekin ! Crowds  of  swindlers  are  at  this  very  moment 
pursuing  their  trade  at  St.  Petersburg,  how  many  scoundrels 
are  saying  their  prayers  alongside  of  Don  Carlos  ! how 
many  scores  are  jobbing  under  the  pretty  nose  of  Queen 
Christina ! what  an  inordinate  number  of  rascals  is  there, 
to  be  sure,  puffing  tobacco  and  drinking  flat  small-beer,  in 
all  the  capitals  of  Germany ; or  else,  without  a rag  to  their 
ebony  backs,  swigging  quass  out  of  calabashes,  and  smeared 
over  with  palm-oil,  lolling  at  the  doors  of  clay  huts  in  the 
sunny  city  of  Timbuctoo ! It  is  not  necessary  to  make  any 
more  topographical  allusions,  or,  for  illustrating  the  above 

367 


CHAR  A C TER  SKE  TCHES. 


368 

position,  to  go  through  the  whole  Gazetteer ; but  he  is  a 
bad  philosopher  who  has  not  all  these  things  in  mind,  and 
does  not  in  his  speculations  or  his  estimate  of  mankind 
duly  consider  and  weigh  them.  And  it  is  fine  and  consola- 
tory to  think  that  thoughtful  Nature,  which  has  provided 
sweet  flowers  for  the  humming  bee ; fair  running  streams 
for  glittering  fish ; store  of  kids,  deer,  goats,  and  other 
fresh  meat  for  roaring  lions ; for  active  cats,  mice ; for  mice, 
cheese,  and  so  on ; establishing  throughout  the  whole  of 
her  realm  the  great  doctrine  that  where  a demand  is,  there 
will  be  a supply  (see  the  romances  of  Adam  Smith, 
Malthus,  and  Ricardo,  and  the  philosophical  works  of 
Miss  Martineau)  : I say  it  is  consolatory  to  think  that, 
as  Nature  has  provided  flies  for  the  food  of  fishes,  and 
flowers  for  bees,  so  she  has  created  fools  for  rogues ; and 
thus  the  scheme  is  consistent  throughout.  Yes,  observa- 
tion, with  extensive  view,  will  discover  Captain  Rooks  all 
over  the  world,  and  Mr.  Pigeons  made  for  their  benefit. 
Wherever  shines  the  sun,  you  are  sure  to  find  Folly 
basking  in  it ; and  knavery  is  the  shadow  at  Folly’s  heels. 

It  is  not,  however,  necessary  to  go  to  St.  Petersburg  or 
Pekin  for  rogues  (and  in  truth  I don’t  know  whether  the 
Timbuctoo  Captain  Rooks  prefer  cribbage  or  billiards). 
“We  are  not  birds,”  as  the  Irishman  says,  “to  be  in 
half  a dozen  places  at  once  ” ; so  let  us  pretermit  all 
considerations  of  rogues  in  other  countries,  examining 
only  those  who  flourish  under  our  very  noses.  I have 
travelled  much,  and  seen  many  men  and  cities  ; and,  in 
truth,  I think  that  our  country  of  England  produces  the 
best  soldiers,  sailors,  razors,  tailors,  brewers,  hatters,  and 
rogues,  of  all.  Especially  there  is  no  cheat  like  an  English 
cheat.  Our  society  produces  them  in  the  greatest  numbers 
as  well  as  of  the  greatest  excellence.  We  supply  all 
Europe  with  them.  I defy  you  to  point  out  a great  city 
of  the  Continent  where  half  a dozen  of  them  are  not  to  be 
found  : proofs  of  our  enterprise  and  samples  of  our  home 
manufacture.  Try  Rome,  Cheltenham,  Baden,  Toeplitz, 
Madrid,  or  Tzarskoselo : I have  been  in  every  one  ofl 
them,  and  give  you  my  honor  that  the  Englishman  is  the 
best  rascal  to  be  found  in  all;  better  than  your  eager 
Frenchman  ; your  swaggering  Irishman,  with  a red  velvet 
waistcoat  and  red  whiskers ; your  grave  Spaniard,  with 
horrid  goggle  eyes  and  profuse  diamond  shirt-pins  ; your 
tallow-faced  German  baron,  with  white  moustache  and 


CAPTAIN  ROOK  AND  MR.  PIGEON.  369 

double  chin,  fat,  pudgy,  dirty  fingers,  and  great  gold  thumb- 
ring; better  even  than  your  nondescript  Russian  — swin- 
dler and  spy  as  he  is  by  loyalty  and  education  — the  most 
dangerous  antagonist  we  have.  Who  has  the  best  coat 
even  at  Vienna  ? who  has  the  neatest  britzska  at  Baden  ? 
who  drinks  the  best  champagne  at  Paris  ? Captain  Rook, 
to  be  sure,  of  her  Britannic  Majesty’s  service  : — he  has 
been  of  the  service,  that  is  to  say,  but  often  finds  it  con- 
venient to  sell  out. 

The  life  of  a blackleg,  which  is  the  name  contemptuously 
applied  to  Captain  Rook  in  his  own  country,  is  such  an 
easy,  comfortable,  careless,  merry  one,  that  I can’t  conceive 
why  all  the  world  do  not  turn  Captain  Rooks ; unless,  may 
be,  there  are  some  mysteries  and  difficulties  in  it  which 
the  vulgar  know  nothing  of,  and  which  only  men  of  real 
genius  can  overcome.  Call  on  Captain  Rook  in  the  day  (in 
London,  he  lives  about  St.  James’s ; abroad,  he  has  the 
very  best  rooms  in  the  very  best  hotels),  and  you  will  find 
him  at  one  o’clock  dressed  in  the  very  finest  robe-de-cham - 
bre , before  a breakfast-table  covered  with  the  prettiest 
patties  and  delicacies  possible ; smoking,  perhaps,  one  of 
the  biggest  Meerschaum  pipes  you  ever  saw,  reading,  pos- 
sibly, The  Morning  Post,  or  a novel  (he  has  only  one  volume 
in  his  whole  room,  and  that  from  a circulating  library)  ; or 
having  his  hair  dressed ; or  talking  to  a tailor  about  waist- 
coat patterns ; or  drinking  soda-water  with  a glass  of 
sherry ; all  this  he  does  every  morning,  and  it  does  not 
seem  very  difficult,  and  lasts  until  three.  At  three  he  goes 
to  a horse-dealer’s,  and  lounges  there  for  half  an  hour ; at 
four  he  is  to  be  seen  at  the  window  of  his  Club ; at  five,  he 
is  cantering  and  curveting  in  Hyde  Park  with  one  or  two 
more  (he  does  not  know  any  ladies,  but  has  many  male 
acquaintances : some,  stout  old  gentlemen  riding  cobs,  who 
knew  his  family,  and  give  him  a surly  grunt  of  recogni- 
tion; some,  very  young  lads  with  pale  dissolute  faces, 
little  moustaches  perhaps,  or  at  least  little  tufts  on  their 
chin,  who  hail  him  eagerly  as  a man  of  fashion)  : at  seven, 
he  has  a dinner  at  “ Long’s,”  or  at  the  “ Clarendon  ” ; and 
so  to  bed  very  likely  at  five  in  the  morning,  after  a quiet 
game  of  whist,  broiled  bones,  and  punch. 

Perhaps  he  dines  early  at  a tavern  in  Covent  Garden : 
after  which  you  will  see  him  at  the  theatre  in  a private 
box  (Captain  Rook  affects  the  Olympic  a good  deal).  In 
the  box,  beside  himself,  you  will  remark  a young  man  — 
VOL.  II.  — 24 


370 


CHA  HA  C TER  SKE  TCHES . 


very  young  — one  of  the  lads  who  spoke  to  him  in  the 
Park  this  morning,  and  a couple  of  ladies : one  shabby, 
melancholy,  raw-boned,  with  numberless  small  white  ring- 
lets, large  hands  and  feet,  and  a faded  light  blue  silk 
gown ; she  has  a large  cap,  trimmed  with  yellow,  and  all 
sorts  of  crumpled  flowers  and  greasy  blond  lace ; she  wears 
large  gilt  ear-rings,  and  sits  back,  and  nobody  speaks  to 
her,  and  she  to  nobody,  except  to  say,  “ Law,  Maria,  how 
well  you  do  look  to-night ; there’s  a man  opposite  has  been 
staring  at  you  this  three  hours ; I’m  blest  if  it  isn’t  him 
as  we  saw  in  the  Park,  dear ! ” 

“ I wish,  Hanna,  you’d  ’old  your  tongue,  and  not  bother 
me  about  the  men.  You  don’t  believe  Miss  ’Ickman, 
Freddy,  do  you  ? ” says  Maria,  smiling  fondly  on  Freddy. 
Maria  is  sitting  in  front : she  says  she  is  twenty-three,  though 
Miss  Hickman  knows  very  well  she  is  thirty-one  (Freddy 
is  just  of  age).  She  wears  a purple-velvet  gown,  three 
different  gold  bracelets  on  each  arm,  as  many  rings  on 
each  finger  of  each  hand ; to  one  is  hooked  a gold  smelling- 
bottle  : she  has  an  enormous  fan,  a laced  pocket-handker- 
chief, a cashmere  shawl,  which  is  continually  falling  off, 
and  exposing,  very  unnecessarily,  a pair  of  very  white 
shoulders : she  talks  loud,  always  lets  her  playbill  drop 
into  the  pit,  and  smells  most  pungently  of  Mr.  Delcroix’s 
shop.  After  this  description  it  is  not  at  all  necessary  to 
say  who  Maria  is  : Miss  Hickman  is  her  companion,  and 
they  live  together  in  a very  snug  little  house  in  Mayfair, 
which  has  just  been  new-furnished  a la  Louis  Quatorze 
by  Freddy,  as  we  are  positively  informed.  It  is  even  said 
that  the  little  carriage,  with  two  little  white  ponies,  which 
Maria  drives  herself  in  such  a fascinating  way  through  the 
Park,  was  purchased  for  her  by  Freddy  too  ; ay,  and  that 
Captain  Kook  got  it  for  him  - — a great  bargain  of  course. 

Such  is  Captain  Kook’s  life.  Can  anything  be  more 
easy  ? Suppose  Maria  says,  “ Come  home,  Kook,  and 
heat  a cold  chicken  with  us,  and  a glass  of  hiced  cham- 
pagne”; and  suppose  he  goes,  and  after  chicken — just 
for  fun  — Maria  proposes  a little  chicken-hazard ; she 
only  plays  for  shillings,  while  Freddy,  a little  bolder, 
wont  mind  half-pound  stakes  himself.  Is  there  any  great 
harm  in  all  this  ? Well,  after  half  an  hour,  Maria  grows 
tired,  and  Miss  Hickman  has  been  nodding  asleep  in  the 
corner  long  ago  ; so  off  the  two  ladies  set,  candle  in  hand. 

“D — n it,  Fred,”  says  Captain  Kook,  pouring  out  for 


CAPTAIN  ROOK  AND  MR . PIGEON. 


371 


that  young  gentleman  his  fifteenth  glass  of  champagne, 
“ what  luck  you  are  in,  if  you  did  but  know  how  to  back 
it.” 

What  more  natural,  and  even  kind,  of  Kook  than  to  say 
this  ? Fred  is  evidently  an  inexperienced  player ; and  every 
experienced  player  knows  that  there  is  nothing  like  back- 
ing your  luck.  Freddy  does.  Well ; fortune  is  proverbially 
variable ; and  it  is  not  at  all  surprising  that  Freddy,  after 
having  had  so  much  luck  at  the  commencement  of  the 
evening,  should  have  the  tables  turned  on  him  at  some 
time  or  other.  — Freddy  loses. 

It  is  deuced  unlucky,  to  be  sure,  that  he  should  have 
won  all  the  little  coups  and  lost  all  the  great  ones ; but 
there  is  a plan  which  the  commonest  play-man  knows,  an 
infallible  means  of  retrieving  yourself  at  play : it  is  simply 
doubling  the  stake.  Say,  you  lose  a guinea : you  bet  two 
guineas,  which  if  you  win,  you  win  a guinea  and  your 
original  stake : if  you  lose,  you  have  but  to  bet  four 
guineas  on  the  third  stake,  eight  on  the  fourth,  sixteen  on 
the  fifth,  thirty-two  on  the  sixth,  and  so  on.  It  stands  to 
reason  that  you  cannot  lose  always , and  the  very  first  time 
you  win,  all  your  losings  are  made  up  to  you.  There  is 
but  one  drawback  to  this  infallible  process ; if  you  begin 
at  a guinea,  double  every  time  you  lose,  and  lose  fifteen 
times,  you  will  have  lost  exactly  sixteen  thousand  three 
hundred  and  eighty -four  guineas ; a sum  which  probably 
exceeds  the  amount  of  your  yearly  income : — mine  is 
considerably  under  that  figure. 

Freddy  does  not  play  this  game  then,  yet ; but  being  a 
poor-spirited  creature,  as  we  have  seen  he  must  be  by  being 
afraid  to  win,  he  is  equally  poor-spirited  when  he  begins  to 
lose  : he  is  frightened ; that  is,  increases  his  stakes,  and 
backs  his  ill-luck  : when  a man  does  this,  it  is  all  over  with 
him. 

When  Captain  Kook  goes  home  (the  sun  is  peering 
through  the  shutters  of  the  little  drawing-room  in  Curzon 
Street,  and  the  ghastly  footboy  — oh,  how  bleared  his  eyes 
look  as  he  opens  the  door !)  — when  Captain  Kook  goes 
home,  he  has  Freddy’s  I 0 IPs  in  his  pocket  to  the 
amount,  say,  of  three  hundred  pounds.  Some  people  say 
that  Maria  has  half  of  the  money  when  it  is  paid ; but  this 
I don’t  believe : is  Captain  Kook  the  kind  of  fellow  to  give 
up  a purse  when  his  hand  has  once  clawed  hold  of  it  ? 

Be  this,  however,  true  or  not,  it  concerns  us  very  little. 


372 


OH  A 11 A C TER  SKE  TONES. 


The  Captain  goes  home  to  King  Street,  plunges  into  bed 
much  too  tired  to  say  his  prayers,  and  wakes  the  jiext 
morning  at  twelve  to  go  over  such  another  day  as  we  have 
just  chalked  out  for  him.  As  for  Freddy,  not  poppy,  nor 
mandragora,  nor  all  the  soda-water  at  the  chemist’s,  can 
ever  medicine  him  to  that  sweet  sleep  which  he  might  have 
had  but  for  his  loss.  “ If  I had  but  played  my  king  of 
hearts,”  sighed  Fred,  “and  kept  back  my  trump;  but 
there’s  no  standing  against  a fellow  who  turns  up  a king 
seven  times  running:  if  I had  even  but  pulled  up  when 
Thomas  (curse  him !)  brought  up  that  infernal  CuraQoa 
punch,  I should  have  saved  a couple  of  hundred,”  and  so 
on  go  Freddy’s  lamentations.  0 luckless  Freddy ! dismal 
Freddy ! silly  gaby  of  a Freddy ! you  are  hit  now,  and 
there  is  no  cure  for  you  but  bleeding  you  almost  to  death’s 
door.  The  homoeopathic  maxim  of  similia  similibus — 
which  means,  I believe,  that  you  are  to  be  cured  “ by  a hair 
of  the  dog  that  bit  you  ” — must  be  put  in  practice  with 
regard  to  Freddy  — only  not  in  homoeopathic  infinitesimal 
doses  ; no  hair  of  the  dog  that  bit  him ; but,  vice  versa , the 
dog  of  the  hair  that  tickled  him.  Freddy  has  begun  to 
play;  — a mere  trifle  at  first,  but  he  must  play  it  out;  he 
must  go  the  whole  dog  now,  or  there  is  no  chance  for  him. 
He  must  play  until  he  can  play  no  more ; he  will  play 
until  he  has  not  a shilling  left  to  play  with,  when,  perhaps, 
he  may  turn  out  an  honest  man,  though  the  odds  are 
against  him : the  betting  is  in  favor  of  his  being  a swindler 
always ; a rich  or  a poor  one,  as  the  case  may  be.  I need 
not  tell  Freddy’s  name,  I think,  now ; it  stands  on  this 
card : — 


MR.  FREDERICK  PIGEON, 

LONG’S  HOTEL. 


I have  said  the  chances  are  that  Frederick  Pigeon,  Esq., 
will  become  a rich  or  a poor  swindler,  though  the  first 
chance,  it  must  be  confessed,  is  very  remote.  I once  heard 
an  actor,  who  could  not  write,  speak,  or  even  read  English  ; 
who  was  not  fit  for  any  trade  in  the  world,  and  had  not  the 
“nous”  to  keep  an  apple-stall,  and  scarcely  even  enough 
sense  to  make  a M'ember  of  Parliament : I once,  I say, 
heard  an  actor,  — whose  only  qualifications  were  a large 


CAPTAIN  ROOK  AND  MR.  PIGEON. 


373 


pair  of  legs,  a large  voice,  and  a very  large  neck,  — curse 
his  fate  and  his  profession,  by  which,  do  what  he  would,  he 
could  only  make  eight  guineas  a week.  “No  men,”  said 
he,  with  a great  deal  of  justice,  “were  so  ill  paid  as 
i dramatic  artists ’;  they  labored  for  nothing  all  their 
youths,  and  had  no  provision  for  old  age.”  With  this,  he 
sighed,  and  called  for  (it  was  on  a Saturday  night)  the 
forty-ninth  glass  of  brandy -and-water  which  he  had  drunk 
in  the  course  of  the  week. 

The  excitement  of  his  profession,  I make  no  doubt, 
caused  my  friend  Claptrap  to  consume  this  quantity  of 
spirit-and-water,  besides  beer  in  the  morning,  after  re- 
hearsal ; and  I could  not  help  musing  over  his  fate.  It  is 
a hard  one.  To  eat,  drink,  work  a little,  and  be  jolly;  to  be 
paid  twice  as  much  as  you  are  worth,  and  then  to  go  to 
ruin ; to  drop  off  the  tree  when  you  are  swelled  out,  seedy, 
and  over-ripe ; and  to  lie  rotting  in  the  mud  underneath, 
until  at  last  you  mingle  with  it. 

Now,  badly  as  the  actor  is  paid  (and  the  reader  will  the 
more  readily  pardon  the  above  episode,  because,  in  reality, 
it  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  subject  in  hand),  and  luck- 
less as  his  fate  is,  the  lot  of  the  poor  blackleg  is  cast  lower 
still.  You  never  hear  of  a rich  gambler ; or  of  one  who 
wins  in  the  end.  Where  does  all  the  money  go  to  which  is 
lost  among  them  ? Did  you  ever  play  a game  at  loo  for 
sixpences  ? At  the  end  of  the  night  a great  many  of  those 
small  coins  have  been  lost,  and  in  consequence,  won : but 
ask  the  table  all  round ; one  man  has  won  three  shillings ; 
two  have  neither  lost  nor  won  ; one  rather  thinks  he  has 
lost ; and  the  three  others  have  lost  two  pounds  each.  Is 
not  this  the  fact,  known  to  everybody  who  indulges  in 
round  games,  and  especially  the  noble  game  of  loo?  I 
often  think  that  the  devil’s  books,  as  cards  are  called,  are 
let  out  to  us  from  Old  Nick’s  circulating  library,  and  that 
he  lays  his  paw  upon  a certain  part  of  the  winnings,  and 
carries  it  off  privily ; else,  what  becomes  of  all  the  money  ? 

For  instance,  there  is  the  gentleman  whom  the  newspapers 
call  “a  noble  earl  of  sporting  celebrity  ” ; — if  he  has  lost  a 
shilling,  according  to  the  newspaper  accounts,  he  has  lost 
fifty  millions : he  drops  fifty  thousand  pounds  at  the  Derby, 
just  as  you  and  I would  lay  down  twopence-halfpenny  for 
half  an  ounce  of  Macabaw.  Who  has  won  these  millions  ? 
Is  it  Mr.  Crockford,  or  Mr.  Bond,  or  Mr.  Salon-des- 
Etrangers  ? (I  do  not  call  these  latter  gentlemen  gam- 


374 


CHARACTER  SKETCHES. 


biers,  for  their  speculation  is  a certainty.)  But  who  wins 
his  money,  and  everybody  else’s  money  who  plays  and 
loses  ? Much  money  is  staked  in  the  absence  of  Mr.  Crock- 
ford  ; many  notes  are  given  without  the  interference  of  the 
Bonds ; there  are  hundreds  of  thousands  of  gamblers  who 
are  etrangers  even  to  the  Salon-des-Etrangers. 

No,  my  dear  sir,  it  is  not  in  the  public  gambling-houses 
that  the  money  is  lost ; it  is  not  in  them  that  your  virtue  is 
chiefly  in  danger.  Better  by  half  lose  your  income,  your 
fortune,  or  your  master’s  money,  in  a decent  public  hell, 
than  in  the  private  society  of  such  a man  as  my  friend 
Captain  Book ; but  we  are  again  and  again  digressing ; the 
point  is,  is  the  Captain’s  trade  a good  one,  and  does  it 
yield  tolerably  good  interest  for  outlay  and  capital  ? 

To  the  latter  question  first : — at  this  very  season  of  May, 
when  the  Books  are  very  young,  have  you  not,  my  dear 
friend,  often  tasted  them  in  pies  ? — they  are  then  so 
tender  that  you  cannot  tell  the  difference  between  them 
and  pigeons.  So,  in  like  manner,  our  Book  has  been  in  his 
youth  undistinguishable  from  a pigeon.  He  does  as  he  has 
been  done  by : yea,  he  has  been  plucked  as  even  now  he 
plucks  his  friend  Mr.  Frederick  Pigeon.  Say  that  he 
began  the  world  with  ten  thousand  pounds  : every  maravedi 
of  this  is  gone  ; and  may  be  considered  as  the  capital  which 
he  has  sacrificed  to  learn  his  trade.  Having  spent  10,000/., 
then,  on  an  annuity  of  650/.,  he  must  look  to  a larger 
interest  for  his  money  — say  fifteen  hundred,  two  thousand, 
or  three  thousand  pounds,  decently  to  repay  his  risk  and 
labor.  Besides  the  money  sunk  in  the  first  place,  his  pro- 
fession requires  continual  annual  outlays,  as  thus  — 

Horses,  carriages  (including  Epsom,  Goodwood,  Ascot,  &c.)  £500  0 0 

Lodgings,  servants,  and  board  350  0 0 

Watering-places,  and  touring 300  0 0 

Dinners  to  give 150  0 0 

Pocket-money 150  0 0 

Gloves,  handkerchiefs,  perfumery,  and  tobacco  (very  moderate)  150  0 0 
Tailor’s  bills  (£100  say,  never  paid) 000 

Total £1,600  0 0 

I defy  any  man  to  carry  on  the  profession  in  a decent  way 
under  the  above  sum  : ten  thousand  sunk,  and  sixteen  hun- 
dred annual  expenses  ; no,  it  is  not  a good  profession  : it  is 
not  good  interest  for  one’s  money : it  is  not  a fair  remuner- 
ation for  a gentleman  of  birth,  industry,  and  genius : and 


CAPTAIN  ROOK  AND  MR.  PIGEON . 


375 


my  friend  Claptrap,  who  growls  about  his  pay,  may  bless 
his  eyes  that  he  was  not  born  a gentleman  and  bred  up  to 
such  an  unprofitable  calling  as  this.  Considering  his 
trouble,  his  outlay,  his  birth,  and  breeding,  the  Captain 
is  most  wickedly  and  basely  rewarded.  And  when  lie  is 
obliged  to  retreat,  when  his  hand  trembles,  his  credit  is 
fallen,  his  bills  laughed  at  by  every  money-lender  in 
Europe,  his  tailors  rampant  and  inexorable  — in  fact,  when 
the  coup  of  life  will  sauter  for  him  no  more  — who  will 
help  the  play  worn  veteran  ? As  Mitchel  sings  after  Aris^ 
tophanes  — 

“ In  glory  he  was  seen,  when  his  years  as  yet  were  green ; 

But  now  when  his  dotage  is  on  him, 

God  help  him  ; — for  no  eye  of  those  who  pass  him  by, 

Throws  a look  of  compassion  upon  him.” 

Who  indeed  will  help  him?  — not  his  family,  for  he  has 
bled  his  father,  his  uncle,  his  old  grandmother ; he  has  had 
slices  out  of  his  sisters’  portions,  and  quarrelled  with  his 
brothers-in-law;  the  old  people  are  dead;  the  young  ones 
hate  him,  and  will  give  him  nothing.  Who  will  help  him  ? 
— not  his  friends ; in  the  first  place,  my  dear  sir,  a man’s 
friends  very  seldom  do : in  the  second  place,  it  is  Captain 
Rook’s  business  not  to  keep,  but  to  give  up  his  friends. 
His  acquaintances  do  not  last  more  than  a year ; the  time, 
namely,  during  which  he  is  employed  in  plucking  them  ; 
then  they  part.  Pigeon  has  not  a single  feather  left  to  his 
tail,  and  how  should  he  help  Rook,  whom,  au  reste , he  has 
learned  to  detest  most  cordially,  and  has  found  out  to  be  a 
rascal  ? When  Rook’s  ill  day  conies,  it  is  simply  because 
he  has  no  more  friends ; he  has  exhausted  them  all, 
plucked  every  one  as  clean  as  the  palm  of  your  hand. 
And  to  arrive  at  this  conclusion,  Rook  has  been  spending 
sixteen  hundred  a year,  and  the  prime  of  his  life,  and  has 
moreover  sunk  ten  thousand  pounds ! Is  this  a proper 
reward  for  a gentleman  ? I say  it  is  a sin  and  a shame 
that  an  English  gentleman  should  be  allowed  thus  to  drop 
down  the  stream  without  a single  hand  to  help  him. 

The  moral  of  the  above  remarks  I take  to  be  this ; that 
blacklegging  is  as  bad  a trade  as  can  be ; and  so  let  parents 
and  guardians  look  to  it,  and  not  apprentice  their  children 
to  such  a villanous,  scurvy  way  of  living. 

It  must  be  confessed,  however,  that  there  are  some  indi- 
viduals who  have  for  the  profession  such  a natural  genius, 


376 


CHA  RA  C TER  SKE  TCHES. 


that  no  entreaties  or  example  of  parents  will  keep  them  from 
it,  and  no  restraint  or  occupation  occasioned  by  another 
calling.  They  do  what  Christians  do  not  do ; they  leave  all 
to  follow  their  master  the  Devil  ; they  cut  friends,  families, 
and  good,  thriving,  profitable  trades  to  put  up  with  this 
one,  that  is  both  unthrifty  and  unprofitable.  They  are  in 
regiments : ugly  whispers  about  certain  midnight  games  at 
blind-hookey,  and  a few  odd  bargains  in  horseflesh,  are 
borne  abroad,  and  Cornet  Rook  receives  the  gentlest  hint  in 
the  world  that  he  had  better  sell  out.  They  are  in  count- 
ing-houses, with  a promise  of  partnership,  for  which  papa 
is  to  lay  down  a handsome  premium  ; but  the  firm  of  Hobbs, 
Bobbs  and  Higgory  can  never  admit  a young  gentleman  who 
is  a notorious  gambler,  is  much  oftener  at  the  races  than  his 
desk,  and  has  bills  daily  falling  due  at  his  private  banker’s. 
The  father,  that  excellent  old  man,  Sam  Rook,  so  well 
known  on  ’Change  in  the  war-time,  discovers,  at  the  end  of 
five  years,  that  his  son  has  spent  rather  more  than  the  four 
thousand  pounds  intended  for  his  partnership,  and  cannot, 
in  common  justice  to  his  other  thirteen  children,  give  him 
a shilling  more.  A pretty  pass  for  flash  young  Tom  Rook, 
with  four  horses  in  stable,  a protemporaneous  Mrs.  Rook, 
very  likely,  in  an  establishment  near  the  Regent’s  Park,  and 
a bill  for  three  hundred  and  seventy-five  pounds  coming  due 
on  the  fifth  of  next  month. 

Sometimes  young  Rook  is  destined  to  the  bar ; and  I am 
glad  to  introduce  one  of  these  gentlemen  and  his  history  to 
the  notice  of  the  reader.  He  was  the  son  of  an  amiable 
gentleman,  the  Reverend  Athanasius  Rook,  who  took  high 
honors  at  Cambridge  in  the  year  1 : was  a fellow  of  Trinity 
in  the  year  2 : and  so  continued  a fellow  and  tutor  of  the 
College  until  a living  fell  vacant,  on  which  he  seized.  It 
was  only  two  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  a year ; but  the  fact 
is,  Athanasius  was  in  love.  Miss  Gregory,  a pretty,  demure, 
simple  governess  at  Miss  Mickle’s  establishment  for  young 
ladies  in  Cambridge  (where  the  reverend  gentleman  used 
often  of  late  to  take  his  tea),  had  caught  the  eye  of  the 
honest  college  tutor : and  in  Trinity  walks,  and  up  and 
down  the  Trumpington  Road,  he  walked  with  her  (and 
another  young  lady  of  course),  talked  with  her,  and  told  his 
love. 

Miss  Gregory  had  not  a rap,  as  might  be  imagined ; but 
she  loved  Athanasius  with  her  whole  soul  and  strength,  and 
was  the  most  orderly,  cheerful,  tender,  smiling,  bustling 


CAPTAIN  ROOK  AND  MR.  PIGEON. 


377 


little  wife  that  ever  a country  parson  was  blessed  withal. 
Athanasius  took  a couple  of  pupils  at  a couple  of  hundred 
guineas  each,  and  so  made  out  a snug  income  ; ay,  and  laid 
by  for  a rainy  day  — a little  portion  for  Harriet,  when  she 
should  grow  up  and  marry,  and  a help  for  Tom  at  college 
and  at  the  bar.  For  you  must  know  there  were  two  little 
Kooks  now  growing  in  the  rookery  ; and  very  happy  were 
father  and  mother,  I can  tell  you,  to  put  meat  down  their 
tender  little  throats.  Oh,  if  ever  a man  was  good  and 
happy,  it  was  Athanasius  ; if  ever  a woman  was  happy  and 
good,  it  was  his  wife  : not  the  whole  parish,  not  the  whole 
county,  not  the  whole  kingdom,  could  produce  such  a snug 
rectory,  or  such  a pleasant  menage. 

Athanasius’s  fame  as  a scholar,  too,  was  great ; and  as 
his  charges  were  very  high,  and  as  he  received  but  two 
pupils,  there  was,  of  course,  much  anxiety  among  wealthy 
parents  to  place  their  children  under  his  care.  Future 
squires,  bankers,  yea,  lords  and  dukes,  came  to  profit  by  his 
instructions,  and  were  led  by  him  gracefully  over  the 
“ Asses’  bridge  ” into  the  sublime  regions  of  mathematics, 
or  through  the  syntax  into  the  pleasant  paths  of  classic 
lore. 

In  the  midst  of  these  companions,  Tom  Kook  grew  up ; 
more  fondled  and  petted,  of  course,  than  they ; cleverer 
than  they  ; as  handsome,  dashing,  well-instructed  a lad  for 
his  years  as  ever  went  to  college  to  be  a senior  wrangler, 
and  went  down  without  any  such  honor. 

Fancy,  then,  our  young  gentleman  installed  at  college, 
whither  his  father  has  taken  him,  and  with  fond  veteran 
recollections  has  surveyed  hall  and  grass-plots,  and  the  old 
porter,  and  the  old  fountain,  and  the  old  rooms  in  which  he 
used  to  live.  Fancy  the  sobs  of  good  little  Mrs.  Kook,  as 
she  parted  with  her  boy  ; and  the  tears  of  sweet  pale  Har- 
riet, as  she  clung  round  his  neck,  and  brought  him  (in  a sil- 
ver paper,  slobbered  with  many  tears)  a little  crimson  silk 
purse  (with  two  guineas  of  her  own  in  it,  poor  thing!). 
Fancy  all  this,  and  fancy  young  Tom,  sorry  too,  but  yet 
restless  and  glad,  panting  for  the  new  life  opening  upon 
him ; the  freedom,  the  joy  of  the  manly  struggle  for  fame, 
which  he  vows  he  will  win.  Tom  Kook,  in  other  words,  is 
installed  at  Trinity  College,  attends  lectures,  reads  at  home, 
goes  to  chapel,  uses  wine-parties  moderately,  and  bids  fair 
to  be  one  of  the  topmost  men  of  his  year. 

Tom  goes  down  for  the  Christmas  vacation.  (What  a 


378 


Cll  A RAC  TER  SKE  TCH  ES. 


man  he  is  grown,  and  how  his  sister  and  mother  quarrel 
which  shall  walk  with  him  down  the  village  ; and  what 
stories  the  old  gentleman  lugs  out  with  his  old  port,  and 
how  he  quotes  iEschylus,  to  be  sure  ! ) The  pupils  are 
away  too,  and  the  three  have  Tom  in  quiet.  Alas  ! I fear 
the  place  has  grown  a little  too  quiet  for  Tom  : however,  he 
reads  very  stoutly  of  mornings  ; and  sister  Harriet  peeps 
with  a great  deal  of  wonder  into  huge  books  of  scribbling- 
paper,  containing  many  strange  diagrams,  and  complicated 
arrangements  of  x’s  and  y’s. 

May  comes,  and  the  college  examinations  : the  delighted 
parent  receives  at  breakfast,  on  the  10th  of  that  month,  two 
letters,  as  follows  : — 

FROM  THE  REV.  SOLOMON  SNORTER  TO  THE  REV. 

ATHANASIUS  ROOK. 

“Trinity,  May  10. 

“Dear  Credo,*  — I wish  you  joy.  Your  lad  is  the  best  man  of 
his  year,  and  I hope  in  four  more  to  see  him  at  our  table.  In  classics 
he  is,  my  dear  friend,  facile  princeps ; in  mathematics  he  was  run 
hard  (entre  nous)  by  a lad  of  the  name  of  Snick,  a Westmoreland  man 
and  a sizer.  We  must  keep  up  Thomas  to  his  mathematics,  and  I 
have  no  doubt  we  shall  make  a fellow  and  a wrangler  of  him. 

“ I send  you  his  college  bill,  105/.  10s. ; rather  heavy,  but  this  is  the 
first  term,  and  that  you  know  is  expensive  : I shall  be  glad  to  give  you 
a receipt  for  it.  By  the  way,  the  young  man  is  rather  too  fond  of 
amusement,  and  lives  with  a very  expensive  set.  Give  him  a lecture 
on  this  score.  Yours,  Sol.  Snorter.’’ 

Next  comes  Mr.  Tom  Book’s  own  letter : it  is  long, 
modest : we  only  give  the  postscript : — 

“ P.S.  — Dear  father,  I forgot  to  say  that,  as  I live  in  the  very  best 
set  in  the  University  (Lord  Bagwig,  the  Duke’s  eldest  son  you  know, 
vows  he  will  give  me  a living),  I have  been  led  into  one  or  two 
expenses  which  will  frighten  you:  I lost  £30  to  the  honorable  Mr. 
Deuceace  (a  son  of  Lord  Crabs)  at  Bagwig’s,  the  other  day  at  dinner  ; 
and  owe  £54  more  for  desserts  and  hiring  horses,  which  I can’t  send 
into  Snorter’s  bill.t  Hiring  horses  is  so  deuced  expensive  ; next  term 
I must  have  a nag  of  my  own,  that  positive.” 

The  Bev.  Athanasius  read  the  postscript  with  much  less 
gusto  than  the  letter  : however,  Tom  has  done  his  duty,  and 
the  old  gentleman  won’t  balk  his  pleasure ; so  he  sends  him 

* This  is  most  probably  a joke  on  the  Christian  name  of  Mr.  Rook. 

t It  is,  or  was,  the  custom  for  young  gentlemen  at  Cambridge  to 
have  unlimited  credit  with  tradesmen,  whom  the  college  tutors  paid, 
and  then  sent  the  bills  to  the  parents  of  the  young  men. 


CAPTAIN  ROOK  AND  MR.  PIGEON. 


379 


100/.,,  with  a “ God  bless  you ! ” and  mamma  adds,  in  a post- 
script, that  “ he  must  always  keep  well  with  his  aristocratic 
friends,  for  he  was  made  only  for  the  best  society/’ 

A year  or  two  passes  on  : Tom  comes  home  for  the  vaca- 
tions ; but  Tom  has  sadly  changed ; he  has  grown  haggard 
and  pale.  At  second  year’s  examination  (owing  to  an  un- 
lucky illness)  Tom  was  not  classed  at  all ; and  Snick,  the 
Westmoreland  man,  has  carried  everything  before  him. 
Tom  drinks  more  after  dinner  than  his  father  likes  ; he  is 
always  riding  about  and  dining  in  the  neighborhood,  and 
coining  home,  quite  odd,  his  mother  # says  — ill-humored, 
unsteady  on  his  feet,  and  husky  in  his  talk.  The  Reverend 
Athanasius  begins  to  grow  very,  very  grave  : they  have  high 
words,  even  the  father  and  son  ; and  oh  ! how  Harriet  and 
her  mother  tremble  and  listen  at  the  study-door  when  these 
disputes  are  going  on  ! 

The  last  term  of  Tom’s  undergraduateship  arrives  ; he  is 
in  ill-health,  but  he  will  make  a mighty  effort  to  retrieve 
himself  for  his  degree  ; and  early  in  the  cold  winter’s  morn- 
ing — late,  late  at  night  — he  toils  over  his  books : and  the 
end  is  that,  a month  before  the  examination,  Thomas  Rook, 
Esquire,  has  a brain  fever,  and  Mrs.  Rook,  and  Miss  Rook, 
and  the  Reverend  Athanasius  Rook,  are  all  lodging  at  the 
“ Hoop,”  an  inn  in  Cambridge  town,  and  day  and  night 
round  the  couch  of  poor  Tom. 

O sin,  woe,  repentance  ! O touching  reconciliation  and 
burst  of  tears  on  the  part  of  son  and  father,  when  one  morn- 
ing at  the  parsonage,  after  Tom’s  recovery,  the  old  gentle- 
man produces  a bundle  of  receipts,  and  says,  with  a broken 
voice,  “ There,  boy,  don’t  be  vexed  about  your  debts.  Boys 
will  be  boys,  I know,  and  I have  paid  all  demands.”  Every- 
body cries  in  the  house  at  this  news ; the  mother  and 
daughter  most  profusely,  even  Mrs.  Stokes,  the  old  house- 
keeper, who  shakes  master’s  hand,  and  actually  kisses  Mr. 
Tom. 

Well,  Tom  begins  to  read  a little  for  his  fellowship,  but 
in  vain;  he  is  beaten  by  Mr.  Snick,  the  Westmoreland  man. 
He  has  no  hopes  of  a living ; Lord  Bagwig’s  promises  were 
all  moonshine.  Tom  must  go  to  the  bar  ; and  his  father, 
who  has  long  left  off  taking  pupils,  must  take  them  again, 
to  support  his  son  in  London. 

Why  tell  you  what  happens  when  there  ? Tom  lives  at 
the  west  end  of  the  town,  and  never  goes  near  the  Temple  : 


380 


CHARACTER  SKETCHES . 


Tom  goes  to  Ascot  and  Epsom  along  with  his  great  friends  ; 
Tom  has  a long  bill  with  Mr.  Rymell,  another  long  bill  with 
Mr.  Nugee ; he  gets  into  the  hands  of  the  Jews  — and  his 
father  rushes  up  to  London  on  the  outside  of  the  coach  to 
find  Tom  in  a sponging-house  in  Cursitor  Street  — the  near- 
est approach  he  has  made  to  the  Temple  during  his  three 
years’  residence  in  London. 

I don’t  like  to  tell  you  the  rest  of  the  history.  The  Rev- 
erend Athanasius  was  not  immortal,  and  he  died  a year 
after  his  visit  to  the  sponging-house,  leaving  his  son  exactly 
one  farthing,  and  hi^  wife  one  hundred  pounds  a year,  with 
remainder  to  his  daughter.  But,  heaven  bless  you ! The 
poor  things  would  never  allow  Tom  to  want  while  they  had 
plenty,  and  they  sold  out  and  sold  out  the  three  thousand 
pounds,  until,  at  the  end  of  three  years,  there  did  not  re- 
main one  single  stiver  of  them  ; and  now  Miss  Harriet  is  a 
governess,  with  sixty  pounds  a year,  supporting  her  mother, 
who  lives  upon  fifty. 

As  for  Tom,  he  is  a regular  leg  now  — leading  the  life 
already  described.  When  I met  him  last  it  was  at  Baden, 
where  he  was  on  a professional  tour,  with  a carriage,  a 
courier,  a valet,  a confederate,  and  a case  of  pistols.  He 
has  been  in  five  duels,  he  has  killed  a man  who  spoke  lightly 
about  his  honor ; and  at  French  or  English  hazard,  at  bill- 
iards, at  whist,  at  loo,  ecarte,  blind-hookey,  drawing  straws, 
or  beggar-my-neighbor,  he  will  cheat  you  — cheat  you  for  a 
hundred  pounds  or  for  a guinea,  and  murder  you  afterwards 
if  you  like. 

Abroad,  our  friend  takes  military  rank,  and  calls  himself 
Captain  Rook ; when  asked  of  what  service,  he  says  he  was 
with  Don  Carlos  or  Queen  Christina ; and  certain  it  is  that 
he  was  absent  for  a couple  of  years  nobody  knows  where ; 
he  may  have  been  with  General  Evans,  or  he  may  have  been 
at  the  Sainte  Pelagie  in  Paris,  as  some  people  vow  he 
was. 

We  must  wind  up  this  paper  with  some  remarks  concern- 
ing poor  little  Pigeon.  Vanity  has  been  little  Pigeon’s 
failing  through  life.  He  is  a linendraper’s  son,  and  has 
been  left  with  money : and  the  silly  fashionable  works  that 
he  has  read,  and  the  silly  female  relatives  that  he  has  — 
(n.  b.  All  young  men  with  money  have  silly,  flattering  she- 
relatives)  — and  the  silly  trips  that  he  has  made  to  water- 
ing-places, where  he  has  scraped  acquaintance  with  the 
Honorable  Tom  Mountcoffeehouse,  Lord  Ballyhooly,  the 


CAPTAIN  ROOK  AND  MR.  PIGEON . 


381 


celebrated  German  Prince,  Sweller  Mobskau,  and  their  like 
(all  Captain  Eooks  in  their  way),  have  been  the  ruin  of 
him. 

I have  not  the  slightest  pity  in  the  world  for  little  Pigeon. 
Look  at  him  ! See  in  what  absurd  finery  the  little  prig  is 
dressed.  Wine  makes  his  poor  little  head  ache,  but  he  will 
drink  because  it  is  manly.  In  mortal  fear  he  puts  him- 
self behind  a curveting  cameleopard  of  a cab-horse  ; or, 
perched  on  the  top  of  a prancing  dromedary,  is  borne 
through  Rotten  Row,  when  he  would  give  the  world  to  be 
on  his  own  sofa,  or  with  his  own  mamma  and  sisters,  over 
a quiet  pool  of  commerce  and  a cup  of  tea.  How  riding 
does  scarify  his  poor  little  legs,  and  shake  his  poor  little 
sides ! Smoking,  how  it  does  turn  his  little  stomach  inside 
out ; and  yet  smoke  he  will : Sweller  Mobskau  smokes ; 
Mountcoffeehouse  don’t  mind  a cigar;  and  as  for  Bally- 
hooly,  he  will  puff  you  a dozen  in  a day,  and  says  very  truly 
that  Pontet  won’t  supply  him  with  near  such  good  ones  as 
he  sells  Pigeon.  The  fact  is,  that  Pontet  vowed  seven 
years  ago  not  to  give  his  lordship  a sixpence  more  credit ; 
and  so  the  good-natured  nobleman  always  helps  himself  out 
of  Pigeon’s  box. 

On  the  shoulders  of  these  aristocratic  individuals,  Mr. 
Pigeon  is  carried  into  certain  clubs,  or  perhaps  we  should 
say  he  walks  into  them  by  the  aid  of  these  “legs.”  But 
they  keep  him  always  to  themselves.  Captain  Rooks  must 
rob  in  companies ; but  of  course,  the  greater  the  profits,  the 
fewer  the  partners  must  be.  Three  are  positively  requisite, 
however,  as  every  reader  must  know  who  has  played  a game 
at  whist : number  one  to  be  Pigeon’s  partner,  and  curse  his 
stars  at  losing,  and  propose  higher  play,  and  “ settle  ” with 
number  two ; number  three  to  transact  business  with  Pig- 
eon, and  drive  him  down  to  the  city  to  sell  out.  We  have 
known  an  instance  or  two  where,  after  a very  good  night’s 
work,  number  three  has  bolted  with  the  winnings  altogether, 
but  the  practice  is  dangerous ; not  only  disgraceful  to  the 
profession,  but  it  cuts  up  your  own  chance  afterwards,  as 
no  one  will  act  with  you.  There  is  only  one  occasion  on 
which  such  a manoeuvre  is  allowable.  Many  are  sick  of  the 
profession,  and  desirous  to  turn  honest  men : in  this  case, 
when  you  can  get  a good  coup,  five  thousand  say,  bolt  with- 
out scruple.  One  thing  is  clear,  the  other  men  must  be 
mum,  and  you  can  live  at  Vienna  comfortably  on  the  inter- 
est of  five  thousand  pounds. 


382 


CHAR  A CTER  SKETCHES. 


Well,,  then,  in  the  society  of  these  amiable  confederates 
little  Pigeon  goes  through  that  period  of  time  which  is 
necessary  for  the  purpose  of  plucking  him.  To  do  this,  you 
must  not,  in  most  cases,  tug  at  the  feathers  so  as  to  hurt 
him,  else  he  may  be  frightened,  and  hop  away  to  somebody 
else : nor,  generally  speaking,  will  the  feathers  come  out  so 
easily  at  first  as  they  will  when  he  is  used  to  it,  and  then 
they  drop  in  handfuls.  Nor  need  you  have  the  least  scruple 
in  so  causing  the  little  creature  to  moult  artificially : if  you 
don’t,  somebody  else  will:  a Pigeon  goes  into  the  world 
fated,  as  Chateaubriand  says  — 

“ Pigeon,  il  va  subir  le  sort  de  tout  pigeon.” 

He  must  be  plucked,  it  is  the  purpose  for  which  nature  has 
formed  him : if  you,  Captain  Rook,  do  not  perform  the 
operation  on  a green  table  lighted  by  two  wax-candles,  and 
with  two  packs  of  cards  to  operate  with,  some  other  Rook 
will : are  there  not  railroads,  and  Spanish  bonds,  and  bitu- 
minous companies,  and  Cornish  tin-mines,  and  old  dowagers 
with  daughters  to  marry  ? If  you  leave  him,  Rook  of 
Burchin  Lane  will  have  him  as  sure  as  fate : if  Rook  of 
Burchin  Lane  don’t  hit  him,  Rook  of  the  Stock  Exchange 
will  blaze  away  both  barrels  at  him,  which  if  the  poor 
trembling  flutterer  escape,  he  will  fly  over  and  drop  into 
the  rookery,  where  dear  old  swindling  Lady  Rook  and  her 
daughters  will  find  him  and  nestle  him  in  their  bosoms,  and 
in  that  soft  place  pluck  him  until  he  turns  out  as  naked  as 
a cannon-ball. 

Be  not  thou  scrupulous,  0 Captain ! Seize  on  Pigeon ; 
pluck  him  gently  but  boldly  ; but,  above  all,  never  let  him 
go.  If  he  is  a stout  cautious  bird,  of  course  you  must  be 
more  cautious;  if  he  is  excessively  silly  and  scared,  per- 
haps the  best  way  is  just  to  take  him  round  the  neck  at 
once,  and  strip  the  whole  stock  of  plumage  from  his 
back. 

The  feathers  of  the  human  pigeon  being  thus  violently 
abstracted  from  him,  no  others  supply  their  place : and  yet 
I do  not  pity  him.  He  is  now  only  undergoing  the  destiny 
of  pigeons,  and  is,  I do  believe,  as  happy  in  his  plucked  as 
in  his  feathered  state.  He  cannot  purse  out  his  breast,  and 
bury  his  head,  and  fan  his  fail,  and  strut  in  the  sun  as  if  he 
were  a turkey-cock.  Under  all  those  fine  airs  and  feathers, 
he  was  but  what  he  is  now,  a poor  little  meek,  silly, 
cowardly  bird,  and  his  state  of  pride  is  not  a whit  more  nat- 


CAPTAIN  ROOK  AND  MR.  PIGEON. 


383 


ural  to  him  than  his  fallen  condition.  He  soon  grows  used 
to  it.  He  is  too  great  a coward  to  despair ; much  too  mean 
to  be  frightened  because  he  must  live  by  doing  meanness. 
He  is  sure,  if  he  cannot  fly,  to  fall  somehow  or  other  on  his 
little  miserable  legs : on  these  he  hops  about,  and  manages 
to  live  somewhere  in  his  own  mean  way.  He  has  but  a 
small  stomach,  and  doesn’t  mind  what  food  he  puts  into  it. 
He  sponges  on  his  relatives ; or  else  just  before  his  utter 


ruin  he  marries  and  has  nine  children  (and  such  a family 
alivays  lives)  ; he  turns  bully  most  likely,  takes  to  drink- 
ing, and  beats  his  wife,  who  supports  him,  or  takes  to 
drinking  too  ; or  he  gets  a little  place,  a very  little  place ; 
you  hear  he  has  some  tide-waitership,  or  is  clerk  to  some 
new  milk  company,  or  is  lurking  about  a newspaper.  He 
dies,  and  a subscription  is  raised  for  the  Widow  Pigeon,  and 
we  look  no  more  to  find  a likeness  of  him  in  his  children, 
who  are  as  a new  race.  Blessed  are  ye  little  ones,  for  ye 
are  born  in  poverty,  and  may  bear  it,  or  surmount  it  and 
die  rich.  But  woe  to  the  pigeons  of  this  earth,  for  they  are 
born  rich  that  they  may  die  poor. 


384 


CHARACTER  SKETCHES. 


The  end  of  Captain  Rook  — for  we  must  bring  both  him 
and  the  paper  to  an  end  — is  not  more  agreeable,  but  some- 
what more  manly  and  majestic  than  the  conclusion  of  Mr. 
Pigeon.  If  you  walk  over  to  the  Queen’s  Bench  Prison,  I 
would  lay  a wager  that  a dozen  such  are  to  be  found  there 
in  a moment.  They  have  a kind  of  Lucifer  look  with  them, 
and  stare  at  you  with  tierce,  twinkling,  crow-footed  eyes ; or 
grin  from  under  huge  grizzly  moustaches,  as  they  walk  up 
and  down  in  their  tattered  brocades.  What  a dreadful 
activity  is  that  of  a madhouse,  or  a prison ! — a dreary 
flagged  court-yard,  a long  dark  room,  and  the  inmates  of  it, 
like  the  inmates  of  the  menagerie  cages,  ceaselessly  walking 
up  and  down ! Mary  Queen  of  Scots  says  very  touch- 
ingly : — 

“ Pour  mon  mal  estranger 
Je  ne  m’ arrest e en  place; 

Mais,  j’en  ay  beau  changer 
Si  ma  douleur  n’efface!  ” 

Up  and  down,  up  and  down — the  inward  woe  seems  to  spur 
the  body  onwards  ; and  I think  in  both  madhouse  and  prison 
you  will  And  plenty  of  specimens  of  our  Captain  Rook.  It 
is  fine  to  mark  him  under  the  pressure  of  this  woe,  and  see 
how  fierce  he  looks  when  stirred  up  by  the  long  pole  of 
memory.  In  these  asylums  the  Rooks  end  their  lives ; or, 
more  happy,  they  die  miserably  in  a miserable  provincial 
town  abroad,  and  for  the  benefit  of  coming  Rooks  they  com- 
monly die  early ; you  as  seldom  hear  of  an  old  Rook  (prac- 
tising his  trade)  as  of  a rich  one.  It  is  a short-lived  trade  : 
not  merry,  for  the  gains  are  most  precarious,  and  perpetual 
doubt  and  dread  are  not  pleasant  accompaniments  of  a pro- 
fession : — not  agreeable  either,  for  though  Captain  Rook 
does  not  mind  being  a scoundrel,  no  man  likes  to  be  consid- 
ered as  such,  and  as  such,  he  knows  very  well,  does  the 
world  consider  Captain  Rook : not  profitable,  for  the  ex- 
penses of  the  trade  swallow  up  all  the  profits  of  it,  and  in 
addition  leave  the  bankrupt  with  certain  habits  that  have 
become  as  nature  to  him,  and  which,  to  live,  he  must 
gratify.  I know  no  more  miserable  wretch  than  our  Rook 
in  his  autumn  days,  at  dismal  Calais  or  Boulogne,  or  at  the 
Bench  yonder,  with  a whole  load  of  diseases  and  wants,  that 
have  come  to  him  in  the  course  of  his  profession ; the 
diseases  and  wants  of  sensuality,  always  pampered,  and 
now  agonizing  for  lack  of  its  unnatural  food  j the  mind, 


CAPTAIN  ROOK  AND  MR.  PIGEON. 


385 


which  must  think  now,  and  has  only  bitter  recollections, 
mortified  ambitions,  and  unavailing  scoundrelisms  to  con 
over  ! Oh,  Captain  Rook  ! what  nice  “ chums  ” do  you  take 
with  you  into  prison ; what  pleasant  companions  of  exile 
follow  you  over  the  fines  patriae , or  attend,  the  only  watch- 
ers, round  your  miserable  death-bed  ! 

My  son,  be  not  a Pigeon  in  thy  dealings  with  the  world : 
— but  it  is  better  to  be  a Pigeon  than  a Rook. 


VOL.  II. — 25 


THE  FASHIONABLE  AUTHORESS. 


YYLNG  a visit  the  other 
day  to  my  friend  Timson, 
who,  I need  not  tell  the 
public,  is  editor  of  that 
famous  evening  paper, 
the  . . . (and  let  it  be 
said  that  there  is  no 
more  profitable  acquaint- 
ance than  a gentleman 
in  Timson’s  situation,  in 
whose  office,  at  three 
o’clock  daily,  you  are 
sure  to  find  new  books, 
lunch,  magazines,  and 
innumerable  tickets  for  concerts  and  plays)  : going,  I say, 
into  Timson’s  office,  I saw  on  the  table  an  immense  paper 
cone  or  funnel,  containing  a bouquet  of  such  a size,  that  it 
might  be  called  a bosquet,  wherein  all  sorts  of  rare  ger- 
aniums, luscious  magnolias,  stately  dahlias,  and  other 
floral  produce  were  gathered  together  — a regular  flower- 
stack. 

Timson  was  for  a brief  space  invisible,  and  I was  left 
alone  in  the  room  with  the  odors  of  this  tremendous  bow- 
pot,  which  filled  the  whole  of  the  inky,  smutty,  dingy 
apartment  with  an  agreeable  incense.  “ O rus  ! quando  te 
aspiciam  ? ” exclaimed  I,  out  of  the  Latin  grammar,  for 
imagination  had  carried  me  away  to  the  country,  and  I was 
about  to  make  another  excellent  and  useful  quotation  (from 
the  14th  book  of  the  Iliad,  Madam),  concerning  “ ruddy 
lotuses,  and  crocuses,  and  hyacinths,”  when  all  of  a sudden 
Timson  appeared.  His  head  and  shoulders  had,  in  fact, 
been  engulfed  in  the  flowers,  among  which  he  might  be 

386 


THE  FASHIONABLE  AUTHORESS . 


387 


compared  to  any  Cupid,  butterfly,  or  bee.  His  little  face 
was  screwed  up  into  such  an  expression  of  comical  delight 
and  triumph,  that  a Methodist  parson  would  have  laughed 
at  it  in  the  midst  of  a funeral  sermon. 

“What  are  you  giggling  at?”  said  Mr.  Timson,  assuming 
a high,  aristocratic  air. 

“Has  the  goddess  Flora  made  you  a present  of  that 
bower,  wrapped  up  in  white  paper : or  did  it  come  by  the 
vulgar  hands  of  yonder  gorgeous  footman,  at  whom  all  the 
little  printer’s  devils  are  staring  in  the  passage  ? ” 

“Stuff!”  said  Timson,  picking  to  pieces  some  rare  exotic, 
worth  at  the  very  least  fifteenpence ; “a  friend,  who  knows 
that  Mrs.  Timson  and  I are  fond  of  these  things,  has  sent 
us  a nosegay,  that’s  all.” 

I saw  how  it  was.  “Augustus  Timson,”  exclaimed  I, 
sternly,  “ the  Pimlicoes  have  been  with  you ; if  that  foot- 
man did  not  wear  the  Pimlico  plush,  ring  the  bell  and 
order  me  out;  if  that  three-cornered  billet  lying  in  your 
snuff-box  has  not  the  Pimlico  seal  to  it,  never  ask  me  to 
dinner  again.” 

“Well,  if  it  does”  says  Mr.  Timson,  who  flushed  as  red 
as  a peony,  “what  is  the  harm  ? Lady  Fanny  Flummery 
may  send  flowers  to  her  friends,  I suppose  ? The  conser- 
vatories at  Pimlico  House  are  famous  all  the  world  over, 
and  the  Countess  promised  me  a nosegay  the  very  last  time 
I dined  there.” 

“Was  that  the  day  when  she  gave  you  a box  of  bonbons 
for  your  darling  little  Ferdinand  ? ” 

“No,  another  day.” 

“ Or  the  day  when  she  promised  you  her  carriage  for 
Epsom  Races  ? ” 

“No.” 

“Or  the  day  when  she  hoped  that  her  Lucy  and  your 
Barbara- Jane  might  be  acquainted,  and  sent  to  the  latter 
from  the  former  a new  French  doll  and  tea-things  ? ” 

“ Fiddlestick  ! ” roared  out  Augustus  Timson,  Esquire  : 
“I  wish  you  wouldn’t  come  bothering  here.  I tell  you 
that  Lady  Pimlico  is  my  friend  — my  friend,  mark  you, 
and  I will  allow  no  man  to  abuse  her  in  my  presence  ; I 
say  again  no  man  ; ” wherewith  Mr.  Timson  plunged  both 
his  hands  violently  into  his  breeehes-pockets,  looked  me  in 
the  face  sternly,  and  began  jingling  his  keys  and  shillings 
about. 

At  this  juncture  (it  being  about  half-past  three  o’clock  in 


888 


CHARACTER  SKETCHES. 


the  afternoon),  a one-horse  chaise  drove  up  to  the  . . . 
office  (Tim son  lives  at  Clapham,  and  comes  in  and  out  in 
this  machine)  — a one-horse  chaise  drove  up ; and  amidst  a 
scuffling  and  crying  of  small  voices,  good-humored  Mrs. 
Timson  bounced  into  the  room. 

“ Here  we  are,  deary,”  said  she,  “ we’ll  walk  to  the 
Mery  weathers  ; and  I’ve  told  Sam  to  be  in  Charles  Street 
at  twelve  with  the  chaise ; it  wouldn’t  do,  you  know,  to 


come  out  of  the  Pimlico  box  and  have  the  people  cry,  ‘Mrs. 
Timson’s  carriage  ! ’ for  old  Sam  and  the  chaise.” 

Timson,  to  this  loving  and  voluble  address  of  his  lady, 
gave  a peevish,  puzzled  look  towards  the  stranger,  as  much 
as  to  say,  “He's  here.” 

“La,  Mr.  Smith!  and  how  do  you  do?  — So  rude  — I 
didn’t  see  you : but  the  fact  is,  we  are  all  in  sueli  a bustle  ! 
Augustus  has  got  Lady  Pimlico’s  box  for  the  Puritcini 
to-night,  and  I vowed  I’d  take  the  children.” 

Those  young  persons  were  evidently  from  their  costume 
prepared  for  some  extraordinary  festival.  Miss  Barbara- 


THE  FASHIONABLE  AUTHORESS. 


389 


Jane,  a young  lady  of  six  years  old,  in  a pretty  pink  slip 
and  white  muslin,  lier  dear  little  poll  bristling  over  with 
papers,  to  be  removed  previous  to  the  play ; while  Master 
Ferdinand  had  a pair  of  nankeens  (I  can  recollect  Timson 
in  them  in  the  year  1825  — a great  buck),  and  white  silk 
stockings,  which  belonged  to  his  mamma.  His  frill  was 
very  large  and  very  clean,  and  he  was  fumbling  perpetually 
at  a pair  of  white  kid  gloves,  which  his  mamma  forbade 
him  to  assume  before  the  opera. 

And  “ Look  here  ! ” and  “ Oh,  precious ! ” and  “ Oh,  my ! ” 
were  uttered  by  these  worthy  people  as  they  severally 
beheld  the  vast  bouquet,  into  which  Mrs.  Timson’s  head 
flounced,  just  as  her  husband’s  had  done  before. 

“ I must  have  a greenhouse  at  the  Snuggery,  that’s  posi- 
tive, Timson,  for  I’m  passionately  fond  of  flowers — and  how 
kind  of  Lady  Fanny  ! Do  you  know  her  ladyship,  Mr. 
Smith  ? ” 

“ Indeed,  Madam,  I don’t  remember  having  ever  spoken 
to  a lord  or  a lady  in  my  life.” 

Timson  smiled  in  a supercilious  way.  Mrs.  Timson 
exclaimed,  “ La,  how  odd ! Augustus  knows  ever  so  many. 
Let’s  see,  there’s  the  Countess  of  Pimlico  and  Lady  Fanny 
Flummery ; Lord  Doldrum  (Timson  touched  up  his  travels, 
you  know)  ; Lord  Gasterton,  Lord  Guttlebury’s  eldest  son ; 
Lady  Pawpaw  (they  say  she  ought  not  to  be  visited,  though) ; 
Baron  Strum  — Strom  — Strumpf  — ” 

What  the  baron’s  name  was  I have  never  been  able  to 
learn ; for  here  Timson  burst  out  with  a “ Hold  your 
tongue,  Bessy ! ” which  stopped  honest  Mrs.  Timson’s 
harmless  prattle  altogether,  and  obliged  that  worthy  woman 
to  say  meekly,  “Well,  Gus,  I did  not  think  there  was  any 
harm  in  mentioning  your  acquaintance.”  Good  soul ! it 
was  only  because  she  took  pride  in  her  Timson  that  she 
loved  to  enumerate  the  great  names  of  the  persons  who 
did  him  honor.  My  friend  the  editor  was,  in  fact,  in  a 
cruel  position,  looking  foolish  before  his  old  acquaintance, 
stricken  in  that  unfortunate  sore  point  in  his  honest,  good 
humored  character.  The  man  adored  the  aristocracy,  and 
had  that  wonderful  respect  for  a lord  which,  perhaps  the 
observant  reader  may  have  remarked,  especially  character- 
izes men  of  Timson’s  way  of  thinking. 

In  old  days  at  the  club  (we  held  it  in  a small  public- 
house  near  the  Coburg  Theatre,  some  of  us  having  free 
admissions  to  that  place  of  amusement,  and  some  of  us 


390 


CHA  RA  C TER  SKE  TCHES . 


living  for  convenience  in  the  immediate  neighborhood  of 
one  of  his  Majesty’s  prisons  in  that  quarter)  — in  old  days, 
I say,  at  our  spouting  and  toasted-cheese  club,  called  “ The 
Forum,”  Timson  was  called  Brutus  Timson,  and  not 
Augustus,  in  consequence  of  the  ferocious  republicanism 
which  characterized  him,  and  his  utter  scorn  and  hatred  of  a 
bloated,  do-nothing  aristocracy.  His  letters  in  The  Weekly 
Sentinel , signed  “ Lictor,”  must  be  remembered  by  all  our 
readers : he  advocated  the  repeal  of  the  corn  laws,  the 
burning  of  machines,  the  rights  of  labor,  &c.,  &c.,  wrote 
some  pretty  defences  of  Robespierre,  and  used  seriously  to 
avow,  when  at  all  in  liquor,  that,  in  consequence  of  those 
“ Lictor  ” letters,  Lord  Castlereagh  had  tried  to  have  him 
murdered  and  thrown  over  Blackfriars  Bridge. 

By  what  means  Augustus  Timson  rose  to  his  present 
exalted  position  it  is  needless  here  to  state ; suffice  it,  that 
in  two  years  he  was  completely  bound  over  neck-and-heels 
to  the  bloodthirsty  aristocrats,  hereditary  tyrants,  &c.  One 
evening  he  was  asked  to  dine  with  a secretary  of  the 
Treasury  (the  ...  is  Ministerial,  and  has  been  so  these 
forty-nine  years)  ; at  the  house  of  that  secretary  of  the 
Treasury  he  met  a lord’s  son : walking  with  Mrs.  Timson 
in  the  Park  next  Sunday,  that  lord’s  son  saluted  him. 
Timson  was  from  that  moment  a slave,  had  his  coats  made 
at  the  west  end,  cut  his  wife’s  relations  (they  are  dealers  in 
marine-stores,  and  live  at  Wapping),  and  had  his  name  put 
down  at  two  Clubs. 

Who  was  the  lord’s  son  ? Lord  Pimlico’s  son,  to  be 
sure,  the  Honorable  Frederick  Flummery,  who  married  Lady 
Fanny  Foxy,  daughter  of  Pitt  Castlereagh,  second  Earl  of 
Reynard,  Kilbrush  Castle,  county  Kildare.  The  earl  had 
been  ambassador  in  ’14  : Mr.  Flummery,  his  attache  : he 
was  twenty-one  at  that  time,  with  the  sweetest  tuft  on  his 
chin  in  the  world.  Lady  Fanny  was  only  four-and-twenty, 
just  jilted  by  Prince  Scoronconcolo,  the  horrid  man  who 
had  married  Miss  Solomonson  with  a plum.  Fanny  had 
nothing  — Frederick  had  about  seven  thousand  pounds  less. 
What  better  could  the  young  things  do  than  marry  ? Marry 
they  did,  and  in  the  most  delicious  secrecy.  Old  Reynard 
was  charmed  to  have  an  opportunity  of  breaking  with  one 
of  his  daughters  forever,  and  only  longed  for  an  occasion 
never  to  forgive  the  other  nine. 

A wit  of  the  Prince’s  time,  who  inherited  and  trans- 
mitted to  his  children  a vast  fortune  in  genius,  was 


THE  FASHIONABLE  AUTHORESS. 


391 


cautioned  on  his  marriage  to  be  very  economical.  “Eco- 
nomical ! ” said  he  ; “ my  wife  has  nothing,  and  I have 
nothing : I suppose  a man  can’t  live  under  that ! ” Our 
interesting  pair,  by  judiciously  employing  the  same  capital, 
managed,  year  after  year,  to  live  very  comfortably,  until  at 
last  they  were  received  into  Pimlico  House  by  the  dowager 
(who  has  it  for  her  life),  where  they  live  very  magnifi- 
centty.  Lady  Fanny  gives  the  most  magnificent  entertain- 
ment in  London,  has  the  most  magnificent  equipage,  and  a 
very  fine  husband;  who  has  his  equipage  as  fine  as  her 
ladyship’s  ; his  seat  in  the  omnibus,  while  her  ladyship  is  in 
the  second  tier.  They  say  he  plays  a good  deal  — ay,  and 
pays,  too,  when  he  loses. 

And  how,  pr’ythee  ? Her  ladyship  is  a Fashionable 
Authoress.  She  has  been  at  this  game  for  fifteen  years  ; 
during  which  period  she  has  published  forty-five  novels, 
edited  twenty-seven  new  magazines,  and  I don’t  know  how 
many  annuals,  besides  publishing  poems,  plays,  desultory 
thoughts,  memoirs,  recollections  of  travel,  and  pamphlets 
without  number.  Going  one  day  to  church,  a lady,  whom 
I knew  by  her  Leghorn  bonnet  and  red  ribbons,  ruche  with 
poppies  and  marigolds,  brass  ferroniere,  great  red  hands, 
black  silk  gown,  thick  shoes,  and  black  silk  stockings ; a 
lady,  whom  I knew,  I say,  to  be  a devotional  cook,  made  a 
bob  to  me  just  as  the  psalm  struck  up,  and  offered  me  a share 
of  her  hymn-book.  It  was,  — 

HEAVENLY  CHORDS; 

A COLLECTION  OF 

SACKED  STRAINS, 

SELECTED,  COMPOSED,  AND  EDITED,  BY  THE 
LADY  FRANCES  JULIANA  FLUMMERY. 

— Being  simply  a collection  of  heavenly  chords  robbed 
from  the  lyres  of  Watts,  Wesley,  Brady  and  Tate,  &c. ; and 
of  sacred  strains  from  the  rare  collection  of  Sternhold  and 
Hopkins.  Out  of  this,  cook  and  I sang ; and  it  is  amazing 
how  much  our  fervor  was  increased  by  thinking  that  our 
devotions  were  directed  by  a lady  whose  name  was  in  the 
Red  Book. 

The  thousands  of  pages  that  Lady  Fanny  Flummery  has 
covered  with  ink  exceed  all  belief.  You  must  have  re- 


392 


CHARACTER  SKETCHES. 


marked,  Madam,  in  respect  of  this  literary  fecundity,  that 
your  amiable  sex  possesses  vastly  greater  capabilities  than 
we  do  ; and  that  while  a man  is  painfully  laboring  over  a 
letter  of  two  sides,  a lady  will  produce  a dozen  pages, 
crossed,  dashed,  and  so  beautifully  neat,  and  close,  as  to  be 
wellnigh  invisible.  The  readiest  of  ready  pens  has  Lady 
Fanny ; her  Pegasus  gallops  over  hot-pressed  satin  so  as  to 
distance  all  gentlemen  riders  : like  Camilla,  it  scours  the 
plain  — of  Bath,  and  never  seems  punished  or  fatigued  ; 
only  it  runs  so  fast  that  it  often  leaves  all  sense  behind  it ; 
and  there  it  goes  on,  on,  scribble,  scribble,  scribble,  never 
flagging  until  it  arrives  at  that  fair  winning-post  on  which 
is  written  “ finis,”  or  “ the  end  ” ; and  shows  that  the 
course,  whether  it  be  of  novel,  annual,  poem,  or  what  not, 
is  complete. 

Now,  the  author  of  these  pages  doth  not  pretend  to 
describe  the  inward  thoughts,  ways,  and  manner  of  being, 
of  my  Lady  Fanny,  having  made  before  that  humiliating 
confession,  that  lords  and  ladies  are  personally  unknown  to 
him ; so  that  all  milliners,  butchers’  ladies,  dashing  young 
clerks,  and  apprentices,  or  other  persons  who  are  anxious 
to  cultivate  a knowledge  of  the  aristocracy,  had  better  skip 
over  this  article  altogether.  But  he  hath  heard  it  whis- 
pered, from  pretty  good  authority,  that  the  manners  and 
customs  of  these  men  and  women  resemble,  in  no  incon- 
siderable degree,  the  habits  and  usages  of  other  men  and 
women,  whose  names  are  unrecorded  by  Debrett.  Grant- 
ing this,  and  that  Lady  Fanny  is  a woman  pretty  much 
like  another,  the  philosophical  reader  will  be  content  that 
we  rather  consider  her  ladyship  in  her  public  capacity,  and 
examine  her  influence  upon  mankind  in  general. 

Her  person,  then,  being  thus  put  out  of  the  way,  her 
works,  too,  need  not  be  very  carefully  sifted  and  criticized ; 
for  what  is  the  use  of  peering  into  a millstone,  or  making 
calculations  about  the  figure  0 ? The  woman  has  not,  in 
fact,  the  slightest  influence  upon  literature  for  good  or  for 
evil : there  are  a certain  number  of  fools  whom  she  catches 
in  her  flimsy  traps ; and  why  not  ? They  are  made  to  be 
humbugged,  or  how  should  we  live  ? Lady  Flummery 
writes  everything;  that  is,  nothing.  Her  poetry  is  mere 
wind ; her  novels,  stark  nought ; her  philosophy,  sheer 
vacancy : how  should  she  do  any  better  than  she  does  ? 
how  could  she  succeed  if  she  did  do  any  better  ? If  she 
did  write  well,  she  would  not  be  Lady  Flummery  ; she 


THE  FASHIONABLE  AUTHORESS . 


393 


would  not  be  praised  by  Timson  and  the  critics,  because 
she  would  be  an  honest  woman,  and  would  not  bribe  them. 
Nay,  she  would  probably  be  written  down  by  Timson  and 
Co.,  because,  being  an  honest  woman,  she  utterly  despised 
them  and  their  craft. 

We  have  said  what  she  writes  for  the  most  part.  Indi- 
vidually, she  will  throw  off  any  number  of  novels  that 
Messrs.  Soap  and  Diddle  will  pay  for;  and  collectively,  by 
the  aid  of  self  and  friends,  scores  of  “ Lyrics  of  Loveli- 
ness,” “ Beams  of  Beauty,”  “Pearls  of  Purity,”  &c.  Who 
does  not  recollect  the  success  which  her  “ Pearls  of  the 
Peerage  ” had  ? She  is  going  to  do  the  “ Beauties  of 
the  Baronetage  ” ; then  we  shall  have  the  “ Daughters  of 
the  Dustman,”  or  some  such  other  collection  of  portraits. 
Lady  Flummery  has  around  her  a score  of  literary  gentle- 
men, who  are  bound  to  her,  body  and  soul : give  them  a 
dinner,  a smile  from  an  opera-box,  a wave  of  the  hand  in 
Rotten  Row,  and  they  are  hers,  neck  and  heels.  Vides , mi 
fill , &c.  See,  my  son,  with  what  a very  small  dose  of  hum- 
bug men  are  to  be  bought.  I know  many  of  these  individ- 
uals : there  is  my  friend  M‘Lather,  an  immense,  pudgy 
man : I saw  him  one  day  walking  through  Bond  Street  in 
company  with  an  enormous  ruby  breastpin.  “ Mac ! ” 
shouted  your  humble  servant,  “that  is  a Flummery 
ruby  ” ; and  Mac  hated  and  cursed  us  ever  after.  Pres- 
ently came  little  Fitch,  the  artist ; he  was  rigged  out  in  an 
illuminated  velvet  waistcoat  — Flummery  again  — “There’s 
only  one  like  it  in  town,”  whispered  Fitch  to  me  confiden- 
tially, “and  Flummery  has  that.”  To  be  sure,  Fitch  had 
given,  in  return,  half  a dozen  of  the  prettiest  drawings  in 
the  world.  “ I wouldn’t  charge  for  them,  you  know,”  he 
says  : “ for,  hang  it,  Lady  Flummery  is  my  friend.”  Oh, 
Fitch,  Fitch  ! 

Fifty  more  instances  could  be  adduced  of  her  ladyship’s 
ways  of  bribery.  She  bribes  the  critics  to  praise  her,  and 
the  writers  to  write  for  her ; and  the  public  flocks  to  her 
as  it  will  to  any  other  tradesman  who  is  properly  puffed. 
Out  comes  the  book ; as  for  its  merits,  we  may  allow,  cheer- 
fully, that  Lady  Flummery  has  no  lack  of  that  natural 
esprit  which  every  woman  possesses ; but  here  praise  stops. 
For  the  style,  she  does  not  know  her  own  language ; but,  in 
revenge,  has  a smattering  of  half  a dozen  others.  She 
interlards  her  works  with  fearful  quotations  from  the 
French,  fiddle-faddle  extracts  from  Italian  operas,  German 


394 


CHA  RA  C TER  SKE  TCHES. 


phrases  fiercely  mutilated,  and  a scrap  or  two  of  bad  Span- 
ish: and  upon  the  strength  of  these  murders  she  calls  her- 
herself  an  authoress.  To  be  sure,  there  is  no  such  word 
as  authoress.  If  any  young  nobleman  or  gentleman  of 
Eton  College,  when  called  upon  to  indite  a copy  of  verses 
in  praise  of  Sappho,  or  the  Countess  of  Dash,  or  Lady 
Charlotte  What-d’ye-call-’em,  or  the  Honorable  Mrs.  Some- 
body, should  fondly  imagine  that  he  might  apply  to  those 
fair  creatures  the  title  of  auctrix  — I pity  that  young 
nobleman’s  or  gentleman’s  case.  Doctor  Wordsworth  and 
assistants  would  swish  that  error  out  of  him  in  a way  that 
need  not  here  be  mentioned.  Remember  it  henceforth,  ye 
writeresses  — there  is  no  such  word  as  authoress.  Auctor , 
Madam,  is  the  word.  “ Optima  tu  proprii  nominis  auctor 
eris  which,  of  course,  means  that  you  are,  by  your  proper 
name,  an  author,  not  an  authoress : the  line  is  in  Ains- 
worth’s Dictionary,  where  anybody  may  see  it. 

This  point  is  settled  then  : there  is  no  such  word  as 
authoress.  But  what  of  that  ? Are  authoresses  to  be 
bound  by  the  rules  of  grammar  ? The  supposition  is 
absurd.  We  don’t  expect  them  to  know  their  own  lan- 
guage ; we  prefer  rather  the  little  graceful  pranks  and 
liberties  they  take  with  it.  When,  for  instance,  a cele- 
brated authoress,  who  wrote  a Diaress,  calls  somebody  the 
prototype  of  his  own  father,  we  feel  an  obligation  to  her 
ladyship ; the  language  feels  an  obligation  ; it  has  a charm 
and  a privilege  with  which  it  was  never  before  endowed : 
and  it  is  manifest,  that  if  we  can  call  ourselves  antetypes 
of  our  grandmothers  — can  prophesy  what  we  had  for  din- 
ner yesterday,  and  so  on,  we  get  into  a new  range  of 
thought,  and  discover  sweet  regions  of  fancy  and  poetry, 
of  which  the  mind  hath  never  even  had  a notion  until  now. 

It  may  be  then  considered  as  certain  that  an  authoress 
ought  not  to  know  her  own  tongue.  Literature  and  politics 
have  this  privilege  in  common,  that  any  ignoramus  may 
excel  in  both.  No  apprenticeship  is  required,  that  is  cer- 
tain ; and  if  any  gentleman  doubts,  let  us  refer  him  to  the 
popular  works  of  the  present  day,  where,  if  he  find  a 
particle  of  scholarship,  or  any  acquaintance  with  any 
books  in  any  language,  or  if  he  be  disgusted  by  any  absurd, 
stiff,  old-fashioned  notions  of  grammatical  propriety,  we 
are  ready  to  qualify  our  assertion.  A friend  of  ours  came 
to  us  the  other  day  in  great  trouble.  His  dear  little  boy, 
who  had  been  for  some  months  attache  to  the  stables  of 


THE  FASHIONABLE  AUTHORESS . 


395 


Mr.  Tilbury’s  establishment,  took  a fancy  to  the  corduroy 
breeches  of  some  other  gentleman  employed  in  the  same 
emporium  — appropriated  them,  and  afterwards  disposed 
of  them  for  a trifling  sum  to  a relation  — I believe  his 
uncle.  For  this  harmless  freak,  poor  Sam  was  absolutely 
seized,  tried  at  Clerkenwell  Sessions,  and  condemned  to 
six  months’  useless  rotatory  labor  at  the  House  of  Correc- 
tion. “ the  poor  fellow  was  bad  enough  before,  sir,”  said 
his  father,  confiding  in  our  philanthropy : “ he  picked  up 
such  a deal  of  slang  among  the  stable-boys  : but  if  you 
could  hear  him  since  he  came  from  the  mill ! he  knocks 
you  down  with  it,  sir.  I am  afraid,  sir,  of  his  becoming  a 
regular  prig : for  though  he’s  a ’cute  chap,  can  read  and 
write,  and  is  mighty  smart  and  handy,  yet  no  one  will 
take  him  into  service,  on  account  of  that  business  of  the 
breeches ! ” 

“ What,  sir'.  ” exclaimed  we,  amazed  at  the  man’s  simpli- 
city ; “ such  a son,  and  you  don’t  know  what  to  do  with 
him  ! a ’cute  fellow,  who  can  write,  who  has  been  educated 
in  a stable-yard,  and  has  had  six  months’  polish  in  a 
university  — I mean  a prison  — and  you  don’t  know  what 
to  do  with  him  ? Make  a fashionable  novelist  of  him,  and 
be  hanged  to  you ! ” And  proud  am  I to  say  that  that 
young  man,  every  evening,  after  he  comes  home  from  his 
work  (he  has  taken  to  street-sweeping  in  the  day,  and  I 
don’t  advise  him  to  relinquish  a certainty)  — proud  am  I 
to  say  that  he  devotes  every  evening  to  literary  composi- 
tion, and  is  coming  out  with  a novel,  in  numbers,  of  the 
most  fashionable  kind. 

This  little  episode  is  only  given  for  the  sake  of  ex- 
ample ; par  exemple , as  our  authoress  would  say,  who 
delights  in  French  of  the  very  worst  kind.  The  public 
likes  only  the  extremes  of  society,  and  votes  mediocrity 
vulgar.  From  the  Author  they  will  take  nothing  but 
Fleet  Ditch ; from  the  Authoress,  only  the  very  finest  of 
rose-water.  I have  read  so  many  of  her  ladyship’s  novels, 
that,  egad ! now  I don’t  care  for  anything  under  a marquis. 
Why  the  deuce  should  we  listen  to  the  intrigues,  the  mis- 
fortunes, the  virtues,  and  conversations  of  a couple  of 
countesses,  for  instance,  when  we  can  have  duchesses  for 
our  money  ? What’s  a baronet  ? pish  ! pish ! that  great 
coarse  red  fist  in  his  scutcheon  turns  me  sick ! What’s  a 
baron  ? a fellow  with  only  one  more  ball  than  a pawn- 
broker; and,  upon  my  conscience,  just  as  common.  Dear 


396 


CHA  RA  CTER  SKE  TCHES. 


Lady  Flummery,  in  your  next  novel,  give  us  no  more  of 
these  low  people ; nothing  under  strawberry  leaves,  for  the 
mercy  of  heaven ! Suppose,  now,  you  write  us 

ALBERT ; 

OR, 

WHISPERINGS  AT  WINDSOR. 

BY  THE  LADY  FRANCES  FLUMMERY. 

There  is  a subject  — fashionable  circles,  curious  revelations, 
exclusive  excitement,  &c.  To  be  sure,  you  must  here  intro- 
duce a viscount,  and  that  is  sadly  vulgar  ; but  we  will  pass 
him  for  the  sake  of  the  ministerial  portefeuille , which  is 
genteel.  Then  you  might  do  “ Leopold ; or,  the  Bride  of 
Neuilly  ” ; “ The  Victim  of  Wiirtemberg  ” ; “ Olga  ; or,  the 
Autocrat’s  Daughter  ” (a  capital  title)  ; “ Henri  ; or,  Rome 
in  the  Nineteenth  Century  ” ; we  can  fancy  the  book,  and  a 
sweet  paragraph  about  it  in  Timson’s  paper. 

“ Henri,  by  Lady  Francis  Flummery  — Henri!  Who 
can  he  be  ? a little  bird  whispers  in  our  ear  that  the  gifted 
and  talented  Sappho  of  our  hemisphere  has  discovered 
some  cttrious  particulars  in  the  life  of  a certain  young  chev- 
alier, whose  appearance  at  Rome  has  so  frightened  the 
court  of  the  Tu-l-ries.  Henry  de  B-rd — ux  is  of  an  age 
when  the  young  god  can  shoot  his  darts  into  the  bosom  with 
fatal  accuracy ; and  if  the  Marchesina  degli  Spinachi 
(whose  portrait  our  lovely  authoress  has  sung  with  a kin- 
dred hand)  be  as  beauteous  as  she  is  represented  (and  as 
all  who  have  visited  in  the  exclusive  circles  of  the  Eternal 
City  say  she  is),  no  wonder  at  her  effect  upon  the  Pr-nce. 
Verbum  sap.  We  hear  that  a few  copies  are  still  remain- 
ing. The  enterprising  publishers,  Messrs.  Soap  and  Did- 
dle, have  announced,  we  see,  several  other  works  by  the 
same  accomplished  pen.” 

This  paragraph  makes  its  appearance,  in  small  type,  in 
the  ...  by  the  side,  perhaps,  of  a disinterested  recommen- 
dation of  bears ’-grease,  or  some  remarks  on  the  extraordi- 
nary cheapness  of  plate  in  Cornhill.  Well,  two  or  three 
days  after,  my  dear  Timson,  who  has  been  asked  to  dinner, 
writes  in  his  own  hand,  and  causes  to  be  printed  in  the 
largest  type,  an  article  to  the  following  effect : — 


THE  FASHIONABLE  AUTHORESS. 


397 


“ HENRI. 

“ BY  LADY  F.  FLUMMERY. 

“This  is  another  of  the  graceful  evergreens  which  the 
fair  fingers  of  Lady  Fanny  Flummery  are  continually 
strewing  upon  our  path.  At  once  profound  and  caustic, 
truthful  and  passionate,  we  are  at  a loss  whether  most  to 
admire  the  manly  grandeur  of  her  ladyship’s  mind,  or  the 
exquisite  nymph-like  delicacy  of  it.  Strange  power  of 
fancy ! Sweet  enchantress,  that  rules  the  mind  at  will : 
stirring  up  the  utmost  depths  of  it  into  passion  and  storm, 
or  wreathing  and  dimpling  its  calm  surface  with  countless 
summer  smiles.  As  a great  Bard  of  old  Time  has  ex- 
pressed it,  what  do  we  not  owe  to  woman  ? 

“ What  do  we  not  owe  her  ? More  love,  more  happiness, 
more  calm  of  vexed  spirit,  more  truthful  aid,  and  pleasant 
counsel ; in  joy,  more  delicate  sympathy  ; in  sorrow,  more 
kind  companionship.  We  look  into  her  cheery  eyes,  and 
in  those  wells  of  love,  care  drowns ; we  listen  to  her  siren 
voice,  and  in  that  balmy  music  banished  hopes  come  wing- 
ing to  the  breast  again.” 

This  goes  on  for  about  three-quarters  of  a column : I 
don’t  pretend  to  understand  it ; but  with  flowers,  angels, 
Wordsworth’s  poems,  and  the  old  dramatists,  one  can  never 
be  wrong,  I think  ; and  though  I have  written  the  above 
paragraphs  myself,  and  don’t  understand  a word  of  them,  I 
can’t,  upon  my  conscience,  help  thinking  that  they  are 
mighty  pretty  writing.  After,  then,  this  has  gone  on  for 
about  three-quarters  of  a column  (Timson  does  it  in  spare 
minutes,  and  fits  it  to  any  book  that  Lady  Fanny  brings 
out),  he  proceeds  to  particularize,  thus : — 

“ The  griding  excitement  which  thrills  through  every 
fibre  of  the  soul  as  we  peruse  these  passionate  pages,  is 
almost  too  painful  to  bear.  Nevertheless,  one  drains  the 
draughts  of  poesy  to  the  dregs,  so  deliciously  intoxicating 
is  its  nature.  We  defy  any  man  who  begins  these  volumes 
to  quit  them  ere  he  has  perused  each  line.  The  plot  may 
be  briefly  told  as  thus  : — Henri,  an  exiled  prince  of  Fran- 
conia (it  is  easy  to  understand  the  flimsy  allegory),  arrives 
at  Rome,  and  is  presented  to  the  sovereign  Pontiff.  At  a 
feast,  given  in  his  honor  at  the  Vatican,  a dancing  girl  (the 
loveliest  creation  that  ever  issued  from  poet’s  brain)  is  intro- 


398 


CIIA  RA  C TER  SKE 1 VHES. 


duced,  and  exhibits  some  specimens  of  her  art.  The  young 
prince  is  instantaneously  smitten  with  the  charms  of  the 
Saltatrice ; he  breathes  into  her  ear  the  accents  of  his  love, 
and  is  listened  to  with  favor.  He  has,  however,  a rival, 
and  a powerful  one.  The  Pope  has  already  cast  his  eye 
upon  the  Apulian  maid,  and  burns  with  lawless  passion. 
One  of  the  grandest  scenes  ever  writ  occurs  between  the 
rivals.  The  Pope  offers  to  Castanetta  every  temptation ; he 
will  even  resign  his  crown  and  marry  her ; but  she  refuses. 
The  prince  can  make  no  such  offers;  he  cannot  wed  her; 
‘ The  blood  of  Borbone/  he  says,  ‘ may  not  be  thus  misal- 
lied.’  He  determines  to  avoid  her.  In  despair,  she  throws 
herself  off  the  Tarpeian  rock ; and  the  Pope  becomes  a ma- 
niac. Such  is  an  outline  of  this  tragic  tale. 

“ Besides  this  fabulous  and  melancholy  part  of  the  narra- 
tive, which  is  unsurpassed,  much  is  written  in  the  gay  and 
sparkling  style  for  which  our  lovely  author  is  unrivalled. 
The  sketch  of  the  Marchesina  degli  Spinachi  and  her  lover, 
the  Duca  di  Gammoni,  is  delicious ; and  the  intrigue  be- 
tween the  beautiful  Princess  Kalbsbraten  and  Count  Bou- 
terbrod  is  exquisitely  painted : everybody,  of  course,  knows 
who  these  characters  are.  The  discovery  of  the  manner  in 
which  Kartoffeln,  the  Saxon  envoy,  poisons  the  princess’s 
dishes,  is  only  a graceful  and  real  repetition  of  a story 
which  was  agitated  throughout  all  the  diplomatic  circles 
last  year.  Schinken,  the  Westphalian,  must  not  be  forgot- 
ten; nor  Olla,  the  Spanish  Spy.  How  does  Lady  Fanny 
Flummery,  poet  as  she  is,  possess  a sense  of  the  ridiculous 
and  a keenness  of  perception  which  would  do  honor  to  a 
Babelais  or  a Bochefoucauld  ? To  those  who  a_sk  this 
question,  we  have  one  reply,  and  that  an  example:  — Not 
among  women,  ’tis  true ; for  till  the  Lady  Fanny  came 
among  us,  woman  never  soared  so  high.  Not  among 
women,  indeed  ! — but  in  comparing  her  to  that  great  spirit 
for  whom  our  veneration  is  highest  and  holiest,  we  offer  no 
dishonor  to  his  shrine  : — in  saying  that  he  who  wrote  of 
Romeo  and  Desdemona  might  have  drawn  Castanetta  and 
Enrico,  we  utter  but  the  truthful  expressions  of  our  hearts ; 
in  asserting  that  so  long  as  Shakspeare  lives,  so  long  will 
Flummery  endure ; in  declaring  that  he  who  rules  in  all 
hearts,  and  over  all  spirits  and  all  climes,  has  found  a con- 
genial spirit,  we  do  but  justice  to  Lady  Fanny  — justice  to 
him  who  sleeps  by  Avon  ! ” 


THE  FASHIONABLE  AUTHORESS. 


399 


With  which  we  had  better,  perhaps,  conclude.  Our  ob- 
ject has  been,  in  descanting  upon  the  Fashionable  Author- 
ess, to  point  out  the  influence  which  her  writing  possesses 
over  society,  rather  than  to  criticise  her  life.  The  former 
is  quite  harmless ; and  we  don’t  pretend  to  be  curious  about 
the  latter.  The  woman  herself  is  not  so  blamable  ; it  is  the 
silly  people  who  cringe  at  her  feet  that  do  the  mischief, 
and,  gulled  themselves,  gull  the  most  gullible  of  publics. 
Think  you,  0 Timson,  that  her  ladyship  asks  you  for  your 
beaux  yeux  or  your  wit  ? Fool ! you  do  think  so,  or  try 
and  think  so ; and  yet  you  know  she  loves  not  you,  but  the 
. . . newspaper.  Think,  little  Fitch,  in  your  fine  waistcoat, 
how  dearly  you  have  paid  for  it ! Think,  M ‘Lather,  how 
many  smirks,  and  lies,  and  columns  of  good  three-halfpence- 
a-line  matter  that  big  garnet  pin  has  cost  you ! the  woman 
laughs  at  you,  man  ! you  who  fancy  that  she  is  smitten  with 
you  — laughs  at  your  absurd  pretentions,  your  way  of  eating 
fish  at  dinner,  your  great  hands,  your  eyes,  your  whiskers, 
your  coat,  and  your  strange  north-country  twang.  Down 
with  this  Delilah ! Avaunt,  0 Circe ! giver  of  poisonous 
feeds.  To  your  natural  haunts,  ye  gentlemen  of  the  press  ! 
if  bachelors,  frequent  your  taverns,  and  be  content.  Better 
is  Sally  the  waiter,  and  the  first  cut  of  the  joint,  than  a 
dinner  of  four  courses,  and  humbug  therewith.  Ye  who 
are  married,  go  to  your  homes ; dine  not  with  those  persons 
who  scorn  your  wives.  Go  not  forth  to  parties,  that  ye  may 
act  Tom  Fool  for  the  amusement  of  my  lord  and  my  lady ; 
but  play  your  natural  follies  among  your  natural  friends. 
Do  this  for  a few  years,  and  the  Fashionable  Authoress  is 
extinct.  0 Jove,  what  a prospect ! She,  too,  has  retreated 
to  her  own  natural  calling,  being  as  much  out  of  place  in  a 
book  as  you,  my  dear  M1 ‘Lather,  in  a drawing-room.  Let  mil- 
liners look  up  to  her;  let  Howell  and  James  swear  by  her;  let 
simpering  dandies  caper  about  her  car ; let  her  write  poetry  if 
she  likes,  but  only  for  the  most  exclusive  circles  ; let  mantua- 
makers  puff  her  — but  not  men  : let  such  things  be,  and 
the  Fashionable  Authoress  is  no  more  ! Blessed,  blessed 
thought ! No  more  fiddle-faddle  novels  ! no  more  namby- 
pamby  poetry  ! no  more  fribble  “ Blossoms  of  Loveliness  ! ” 
When  will  you  arrive,  0 happy  Golden  Age  ? 


THE  ARTISTS. 


T is  confidently  stated  that 
there  was  once  a time  when 
the  quarter  of  Soho  was 
thronged  by  the  fashion  of 
London.  Many  wide  streets 
are  there  in  the  neighbor- 
hood, stretching  cheerfully 
towards  Middlesex  Hospital 
in  the  north,  bounded  by 
Dean  Street  in  the  west, 
where  the  lords  and  ladies 
of  William’s  time  used  to 
dwell,  — till  in  Queen  Anne’s 
time,  Bloomsbury  put  Soho 
out  of  fashion,  and  Great 
Russell  Street  became  the 
pink  of  the  mode. 

Both  these  quarters  of 
the  town  have  submitted  to  the  awful  rule  of  nature, 
and  are  now  to  be  seen  undergoing  the  dire  process  of 
decay.  Fashion  has  deserted  Soho,  and  left  her  in  her 
gaunt,  lonely  old  age.  The  houses  have  a vast,  dingy, 
mouldy,  dowager  look.  Ro  more  beaux,  in  mighty  peri- 
wigs, ride  by  in  gilded  clattering  coaches ; no  more 
lackeys  accompany  them,  bearing  torches,  and  shouting  for 
precedence.  A solitary  policeman  paces  these  solitary 
streets, — the  only  dandy  in  the  neighborhood.  You  hear 
the  milkman  yelling  his  milk  with  a startling  distinctness, 
and  the  clack  of  a servant-girl’s  pattens  sets  people  a-star- 
ing  from  the  windows. 

With  Bloomsbury  we  have  here  nothing  to  do;  but  as 
genteel  stock-brokers  inhabit  the  neighborhood  of  Regent’s 
Park,  — as  lawyers  have  taken  possession  of  Russell 

400 


THE  ARTISTS. 


401 


Square,  — so  Artists  have  seized  upon  the  desolate  quarter 
of  Soho.  They  are  to  be  found  in  great  numbers  in  Ber- 
ners Street.  Up  to  the  present  time,  naturalists  have  never 
been  able  to  account  for  this  mystery  of  their  residence. 
What  has  a painter  to  do  with  Middlesex  Hospital  ? He 
is  to  be  found  in  Charlotte  Street,  Fitzroy  Square.  And 
why?  Philosophy  cannot  tell,  any  more  than  why  milk 
is  found  in  a cocoanut. 

Look  at  Newman  Street.  Has  earth,  in  any  dismal 
corner  of  her  great  round  face,  a spot  more  desperately 
gloomy  ? The  windows  are  spotted  with  wafers,  holding 
up  ghastly  bills,  that  tell  you  the  house  is  “To  Let.” 
Nobody  walks  there  — not  even  an  old-clothes-man;  the 
first  inhabited  house  has  bars  to  the  windows,  and  bears 
the  name  of  “ Ahasuerus,  officer  to  the  Sheriff  of  Middle- 
sex”; and  here,  above  all  places,  must  painters  take  up 
their  quarters,  — day  by  day  must  these  reckless  people 
pass  Ahasuerus’s  treble  gate.  There  was  my  poor  friend, 
Tom  Tiekner  (who  did  those  sweet  things  for  “ The  Book 
of  Beauty  ”).  Tom,  who  could  not  pay  his  washerwoman, 
lived  opposite  the  bailiff’s ; and  could  see  every  miserable 
debtor,  or  greasy  Jew  writ-bearer,  that  went  in  or  out  of 
his  door.  The  street  begins  with  a bailiff’s,  and  ends 
with  a hospital.  I wonder  how  men  live  in  it,  and  are 
decently  cheerful,  with  this  gloomy,  double-barrelled  moral 
pushed  perpetually  into  their  faces.  Here,  however,  they 
persist  in  living,  no  one  knows  why  ; owls  may  still  be 
found  roosting  in  Netley  Abbey,  and  a few  Arabs  are  to  be 
seen  at  the  present  minute  in  Palmyra. 

The  ground-floors  of  the  houses  where  painters  live  are 
mostly  make-believe  shops,  back  empty  warehouses,  contain- 
ing fabulous  goods.  There  is  a sedan-chair  opposite  a 
house  in  Rathbone  Place  that  I have  myself  seen  every 
day  for  forty-three  years.  The  house  has  commonly  a 
huge  india-rubber-colored  door,  with  a couple  of  glistening 
brass-plates  and  bells.  A portrait-painter  lives  on  the  first 
floor;  a great  historical  genius  inhabits  the  second.  Re- 
mark the  first-floor’s  middle  drawing-room  window;  it  is 
four  feet  higher  than  its  two  companions,  and  has  taken  a 
fancy  to  peep  into  the  second-floor  front.  So  much  for  the 
outward  appearance  of  their  habitations,  and  for  the  quar- 
ters in  which  they  commonly  dwell.  They  seem  to  love 
solitude,  and  their  mighty  spirits  rejoice  in  vastness  and 
gloomy  ruin. 

VOL.  n. — 26 


402 


CHA RA  CTER  SKE TCHES . 


I don’t  say  a word  here  about  those  geniuses  who  fre- 
quent the  thoroughfares  of  the  town,  and  have  picture- 
frames  containing  a little  gallery  of  miniature  peers,  beau- 
ties, and  general  officers,  in  the  Quadrant,  the  passages 
about  St.  Martin’s  Lane,  the  Strand,  and  Cheapside.  Lord 
Lyndhurst  is  to  be  seen  in  many  of  these  gratis  exhibitions 
— Lord  Lyndhurst  cribbed  from  Chalon ; Lady  Peel  from 
Sir  Thomas ; Miss  Croker  from  the  same ; the  Duke,  from 
ditto ; an  original  officer  in  the  Spanish  Legion ; a colonel 
or  so,  of  the  Bunhill-Bow  Fencibles  ; a lady  on  a yellow 
sofa,  with  four  children  in  little  caps  and  blue  ribbons. 
We  have  all  of  us  seen  these  pretty  pictures,  and  are 
aware  that  our  own  features  may  be  “ done  in  this  style.” 
Then  there  is  the  man  on  the  chain-pier  at  Brighton,  who 
pares  out  your  likeness  in  sticking-plaster ; there  is  Miss 
Croke,  or  Miss  Bunt,  who  gives  lessons  in  Poonah-paint- 
ing,  japanning,  or  mezzotinting ; Miss  Stump,  who  attends 
ladies’  schools  with  large  chalk  heads  from  Le  Brun  or  the 
Cartoons ; Bubbery,  who  instructs  young  gentlemen’s 
establishments  in  pencil;  and  Sepio,  of  the  Water-Color 
Society,  who  paints  before  eight  pupils  daily,  at  a guinea 
an  hour,  keeping  his  own  drawings  for  himself. 

All  these  persons,  as  the  most  indifferent  reader  must 
see,  equally  belong  to  the  tribe  of  Artists  (the  last  not 
more  than  the  first),  and  in  an  article  like  this  should  be 
mentioned  properly.  But  though  this  paper  has  been 
extended  from  eight  pages  to  sixteen,  not  a volume  would 
suffice  to  do  justice  to  the  biographies  of  the  persons  above 
mentioned.  Think  of  the  superb  Sepio,  in  a light-blue 
satin  cravat,  and  a light-brown  coat,  and  yellow  kids, 
tripping  daintily  from  Grosvenor  Square  to  Gloucester 
Place,  a small  sugar-loaf  boy  following,  who  carries  his 
morocco  portfolio.  Sepio  scents  his  handkerchief,  curls 
his  hair,  and  wears,  on  a great  coarse  fist,  a large  emerald 
ring  that  one  of  his  pupils  gave  him.  He  would  not  smoke 
a cigar  for  the  world ; he  is  always  to  be  found  at  the 
Opera;  and,  gods!  how  he  grins,  and  waggles  his  head 
about,  as  Lady  Flummery  nods  to  him  from  her  box. 

He  goes  to  at  least  six  great  parties  in  the  season.  At 
the  houses  where  he  teaches,  he  has  a faint  hope  that  he  is 
received  as  an  equal,  and  propitiates  scornful  footmen  by 
absurd  donations  of  sovereigns.  The  rogue  has  plenty  of 
them.  He  has  a stock-broker,  and  a power  of  guinea- 
lessons  stowed  away  in  the  Consols.  There  are  a number 


TIIE  ARTISTS . 


403 


of  young  ladies  of  genius  in  the  aristocracy,  who  admire 
him  hugely  ; he  begs  you  to  contradict  the  report  about 
him  and  Lady  Smigsmag ; every  now  and  then  he  gets  a 
present  of  game  from  a marquis ; the  city  ladies  die  to 
have  lessons  of  him ; he  prances  about  the  Park  on  a high- 
bred cock-tail,  with  lacquered  boots  and  enormous  high 
heels;  and  he  has  a mother  and  sisters  somewhere  — wash- 
erwomen, it  is  said,  in  Pimlico. 

How  different  is  his  fate  to  that  of  poor  Rubbery,  the 
school  drawing-master ! Highgate,  Homerton,  Putney, 
Hackney,  Hornsey,  Turnham  Green  are  his  resorts ; he 
has  a select  seminary  to  attend  at  every  one  of  these 
places ; and  if,  from  all  these  nurseries  of  youth,  he 
obtains  a sufficent  number  of  half-crowns  to  pay  his  week’s 
bills,  what  a happy  man  is  he  ! 

He  lives  most  likely  in  a third  floor  in  Howland  Street, 
and  has  commonly  five  children,  who  have  all  a marvellous 
talent  for  drawing  — all  save  one,  perhaps,  that  is  an  idiot, 
which  a poor,  sick  mother  is  very  carefully  tending. 
Sepio’s  great  aim  and  battle  in  life  is  to  be  considered 
one  of  the  aristocracy ; honest  Rubbery  would  fain  be 
thought  a gentleman,  too  ; but,  indeed,  he  does  not  know 
whether  he  is  so  or  not.  Why  be  a gentleman  ? — a 
gentleman  Artist  does  not  obtain  the  wages  of  a tailor ; 
Rubbery’s  butcher  looks  down  upon  him  with  a royal 
scorn ; and  his  wife,  poor  gentle  soul  (a  clergyman’s 
daughter,  who  married  him  in  the  firm  belief  that  her 
John  would  be  knighted,  and  make  an  immense  fortune), 
— his  wife,  I say,  has  many  fierce  looks  to  suffer  from 
Mrs.  Butcher,  and  many  meek  excuses  or  prayers  to 
proffer,  when  she  cannot  pay  her  bill,  — or  when,  worst 
of  all,  she  has  humbly  to  beg  for  a little  scrap  of  meat 
upon  credit,  against  John’s  coming  home.  He  has  five-and- 
twenty  miles  to  walk  that  day,  and  must  have  something 
nourishing  when  he  comes  in  — he  is  killing  himself,  poor 
fellow,  she  knows  he  is : and  Miss  Crick  has  promised  to 
pay  him  his  quarter’s  charge  on  the  very  next  Saturday. 
u Gentlefolks,  indeed,”  says  Mrs.  Butcher ; “ pretty  gentle- 
folks these,  as  can’t  pay  for  half  a pound  of  steak  ! ” Let 
us  thank  heaven  that  the  Artist’s  wife  has  her  meat,  how- 
ever, — there  is  good  in  that  shrill,  fat,  mottled-faced  Mrs. 
Brisket  after  all. 

Think  of  the  labors  of  that  poor  Rubbery.  He  was  up 
at  four  in  the  morning,  and  toiled  till  nine  upon  a huge 


404 


CM  A RA  C TER  SICE  TCI  IE  S. 


clamp  icy  lithographic  stone ; on  which  he  has  drawn  the 
u Star  of  the  Wave/’  or  the  “ Queen  of  the  Tourney/5  or, 
“ She  met  at  Almack’s,”  for  Lady  Flummery’s  last  new 
song.  This  done,  at  half-past  nine,  he  is  to  be  seen  striding 
across  Kensington  Gardens,  to  wait  upon  the- before-named 
Miss  Crick,  at  Lamont  House.  Transport  yourself  in  imag- 
ination to  the  Misses  Kittle’s  seminary,  Potzdam  Villa, 
Upper  Homerton,  four  miles  from  Shoreditch : and  at  half- 
past two  Professor  Rubbery  is  to  be  seen  swinging  along 


towards  the  gate.  Somebody  is  on  the  lookout  for  him  ; in- 
deed it  is  his  eldest  daughter,  Marianne,  who  has  been  pacing 
the  shrubbery,  and  peering  over  the  green  railings  this  half- 
hour  past.  She  is  with  the  Misses  Kittle  on  the  “ mutual 
system,”  a thousand  times  more  despised  than  the  butchers’ 
and  the  grocers’  daughters,  who  are  educated  on  the  same 
terms,  and  whose  papas  are  warm  men  in  Aldgate.  Wednes- 
day is  the  happiest  day  of  Marianne’s  week,  and  this  the 
happiest  hour  of  Wednesday.  Behold ! Professor  Rub- 


THE  ARTISTS. 


405 


bery  wipes  his  hot  brows  and  kisses  the  poor  thing,  and 
they  go  in  together  out  of  the  rain,  and  he  tells  her  that 
the  twins  are  well  out  of  the  measles,  thank  God  ! and  that 
Tom  has  just  done  the  Antinous,  in  a way  that  must  make 
him  sure  of  the  Academy  prize,  and  that  mother  is  better 
of  her  rheumatism  now.  He  has  brought  her  a letter,  in 
large  round-hand,  from  Polly ; a famous  soldier,  drawn  by 
little  Frank  ; and  when,  after  his  two  hours’  lesson,  Rub- 
bery is  off  again,  our  dear  Marianne  cons  over  the  letter 
and  picture  a hundred  times  with  soft  tearful  smiles,  and 
stows  them  away  in  an  old  writing-desk,  amidst  a heap 
more  of  precious  home  relics,  wretched  trumpery  scraps 
and  bawbles,  that  you  and  I,  Madam,  would  sneer  at ; but 
that  in  the  poor  child’s  eyes  (and,  I think,  in  the  eyes  of 
One  who  knows  how  to  value  widows’  mites  and  humble 
sinners’  offerings)  are  better  than  bank-notes  and  Pitt 
diamonds.  0 kind  heaven,  that  has  given  these  treasures 
to  the  poor  ! Many  and  many  an  hour  does  Marianne  lie 
awake  with  full  eyes,  and  yearn  for  that  wretched  old 
lodging  in  Howland  Street,  where  mother  and  brothers 
lie  sleeping ; and,  gods  ! what  a fete  it  is,  when  twice  or 
thrice  in  the  year  she  comes  home  ! 

I forget  how  many  hundred  millions  of  miles,  for  how 
many  billions  of  centuries,  how  many  thousands  of  decil- 
lions  of  angels,  peris,  houris,  demons,  afreets,  and  the  like, 
Mahomet  travelled,  lived,  and  counted,  during  the  time 
that  some  water  was  falling  from  a bucket  to  the  ground ; 
but  have  we  not  been  wandering  most  egregiously  away 
from  Rubbery,  during  the  minute  in  which  his  daughter  is 
changing  his  shoes,  and  taking  off  his  reeking  mackintosh 
in  the  hall  of  Potzdam  Villa  ? She  thinks  him  the  finest 
artist  that  ever  cut  an  H.  B.  ; that’s  positive ; and  as  a 
drawing-master,  his  merits  are  wonderful ; for  at  the  Misses 
Kittle’s  annual  vacation  festival,  when  the  young  ladies’ 
drawings  are  exhibited  to  their  mammas  and  relatives 
(Rubbery  attending  in  a clean  shirt,  with  his  wife’s  large 
brooch  stuck  in  it,  and  drinking  negus  along  with  the  very 
best)  ; — at  the  annual  festival,  I say,  it  will  be  found  that' 
the  sixty-four  drawings  exhibited — “Tintern  Abbey,” 
“ Kenilworth  Castle,”  “ Horse  — from  Carl  Vernet,”  “ Head 
— from  West,”  or  wrhat  not  (say  sixteen  of  each  sort)  — are 
the  one  exactly  as  good  as  the  other ; so  that,  although 
Miss  Slamcoe  gets  the  prize,  there  is  really  no  reason  why 


406 


CHARACTER  SKETCHES. 


Miss  Timson,  who  is  only  four  years  old,  should  not  have  it; 
her  design  being  accurately,  stroke  for  stroke,  tree  for  tree, 
curl  for  curl,  the  same  as  Miss  Slamcoe’s,  who  is  eighteen. 
The  fact  is,  that  of  these  drawings,  Rubbery,  in  the  course 
of  the  year,  has  done  every  single  stroke,  although  the  girls 
and  their  parents  are  ready  to  take  their  affidavits  (or,  as  I 
heard  once  a great  female  grammarian  say,  their  ajffies  davit) 
that  the  drawing-master  has  never  been  near  the  sketches. 
This  is  the  way  with  them  : but  mark  ! — when  young 
ladies  come  home,  are  settled  in  life,  and  mammas  of  fami- 
lies, — can  they  design  so  much  as  a horse,  or  a dog,  or  a 
“moo-cow”  for  little  Jack  who  bawls  out  for  them  ? Not 
they ! Rubbery’s  pupils  have  no  more  notion  of  drawing, 
any  more  than  Sepio’s  of  painting,  when  that  eminent  artist 
is  away. 

Between  these  two  gentlemen  lie  a whole  class  of  teach- 
ers of  drawing,  who  resemble  them  more  or  less.  I am 
ashamed  to  say  that  Rubbery  takes  his  pipe  in  the  parlor 
of  an  hotel,  of  which  the  largest  room  is  devoted  to  the 
convenience  of  poor  people,  amateurs  of  British  gin : 
whilst  Sepio  trips  down  to  the  Club,  and  has  a pint  of  the 
smallest  claret : but  of  course  the  tastes  of  men  vary ; and 
you  find  them  simple  or  presuming,  careless  or  prudent, 
natural  and  vulgar,  or  false  and  atrociously  genteel,  in  all 
ranks  and  stations  of  life. 

As  for  the  other  persons  mentioned  at  the  beginning  of 
this  discourse,  viz.,  the  cheap  portrait-painter,  the  portrait- 
cutter  in  sticking-plaster,  and  Miss  Croke,  the  teacher  of 
mezzotint  and  Poonah-painting,  — nothing  need  be  said  of 
tli^ni  in  this  place,  as  we  have  to  speak  of  matters  more 
important.  Only  about  Miss  Croke,  or  about  other  pro- 
fessors of  cheap  art,  let  the  reader  most  sedulously  avoid 
them.  Mezzotinto  is  a take-in,  Poonah-painting  a rank, 
villanous  deception.  So  is  “ Grecian  art  without  brush  or 
pencils.”  These  are  only  small  mechanical  contrivances, 
over  which  young  ladies  are  made  to  lose  time.  And  now, 
having  disposed  of  these  small  skirmishers  who  hover  round 
the  great  body  of  Artists,  we  are  arrived  in  presence  of  the 
main  force,  that  we  must  begin  to  attack  in  form.  In  the 
“partition  of  the  earth,”  as  it  has  been  described  by 
Schiller,  the  reader  will  remember  that  the  poet,  finding 
himself  at  the  end  of  a general  scramble  without  a single 
morsel  of  plunder,  applied  passionately  to  Jove,  who  pitied 
the  poor  fellow’s  condition,  and  complimented  him  with  a 


THE  ARTISTS . 


407 


seat  in  the  Empyrean.  “The  strong  and  the  cunning/’ 
says  Jupiter,  “have  seized  upon  the  inheritance  of  the 
world,  whilst  thou  wert  star-gazing  and  rhyming : not  one 
single  acre  remains  wherewith  I can  endow  thee ; but,  in 
revenge,  if  thou  art  disposed  to  visit  me  in  my  own  heaven, 
come  when  thou  wilt,  it  is  always  open  to  thee.” 

The  cunning  and  strong  have  scrambled  and  struggled 
more  on  our  own  little  native  spot  of  earth  than  in  any 
other  place  on  the  world’s  surface ; and  the  English  poet 
(whether  he  handles  a pen  or  a pencil  (has  little  other 
refuge  than  that  windy,  unsubstantial  one  which  Jove  has 
vouchsafed  to  him.  Such  airy  board  and  lodging  is,  how- 
ever, distasteful  to  many ; who  prefer,  therefore,  to  give  up 
their  poetical  calling,  and,  in  a vulgar  beef-eating  world,  to 
feed  upon  and  fight  for  vulgar  beef. 

For  such  persons  (among  the  class  of  painters),  it  may 
be  asserted  that  portrait-painting  was  invented.  It  is  the 
Artist’s  compromise  with  heaven;  “the  light  of  common 
day,”  in  which,  after  a certain  quantity  of  “ travel  from  the 
East,”  the  genius  fades  at  last.  Abbe  Barthelemy  (who 
sent  Le  Jeune  Anacharsis  travelling  through  Greece  in  the 
time  of  Plato,  — travelling  through  ancient  Greece  in  lace 
ruffles,  red  heels,  and  a pigtail),  — Abbe  Barthelemy,  I say, 
declares  that  somebody  was  once  standing  against  a wall  in 
the  sun,  and  that  somebody  else  traced  the  outline  of  some- 
body’s shadow  : and  so  painting  was  “ invented.”  Angelica 
Kauffmann  has  made  a neat  picture  of  this  neat  subject; 
and  very  well  worthy  she  was  of  handling  it.  Her  painting 
might  grow  out  of  a wall  and  a piece  of  charcoal ; and  hon- 
est Barthelemy  might  be  satisfied  that  he  had  here  traced 
the  true  origin  of  the  art.  What  a base  pedigree  have 
these  abominable  Greek,  French,  and  High-Dutch  heathens 
invented  for  that  which  is  divine  ! — a wall,  ye  gods,  to  be 
represented  as  the  father  of  that  which  came  down  radiant 
from  you ! The  man  who  invented  such  a blasphemy 
ought  to  be  impaled  upon  broken  bottles,  or  shot  off  piti- 
lessly by  spring-guns,  nailed  to  the  bricks  like  a dead  owl 
or  a weasel,  or  tied  up  — a kind  of  vulgar  Prometheus  — 
and  baited  forever  by  the  house-dog. 

But  let  not  our  indignation  carry  us  too  far.  Lack  of 
genius  in  some,  of  bread  in  others,  of  patronage  in  a shop- 
keeping  world,  that  thinks  only  of  the  useful,  and  is  little  in- 
clined to  study  the  sublime,  has  turned  thousands  of  persons 
calling  themselves,  and  wishing  to  be,  Artists,  into  so  many 


408 


CHA  RA  GTE  11  SKETCHES. 


common  face-painters,  who  must  look  out  for  the  “ kalon  ” 
in  the  fat  features  of  a red-gilled  Alderman,  or,  at  best,  in  a 
pretty,  simpering,  white-necked  beauty  from  “Almack’s.” 
The  dangerous  charms  of  these  latter,  especially,  have 
seduced  away* many  painters;  and  we  often  think  that  this 
very  physical  superiority  which  English  ladies  possess,  this 
tempting  brilliancy  of  health  and  complexion,  which  be- 
longs to  them  more  than  to  any  others,  has  operated  upon 
our  Artists  as  a serious  disadvantage,  and  kept  them  from 
better  things.  The  French  call  such  beauty  “ La  Beaute  du 
Viable”;  and  a devilish  power  it  has  truly;  before  our 
Armidas  and  Helens  how  many  Kinaldos  and  Parises  have 
fallen,  who  are  content  to  forget  their  glorious  calling,  and 
slumber  away  their  energies  in  the  laps  of  these  soft 
tempters.  0 ye  British  enchantresses ! I never  see  a 
gilded  annual-book,  without  likening  it  to  a small  island 
near  Cape  Pelorus,  in  Sicily,  whither,  by  twanging  of  harps, 
singing  of  ravishing  melodies,  glancing  of  voluptuous  eyes, 
and  the  most  beautiful  fashionable  undress  in  the  world, 
the  naughty  sirens  lured  the  passing  seaman.  Steer  clear 
of  them,  ye  Artists ! pull,  pull  for  your  lives,  ye  crews  of 
Suffolk  Street  and  the  Water-Color  gallery  ! stop  your  ears, 
bury  your  eyes,  tie  yourselves  to  the  mast,  and  away  with 
you  from  the  gaudy,  smiling  “Books  of  Beauty.”  Land, 
and  you  are  ruined!  Look  well  among  the  flowers  on 
yonder  beach  — it  is  whitened  with  the  bones  of  painters. 

For  my  part,  I never  have  a model  under  seventy,  and 
her  with  several  shawls  and  a cloak  on.  By  these  means 
the  imagination  gets  fair  play,  and  the  morals  remain 
unendangered. 

Personalities  are  odious ; but  let  the  British  public  look 
at  the  pictures  of  the  celebrated  Mr.  Shalloon — the  moral 
British  public  — and  say  whether  our  grandchildren  (or  the 
grandchildren  of  the  exalted  personages  whom  Mr.  Shalloon 
paints)  will  not  have  a queer  idea  of  the  manners  of 
their  grandmammas,  as  they  are  represented  in  the 
most  beautiful,  dexterous,  captivating  water-color  draw- 
ings that  ever  were  ? Heavenly  powers,  how  they 
simper  and  ogle ! with  what  gimcracks  of  lace,  ribbons, 
ferronieres,  smelling-bottles,  and  what  not,  is  every  one  of 
them  overloaded ! What  shoulders,  what  ringlets,  what 
funny  little  pug-dogs  do  they  most  of  them  exhibit  to  us ! 
The  days  of  Lancret  and  Watteau  are  lived  over  again,  and 
the  court  ladies  of  the  time  of  Queen  Victoria  look  as 


THE  ARTISTS . 


409 


moral  as  the  immaculate  countesses  of  the  days  of  Louis 
Quinze. 

The  last  President  of  the  Royal  Academy  * is  answerable 
for  many  sins,  and  many  imitators  ; especially  for  that  gay, 
simpering,  meretricious  look  which  he  managed  to  give  to 
every  lady  who  sat  to  him  for  her  portrait ; and  I do  not 
know  a more  curious  contrast  than  that  which  may  be  per- 
ceived by  any  one  who  will  examine  a collection  of  his  por- 
traits by  the  side  of  some  by  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds.  They 
seem  to  have  painted  different  races  of  people  ; and  when 
one  hears  very  old  gentlemen  talking  of  the  superior  beauty 
that  existed  in  their  early  days  (as  very  old  gentlemen, 
from  Nestor  downwards,  have  and  will),  one  is  inclined  to 
believe  that  there  is  some  truth  in  what  they  say ; at  least, 
that  the  men  and  women  under  George  the  Third  were  far 
superior  to  their  descendants  in  the  time  of  George  the 
Fourth.  Whither  has  it  fled  — that  calm  matronly  grace, 
or  beautiful  virgin  innocence,  which  belonged  to  the  happy 
women  who  sat  to  Sir  Joshua  ? Sir  Thomas’s  ladies  are 
ogling  out  of  their  gilt  frames,  and  asking  us  for  admiration ; 
Sir  Joshua’s  sit  quiet,  in  maiden  meditation  fancy  free,  not 
anxious  for  applause,  but  sure  to  command  it ; a thousand 
times  more  lovely  in  their  sedate  serenity  than  Sir  Thomas’s 
ladies  in  their  smiles,  and  their  satin  ball-dresses. 

But  this  is  not  the  general  notion,  and  the  ladies  prefer 
the  manner  of  the  modern  Artist.  Of  course,  such  being 
the  case,  the  painters  must  follow  the  fashion.  One  could 
point  out  half  a dozen  Artists  who,  at  Sir  Thomas’s  death, 
have  seized  upon  a shred  of  his  somewhat  tawdry  mantle. 
There  is  Carmine,  for  instance,  a man  of  no  small  repute, 
who  will  stand  as  the  representative  of  his  class. 

Carmine  has  had  the  usual  education  of  a painter  in  this 
country ; he  can  read  and  write  — that  is,  has  spent  years 
drawing  the  figure  — and  has  made  his  foreign  tour.  It 
may  be  that  he  had  original  talent  once,  but  he  has  learned 
to  forget  this,  as  the  great  bar  to  his  success ; and  must 
imitate,  in  order  to  live.  He  is  among  Artists  what  a 
dentist  is  among  surgeons  — a man.  who  is  employed  to 
decorate  the  human  head,  and  who  is  paid  enormously  for 
so  doing.  You  know  one  of  Carmine’s  beauties  at  any 
exhibition,  and  see  the  process  by  which  they  are  manu- 
factured. He  lengthens  the  noses,  widens  the  foreheads, 


* Sir  Thomas  Lawrence. 


410 


CHARA CTER  SKETCHES. 


opens  the  eyes,  and  gives  them  the  proper  languishing  leer ; 
diminishes  the  mouth,  and  infallibly  tips  the  ends  of  it 
with  a pretty  smile  of  his  favorite  color.  He  is  a person- 
able, white-handed,  bald-headed,  middle-aged  man  now, 
with  that  grave  blandness  of  look  which  one  sees  in  so 
many  prosperous  empty-headed  people.  He  has  a collec- 
tion of  little  stories  and  court  gossip  about  Lady  This,  and 
“ my  particular  friend,  Lord  So-and-so,”  which  he  lets  off 
in  succession  to  every  sitter  : indeed,  a most  bland,  irre- 
proachable, gentlemanlike  man.  He  gives  most  patroniz- 
ing advice  to  young  Artists,  and  makes  a point  of  praising 
all  — not  certainly  too  much,  but  in  a gentlemanlike, 
indifferent,  simpering  way.  This  should  be  the  maxim 
with  prosperous  persons,  who  have  had  to  make  their  way, 
and  wish  to  keep  what  they  have  made.  They  praise 
everybody,  and  are  called  good-natured,  benevolent  men. 
Surely  no  benevolence  is  so  easy ; it  simply  consists  in 
lying,  and  smiling,  and  wishing  everybody  well.  You  will 
get  to  do  so  quite  naturally  at  last,  and  at  no  expense  of 
truth.  At  first,  when  a man  has  feelings  of  his  own  — 
feelings  of  love  or  of  anger  — this  perpetual  grin  and  good- 
humor  is  hard  to  maintain.  I used  to  imagine,  when  I 
first  knew  Carmine,  that  there  were  some  particular  springs 
in  his  wig  (that  glossy,  oily,  curly  crop  of  chestnut  hair) 
that  pulled  up  his  features  into  a smile,  and  kept  the 
muscles  so  fixed  for  the  day.  I don’t  think  so  now,  and 
should  say  he  grinned,  even  when  he  was  asleep  and  his 
teeth  were  out ; the  smile  does  not  lie  in  the  manufacture 
of  the  wig,  but  in  the  construction  of  the  brain.  Claude 
Carmine  has  the  organ  of  do?dt-care-a-damn-ativeness  won- 
derfully developed;  not  that  reckless  don’t-care-a-damn- 
ativeness  which  leads  a man  to  disregard  all  the  world,  and 
himself  into  the  bargain.  Claude  stops  before  he  comes  to 
himself ; but  beyond  that  individual  member  of  the  Royal 
Academy,  has  not  a single  sympathy  for  a single  human 
creature.  The  account  of  his  friends’  deaths,  woes,  misfor- 
tunes, or  good  luck,  he  receives  with  equal  good-nature ; he 
gives  three  splendid'  dinners  per  annum,  Gunter,  Dukes, 
Eortnum,  and  Mason,  everything ; he  dines  out  the  other 
three  hundred  and  sixty-two  days  in  the  year,  and  was 
never  known  to  give  away  a shilling,  or  to  advance,  for  one 
half-hour,  the  forty  pounds  per  quarter  wages  that  he  gives 
to  Mr.  Scumble,  who  works  the  backgrounds,  limbs,  and 
draperies  of  his  portraits. 


THE  ARTISTS . 


411 


He  is  not  a good  painter : how  should  he  be  ; whose 
painting  as  it  were  never  goes  beyond  a whisper,  and  who 
would  make  a general  simpering  as  he  looked  at  an  advanc- 
ing cannon-ball?  — but  he  is  not  a bad  painter,  being  a 
keen  respectable  man  of  the  world,  who  has  a cool  head, 
and  knows  what  is  what.  In  France,  where  tigerism  used 
to  be  the  fashion  among  the  painters,  I make  no  doubt 
Carmine  would  have  let  his  beard  and  wig  grow,  and 
looked  the  fiercest  of  the  fierce ; but  with  us  a man  must 
be  genteel ; the  perfection  of  style  (in  writing  and  in  draw- 
ing-rooms) being  “ de  ne  pas  en  avoir  ” Carmine  of  course  is 
agreeably  vapid.  His  conversation  has  accordingly  the 
flavor  and  briskness  of  a clear,  brilliant,  stale  bottle  of 
soda-water,  — once  in  five  minutes  or  so,  you  see  rising  up 
to  the  surface  a little  bubble  — a little  tiny  shining  point  of 
wit,  — it  rises  and  explodes  feebly,  and  then  dies.  With 
regard  to  wit,  people  of  fashion  (as  we  are  given  to  under- 
stand) are  satisfied  with  a mere  soupgo?i  of  it.  Anything 
more  were  indecorous ; a genteel  stomach  could  not  bear  it : 
Carmine  knows  the  exact  proportions  of  the  dose,  and  would 
not  venture  to  administer  to  his  sitters  anything  beyond 
the  requisite  quantity. 

There  is  a great  deal  more  said  here  about  Carmine  — the 
man,  than  Carmine  — the  Artist ; but  what  can  be  written 
about  the  latter  ? New  ladies  in  white  satin,  new  Generals 
in  red,  new  Peers  in  scarlet  and  ermine,  and  stout  Members 
of  Parliament  pointing  to  inkstands  and  sheets  of  letter^ 
paper,  with  a Turkey-carpet  beneath  them,  a red  curtain 
above  them,  a Doric  pillar  supporting  them,  and  a tremen- 
dous storm  of  thunder  and  lightning  lowering  and  flashing 
in  the  background,  spring  up  every  year  and  take  their  due 
positions  “ upon  the  line  ” in  the  Academy,  and  send  their 
compliments  of  hundreds  to  swell  Carmine’s  heap  of 
Consols.  If  he  paints  Lady  Flummery  for  the  tenth  time, 
in  the  character  of  the  tenth  Muse,  what  need  have  we  to 
say  anything  about  it  ? The  man  is  a good  workman,  and 
will  manufacture  a decent  article  at  the  best  price ; but  we 
should  no  more  think  of  noticing  each,  than  of  writing 
fresh  critiques  upon  every  new  coat  that  Nugee  or  Stultz 
turned  out.  The  papers  say,  in  reference  to  his  picture 
“No.  591.  ‘ Full-length  portrait  of  her  Grace  the  Duchess  of 
Doldrum.  Carmine,  ft.  A.’  Mr.  Carmine  never  fails ; 
this  work,  like  all  others  by  the  same  artist,  is  excellent : ” 
or,  “No.  591,  &c.  The  lovely  Duchess  of  Doldrum  has 


412 


CHA 11 A CTER  SKE  TCHES. 


received  from  Mr.  Carmine’s  pencil  ample  justice;  the 
chiar ’ oscuro  of  the  picture  is  perfect;  the  likeness  admira- 
ble ; the  keeping  and  coloring  have  the  true  Titianesque 
gusto ; if  we  might  hint  a fault,  it  has  the  left  ear  of  the 
lap-dog  a 6 little  ’ out  of  drawing.” 

Then,  perhaps  comes  a criticism  which  says  : — “ The 
Duchess  of  Doldrum’s  picture  by  Mr.  Carmine  is  neither 
better  nor  worse  than  five  hundred  other  performances  of 
the  same  artist.  It  would  be  very  unjust  to  say  that  these 
portraits  are  bad,  for  they  have  really  a considerable  clever- 
ness ; but  to  say  that  they  were  good,  would  be  quite  as 
false ; nothing  in  our  eyes  was  ever  further  from  being  so. 
Every  ten  years  Mr.  Carmine  exhibits  what  is  called  an 
original  picture  of  three  inches  square,  but  beyond  this, 
nothing  original  is  to  be  found  in  him  : as  a lad,  he  copied 
Reynolds,  then  Opie,  then  Lawrence  ; then,  having  made 
a sort  of  style  of  his  own,  he  has  copied  himself  ever 
since,”  &c. 

And  then  the  critic  goes  on  to  consider  the  various  parts 
of  Carmine’s  pictures.  In  speaking  of  critics,  their  pecu- 
liar relationship  with  painters  ought  not  to  be  forgotten  ; 
and  as  in  a former  paper  we  have  seen  how  a fashionable 
authoress  has  her  critical  toadies,  in  like  manner  has  the 
painter  his  enemies  and  friends  in  the  press  ; with  this 
difference,  probably,  that  the  writer  can  bear  a fair  quantity 
of  abuse  without  wincing,  while  the  artist  not  uncommonly 
grows  mad  at  such  strictures,  considers  them  as  personal 
matters,  inspired  by  a private  feeling  of  hostility,  and  hates 
the  critic  for  life  who  has  ventured  to  question  his  judg- 
ment in  any  way.  We  have  said  before,  poor  Academi- 
cians, for  how  many  conspiracies  are  you  made  to  answer ! 
We  may  add  now,  poor  critics,  what  black  personal  animos- 
ities are  discovered  for  you,  when  you  happen  (right  or 
wrong,  but  according  to  your  best  ideas)  to  speak  the 
truth  ! Say  that  Snooks’s  picture  is  badly  colored.  — “ O 
heaven  ! ” shrieks  Snooks,  “ what  can  I have  done  to  offend 
this  fellow  ? ” Hint  that  such  a figure  is  badly  drawn  — 
and  Snooks  instantly  declares  you  to  be  his  personal 
enemy,  actuated  only  by  envy  and  vile  pique.  My  friend 
Peddler,  himself  a famous  Artist,  is  of  opinion  that  the 
critic  should  never  abuse  the  painter’s  performances,  be- 
cause, says  he,  the  painter  knows  much  better  than  any 
one  else  what  his  own  faults  are,  and  because  you  never  do 
him  any  good.  Are  men  of  the  brush  so  obstinate  ? — very 


THE  ARTISTS . 


413 


likely : but  the  public  — the  public  ? are  we  not  to  do  our 
duty  by  it  too ; and,  aided  by  our  superior  knowledge  and 
genius  for  the  line  arts,  point  out  to  it  the  way  it  should 
go  ? Yes,  surely ; and  as  by  the  efforts  of  dull  or  inter- 
ested critics  many  bad  painters  have  been  palmed  off  upon 
the  nation  as  geniuses  of  the  first  degree ; in  like  manner, 
the  sagacious  and  disinterested  (like  some  we  could  name) 
have  endeavored  to  provide  thi^  British  nation  with  pure 
principles  of  taste,  — or,  at  least,  to  prevent  them  from 
adopting  such  as  are  impure. 

Carmine,  to  be  sure,  comes  in  for  very  little  abuse  ; and, 
indeed,  he  deserves  but  little.  He  is  a fashionable  painter, 
and  preserves  the  golden  mediocrity  which  is  necessary  for 
the  fashion.  Let  us  bid  him  good-bye.  He  lives  in  a house 
all  to  himself,  most  likely,  — has  a footman,  sometimes  a 
carriage  ; is  apt  to  belong  to  the  “ Athenaeum  ” ; and  dies 
universally  respected ; that  is,  not  one  single  soul  cares  for 
him  dead,  as  he,  living,  did  not  care  for  one  single  soul. 

Then,  perhaps,  we  should  mention  M‘Gilp,  or  Blather, 
rising  young  men,  who  will  fill  Carmine’s  place  one  of  these 

days,  and  occupy  his  house  in , when  the  fulness  of  time 

shall  come,  and  (he  borne  to  a narrow  grave  in  the  Harrow 
Road  by  the  whole  mourning  Royal  Academy),  they  shall 
leave  their  present  first  floor  in  Newman  Street,  and  step 
into  his  very  house  and  shoes. 

There  is  little  difference  between  the  juniors  and  the 
seniors  ; they  grin  when  they  are  talking  of  him  together, 
and  express  a perfect  confidence  that  they  can  paint  a head 
against  Carmine  any  day  — as  very  likely  they  can.  But 
until  his  demise,  they  are  occupied  with  painting  people 
about  the  Regent’s  Park  and  Russell  Square ; are  very  glad 
to  have  the  chance  of  a popular  clergyman,  or  a college 
tutor,  or  a mayor  of  Stoke  Poges  after  the  Reform  Bill. 
Such  characters  are  commonly  mezzotinted  afterwards ; and 
the  portrait  of  our  esteemed  townsman  So-and-so,  by  that 
talented  artist  Mr.  M‘Gilp,  of  London,  is  favorably  noticed 
by  the  provincial  press,  and  is  to  be  found  over  the  side- 
boards of  many  country  gentlemen.  If  they  come  up  to 
town,  to  whom  do  they  go  ? To  M‘Gilp,  to  be  sure ; and 
thus,  slowly,  his  practice  and  his  prices  increase. 

The  Academy  student  is  a personage  that  should  not  be 
omitted  here ; he  resembles  very  much,  outwardly,  the 
medical  student,  and  has  many  of  the  latter’s  habits  and 
pleasures.  He  very  often  wears  a broad-brimmed  hat  and 


414 


CHA  liA  CTER  SKE  TCHES. 


a fine  dirty  crimson  velvet  waistcoat,  his  hair  commonly 
grows  long,  and  he  has  braiding  to  his  pantaloons.  He 
works  leisurely  at  the  Academy,  he  loves  theatres,  billiards, 
and  novels,  and  has  his  house-of-call  somewhere  in  the 
neighborhood  of  Saint  Martin’s  Lane,  where  he  and  his 
brethren  meet  and  sneer  at  Royal  Academicians.  If  you 
ask  him  what  line  of  art  he  pursues,  he  answers  with  a 
smile  exceedingly  supercilious,  “Sir,  I am  an  historical 
painter”;  meaning  that  he  will  only  condescend  to  take 
subjects  from  Hume,  or  Robertson,  or  from  the  classics  — 
which  he  knows  nothing  about.  This  stage  of  an  historical 
painter  is  only  preparatory,  lasting  perhaps  from  eighteen 
to  ftve-and-twenty,  when  the  gentleman’s  madness  begins  to 
disappear,  and  he  comes  to  look  at  life  sternly  in  the  face, 
and  to  learn  that  man  shall  not  live  by  historical  painting 
alone.  Then  our  friend  falls  to  portrait-painting,  or  annual- 
painting,  or  makes  some  other  such  sad  compromise  with 
necessity. 

He  has  probably  a small  patrimony,  wrhich  defrays  the 
charge  of  his  studies  and  cheap  pleasures  during  his  period 
of  apprenticeship.  He  makes  the  oblige  tour  to  France  and 
Italy,  and  returns  from  those  countries  with  a multitude  of 
spoiled  canvases,  and  a large  j3air  of  moustaches,  with 
which  he  establishes  himself  in  one  of  the  dingy  streets  of 
Soho  before  mentioned.  There  is  poor  Pipson,  a man  of 
indomitable  patience,  and  undying  enthusiasm  for  his  pro- 
fession. He  could  paper  Exeter  Hall  with  his  studies  from 
the  life,  and  with  portraits  in  chalk  and  oil  of  French 
sapeurs  and  Italian  brigands,  that  kindly  descend  from 
their  mountain-caverns,  and  quit  their  murderous  occupa- 
tions, in  order  to  sit  to  young  gentlemen  at  Rome,  at  the 
rate  of  tenpence  an  hour.  Pipson  returns  from  abroad, 
establishes  himself,  has  his  cards  printed,  and  waits  and 
waits  for  commissions  for  great  historical  pictures.  Mean- 
while, night  after  ni^ht,  he  is  to  be  found  at  his  old  place 
in  the  Academy,  copying  the  old  life-guardsman  — working, 
working  away  — and  never  advancing  one  jot.  At  eighteen, 
Pipson  copied  statues  and  life-guardsmen  to  admiration  ; 
at  five-and-thirty  he  can  make  admirable  drawings  of  life- 
guardsmen  and  statues.  Beyond  this  he  never  goes  ; year 
after  year  his  historical  picture  is  returned  to  him  by  the 
envious  Academicians,  and  he  grows  old,  and  his  little  pat- 
rimony is  long  since  spent ; and  he  earns  nothing  himself. 
How  does  he  support  hope  and  life  ? — that  is  the  wonder. 


THE  ARTISTS. 


415 


No  one  knows  until  lie  tries  (which  God  forbids  he  should !) 
upon  what  a small  matter  hope  and  life  can  be  supported. 
Our  poor  fellow  lives  on  from  year  to  year  in  a miraculous 
way ; tolerably  cheerful  in  the  midst  of  his  semi-starvation, 
and  wonderfully  confident  about  next  year,  in  spite  of  fail- 
ures of  the  last  twenty-five.  Let  us  thank  God  for  impart- 
ing to  us,  poor  weak  mortals,  the  inestimable  blessing  of 
vanity.  How  many  half-witted  votaries  of  the  arts  — poets, 
painters,  actors,  musicians  — live  upon  this  food,  and 
scarcely  any  other  ! If  the  delusion  were  to  drop  from 
Pipson’s  eyes,  and  he  should  see  himself  as  he  is,  — if  some 
malevolent  genius  were  to  mingle  with  his  feeble  brains 
one  fatal  particle  of  common  sense,  — he  would  just  walk 
off  Waterloo  Bridge,  and  abjure  poverty,  incapacity,  cold 
lodgings,  unpaid  baker’s  bills,  ragged  elbows,  and  deferred 
hopes,  at  once  and  forever. 

We  do  not  mean  to  depreciate  the  profession  of  historical 
painting,  but  simply  to  warn  youth  against  it  as  dangerous 
and  unprofitable.  It  is  as  if  a young  fellow  should  say,  “I 
will  be  a Baffaelle  or  a Titian,  — a Milton  or  a Shakspeare,” 
and  if  he  will  count  up  how  many  people  have  lived  since 
the  world  began,  and  how  many  there  have  been  of  the 
Baffaelle  or  Shakspeare  sort,  he  can  calculate  to  a nicety 
what  are  the  chances  in  his  favor.  Even  successful  histor- 
ical painters,  what  are  they  ? — in  a worldly  point  of  view, 
they  mostly  inhabit  the  second  floor,  or  have  great  desolate 
studios  in  back  premises,  whither  life-guardsmen,  old-clothes- 
men, blackamoors,  and  other  “ properties  ” are  conducted, 
to  figure  at  full  length  as  Boman  conquerors,  Jewish  high- 
priests,  or  Othellos  on  canvas.  Then  there  are  gay,  smart, 
water-color  painters,  — a flourishing  and  pleasant  trade. 
Then  there  are  shabby,  fierce-looking  geniuses,  in  ringlets, 
and  all  but  rags,  who  paint,  and  whose  pictures  are  never 
sold,  and  who  vow  they  are  the  objects  of  some  general  and 
scoundrelly  conspiracy.  There  are  landscape-painters,  who 
travel  to  the  uttermost  ends  of  the  earth  and  brave  heat  and 
cold,  to  bring  to  the  greedy  British  public  views  of  Cairo,  Cal- 
cutta, St.  Petersburg,  Timbuetoo.  You  see  English  artists 
under  the  shadow  of  the  Pyramids,  making  sketches  of  the 
Copts,  perched  on  the  backs  of  dromedaries,  accompanying 
a caravan  across  the  desert,  or  getting  materials  for  an  an- 
nual in  Iceland  or  Siberia.  What  genius  and  what  energy 
do  not  they  all  exhibit  — these  men,  whose  profession,  in 
this  wise  country  of  ours,  is  scarcely  considered  as  liberal ! 


41 6 


CHA  RA  CTER  SKE  TCIIES. 


If  we  read  the  works  of  the  Reverend  Dr.  Lempriere, 
Monsieur  Winckelmann,  Professor  Plato,  and  others  who 
have  written  concerning  the  musty  old  Grecians,  we  shall 
hud  that  the  Artists  of  those  barbarous  times  meddled  with 
all  sorts  of  trades  besides  their  own,  and  dabbled  in  fight- 
ing, philosophy,  metaphysics,  both  Scotch  and  German, 
politics,  music,  and  the  deuce  knows  what.  A rambling, 
sculptor,  who  used  to  go  about  giving  lectures  in  those  days, 
Socrates  by  name,  declared  that  the  wisest  of  men  in  his 
time  were  artists.  This  Plato,  before  mentioned,  went 
through  a regular  course  of  drawing,  figure  and  landscape, 
black-lead,  chalk,  with  or  without  stump,  sepia,  water-color, 
and  oils.  Was  there  ever  such  absurdity  known  ? Among 
these  benighted  heathens,  painters  were  the  most  accom- 
plished gentlemen,  — and  the  most  accomplished  gentlemen 
were  painters;  the  former  would  make  you  a speech,  or 
read  you  a dissertation  on  Kant,  or  lead  you  a regiment,  — 
with  the  very  best  statesman,  philosopher,  or  soldier  in 
Athens.  And  they  had  the  folly  to  say,  that  by  thus  busy- 
ing and  accomplishing  themselves  in  all  manly  studies, 
they  were  advancing  eminently  in  their  own  peculiar  one. 
What  was  the  consequence  ? Why,  that  fellow  Socrates 
not  only  made  a miserable  fifth-rate  sculptor,  but  was  act- 
ually hanged  for  treason. 

And  serve  him  right.  Do  our  young  artists  study  any- 
thing beyond  the  proper  way  of  cutting  a pencil,  or  drawing 
a model  ? Do  you  hear  of  them  hard  at  work  over  books, 
and  bothering  their  brains  with  musty  learning  ? Not 
theyj  forsooth  : we  understand  the  doctrine  of  division  of 
labor,  and  each  man  sticks  to  his  trade.  Artists  do  not 
meddle  with  the  pursuits  of  the  rest  of  the  world ; and,  in 
revenge,  the  rest  of  the  world  does  not  meddle  with  Artists. 
Fancy  an  Artist  being  a senior  wrangler  or  a politician  ; 
and  on-  the  other  hand,  fancy  a real  gentleman  turned  paint- 
er ! No.  no ; ranks  are  defined.  A real  gentleman  may 
get  money  by  the  law,  or  by  wearing  a red  coat  and  fight- 
ing, or  a black  one  and  preaching ; but  that  he  should  sell 
himself  to  Art  — forbid  it,  heaven  ! And  do  not  let  your 
ladyship  on  reading  this  cry,  “ Stuff ! — stupid  envy,  rank 
republicanism,  — an  artist  is  a gentleman.”  Madam,  would 
you  like  to  see  your  son,  the  Honorable  Fitzroy  Plantagenet, 
a painter  ? You  would  die  sooner;  the  escutcheon  of  the 
Smigsmags  would  be  blotted  forever,  if  Plantagenet  ever 
ventured  to  make  a mercantile  use  of  a bladder  of  paint. 


THE  ARTISTS. 


417 


Time  was — some  hundred  years  back — when  writers 
lived  in  Grub  Street,  and  poor  ragged  Johnson  shrunk 
behind  a screen  in  Cave’s  parlor  — that  the  author’s  trade 
was  considered  a very  mean  one;  which  a gentleman  of 
family  could  not  take  up  but  as  an  amateur.  This  absurdity 
is  pretty  nearly  worn  out  now,  and  I do  numbly  hope  and 
pray  for  the  day  when  the  other  shall  likewise  aisappear. 
If  there  be  any  nobleman  with  a talent  that  way,  why  — 
why  don’t  we  see  him  among  the  R.  A.’s  ? 


501.  The  Schoolmaster.  Sketch 

taken  abroad  .... 

502.  View  of  the  Artist’s  Resi- 

dence at  Windsor  . . 

503.  Murder  of  the  Babes  in  the 

Tower 

504.  A little  Agitation  . . . 


L<% 

) Brum,  Henry,  Lord,  R.A.F.R.  S. 
1 S.A.  of  the  National  Institute 
j of  France. 

Maconkey,  Right  Honorable  T. 
B. 

Rustle,  Lord  J. 

Pill,  Right  Honorable  Sir  Robert. 
O’ Carroi,  Daniel,  M.R.I.A. 


Fancy,  I say,  such  names  as  these  figuring  in  the  cata~ 
logue  of  the  Academy:  and  why  should  they  not?  The 
real  glorious  days  of  the  art  (which  wants  equality  and  not 
patronage)  will  revive  then.  Patronage  — a plague  on  the 
word  ! — it  implies  inferiority  ; and  in  the  name  of  all  that 
is  sensible,  why  is  a respectable  country  gentleman,  or  a 
city  attorney’s  lady,  or  any  person  of  any  rank,  however 
exalted,  to  “ patronize  ” an  Artist ! 

There  are  some  who  sigh  for  the  past  times,  when  mag- 
nificent, swaggering  Peter  Paul  Rubens  (who  himself  pat- 
ronized a queen)  rode  abroad  with  a score  of  gentlemen  in 
his  train,  and  a purse-bearer  to  scatter  ducats  ; and  who  love 
to  think  how  he  was  made  an  English  knight  and  a Spanish 
grandee,  and  went  of  embassies  as  if  he  had  been  a born 
marquis.  Sweet  it  is  to  remember,  too,  that  Sir  Antony 
Vandyck,  K.  B.,  actually  married  out  of  the  peerage : and 
that  when  Titian  dropped  his  mahlstick,  the  Emperor. 
Charles  V.  picked  it  up  (0  gods  ! what  heroic  self-devotion) 
— picked  it  up,  saying,  “ I can  make  fifty  dukes,  but  not 
one  Titian.”  Nay,  was  not  the  Pope  of  Rome  going  to 
make  Raffaelle  a Cardinal, — and  were  not  these  golden 
days  ? 

Let  us  say  at  once  “No.”  The  very  fuss  made  about 
certain  painters  in  the  sixteenth  and  seventeenth  centuries 
shows  that  the  body  of  artists  had  no  rank  or  position  in 
the  world.  They  hung  upon  single  patrons : and  every 
VOL.  II. — 27 


418 


CHARACTER  SKETCHES . 


man  who  holds  his  place  by  such  a tenure,  must  feel  him- 
self an  inferior,  more  or  less.  The  times  are  changing  now, 
and  as  authors  are  no  longer  compelled  to  send  their  works 
abroad  under  the  guardianship  of  a great  man  and  a slavish 
dedication,  painters,  too,  are  beginning  to  deal  directly  with 
the  public.  Who  are  the  great  picture-buyers  now  ? — the 
engravers  and  their  employers,  the  people,  — “ the  only 
source  of  legitimate  power,”  as  they  say  after  dinner.  A 
hg  then  for  Cardinals’  hats  ! were  Mr.  O’Connell  in  power 
to-morrow,  let  us  fcope  he  would  not  give  one,  not  even  a 
paltry  bishopric  in  partibus , to  the  best  painter  in  the 
Academy.  What  need  have  they  of  honors  out  of  the  pro- 
fession ? Why  are  they  to  be  be-knighted  like  a parcel  of 
aldermen  ? — for  my  part,  I solemnly  declare,  that  I will 
take  nothing  under  a peerage,  after  the  exhibition  of  my 
great  picture,  and  don’t  see,  if  painters  must  have  titles 
conferred  upon  them  for  eminent  services,  why  the  Marquis 
of  Mulready  or  the  Earl  of  Landseer  should  not  sit  in  the 
house  as  well  as  any  law  or  soldier  lord. 

The  truth  to  be  elicited  from  this  little  digressive  disser- 
tation is  this  painful  one,  — the  young  Artists  are  not  gen- 
erally as  well  instructed  as  they  should  be ; and  let  the 
Royal  Academy  look  to  it,  and  give  some  sound  courses  of 
lectures  to  their  pupils  on  literature  and  history,  as  weh  as 
on  anatomy,  or  light  and  shade. 


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